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 POEMS
 
 POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 DOLLIE RADFORD 
 
 LONDON 
 
 ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET, W. 
 
 MCMX
 
 PR 
 5.2.0-5 
 
 T?II2AI7 
 
 Preface 
 
 To the new Poems in this book I have added 
 some of those published in 'A Light Load' and 
 in ' Songs and Other Verses.' For permission to 
 reprint several of the more recent I am indebted 
 to the kindness of the editors of The English Review, 
 The Nation, and Maclure's Magazine. Mr. Ralph 
 Radcliffe Whitehead has allowed me to add to 
 these the three songs written for him to old music. 
 
 D. R. 
 
 Hampstead, 1910.
 
 Contents 
 
 
 
 Part I. — 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Hope .... 
 
 
 . 
 
 II 
 
 In April . 
 
 
 
 iS 
 
 By the Arno (Sunset) . 
 
 
 . 
 
 26 
 
 At Night .... 
 
 
 . 
 
 29 
 
 A Wanderer 
 
 
 . 
 
 33 
 
 Your Gift 
 
 
 
 35 
 
 My Angel 
 
 
 
 38 
 
 Speedwells 
 
 
 . 
 
 40 
 
 In Spring 
 
 
 
 41 
 
 Wisdom .... 
 
 
 , 
 
 46 
 
 To the Caryatid (in the Elg 
 
 in Room, I 
 
 ritish Museum) . 
 
 47 
 
 Release . 
 
 
 • 
 
 49 
 
 Comrades 
 
 
 • 
 
 5 1 
 
 To a Stranger . 
 
 
 
 • 54 
 
 A Prayer . 
 
 
 • 
 
 56 
 
 At Last . 
 
 
 . 
 
 57 
 
 Giving 
 
 
 
 61 
 
 October . 
 
 
 . 
 
 • 63 
 
 A Concert 
 
 
 . 
 
 • 65 
 
 In Yonder Bay . 
 
 
 . 
 
 . 67 
 
 Night 
 
 
 . 
 
 • 69 
 
 Out on the Moor 
 
 
 . 
 
 • 72
 
 8 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 The Unknown Poets . 
 To one Asleep .... 
 Beyond the Walls of l'eace. 
 The Songs Unsung . 
 
 Part II. — A Ballad of Victory . 
 
 Part III. — Songs 
 
 I. — My Love shall be a Cloud, to Float 
 II. — My Bird who may not Lift his Wing 
 III. — Oh, Moons of Longing that Roll . 
 IV. — If I were in the Valley-Land 
 V. — Why am I singing all Alone 
 VI. — Ah Love, the Sweet Spring Blossoms Cling 
 VII. — When the Sun Shone on the Sand there 
 VIII. — She Comes through the Meadow Yonder 
 IX. — Amid a Crown of Radiant Hills . 
 
 X. — The Little Songs that Come and Go 
 XL — Because your Treasure is Near 
 XII. — I Plucked my Love from out my Heart. 
 XIII. — Outside the Hedge of Roses 
 XIV. — Across the Sea beyond the Sand . 
 
 XV. — For Love of you my Lute was Strung 
 XVI. — I Could not through the Burning Day 
 XVII. — Outside your Heart the Lonely Way 
 XVIII. — Because I Built my Nest so High. 
 XIX.'— My Lover's Lute has Golden Strings 
 
 XX.— Ifal] the World were Right 
 XXI.— If my Poor Words were Colours . 
 XXII.— If you will Sing the Songs I Play. 
 XXIII. — Through all the Happy Summer-time 
 XXIV. — I do not Love you Very Much 
 
 TAGK 
 
 74 
 77 
 79 
 Si 
 
 85 
 
 93 
 
 94 
 96 
 
 98 
 
 99 
 100 
 102 
 
 103 
 104 
 106 
 107 
 109 
 in 
 "3 
 U5 
 117 
 11S 
 120 
 122 
 124 
 
 125 
 126 
 127 
 128
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Three Songs written to Old Music 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. — Croatian ..... 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 131 
 
 2. — Finnish (a translation) ...... 133 
 
 3. — Russian . . . . . • • • J 35 
 
 Part IV. — To my Children 
 
 I.— Shall I make a Song for You . . 139 
 
 II. — Sleep my little Dearest One . 
 
 
 
 
 141 
 
 III. — My little Dear, so fast Asleep 
 
 
 
 
 142 
 
 IV.— Her Hair .... 
 
 
 
 
 144 
 
 V.— On the Moor .... 
 
 
 
 
 146 
 
 VI. — When you are Lonely . 
 
 
 
 
 147 
 
 VII.— In the Woods 
 
 
 
 
 149 
 
 VIII.— June 
 
 
 
 
 151 
 
 IX. — Two Songs .... 
 
 
 
 
 153 
 
 X — In Summer Days . 
 
 
 
 
 • 154 
 
 Part V. — Miscellaneous Poems 
 
 The One I Choose 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 iS9 
 
 Orpheus . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 161 
 
 The Clavichord. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 163 
 
 At Duclair 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 165 
 
 My Palace-Home 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 16S 
 
 A Portrait 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 169 
 
 My Sweetheart . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 172 
 
 Her Lover 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 173 
 
 The Morning Songs 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 i75 
 
 In the Quantock Hills 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 177 
 
 Evening . 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 179
 
 IO 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 To-night . 
 
 Nobody in Town 
 
 A November Rose 
 
 A Model . 
 
 A Bride . 
 
 For Windows by Louis Davis 
 
 181 
 I8 3 
 
 185 
 187 
 190 
 192
 
 Hope 
 
 As still as a shadow falling, 
 
 As swift as a straying leaf, 
 And sweet as a windless morning 
 
 At dawn when the days are brief, 
 Is a snare shall be set to enfold me, 
 Is a net shall be cast and shall hold me, 
 
 Shall gather my soul from grief. 
 
 And spun very fine the thread is, 
 As gossamer webs that seal 
 
 The dews in the folded blossom, 
 And trembling and faint I kneel, — 
 
 For my joy in the delicate weaving 
 
 That is made for my spirit's receiving 
 With threads that are strong as steel.
 
 In April
 
 In April 
 
 I 
 
 As lightly as a filmy veil 
 That folds the April larch, 
 
 My tenderest joy drops like a dream 
 Down from the buds of March, 
 
 My dim sweet joy that fills the wood 
 From delicate arch to arch. 
 
 My frailest joy that draws my heart 
 
 Out from its prison bar, 
 Whose step is swifter and more sweet 
 
 Than all Spring's blossoms are, 
 My trembling joy that holds my soul 
 
 Up like a ransomed star.
 
 1 6 IN APRIL 
 
 What shall I do to keep my joy, 
 That has become so clear, 
 
 Who dare not stir to hold it close, 
 My joy that is so near, 
 
 That wraps me with a filmy veil 
 So woven in with fear.
 
 II 
 
 If I should lose these petals you let fall 
 
 To my stretched hand, 
 If through the leaf-buds I should miss them all, 
 
 And empty stand, 
 The April flowers their petals would recall 
 
 Throughout the land. 
 
 If I should lose these shining clouds of white 
 
 Flying like doves, 
 To some embowered region shut from sight 
 
 Their spirit moves, 
 The glory would drop out of all the light 
 
 That April loves.
 
 I 8 IN APRIL 
 
 If I should miss to toss my reckless heart 
 
 Up to the sky, 
 Through every spray your careless fingers part 
 
 As you go by, 
 In every budding place where blossoms start, 
 
 April would die.
 
 Ill 
 
 Ah, do not let your spirit fail me now, 
 
 Now while the winds are sweet, 
 Now while the sun slips through the willow-bough 
 
 In patterns to my feet, 
 While shadows like mad rivers run, 
 Over the grass to fly the sun, 
 
 Ah, do not fail me now. 
 
 Now while the burnished poplars swing and play, 
 
 Like sails that would be free 
 To reach the untravelled azure far away, 
 
 And take the aerial sea, 
 Yet are too joyous in a birth 
 That binds them to the radiant earth, 
 
 Ah, fail me not to-day. 
 
 C 2
 
 20 IN APRIL 
 
 Ah, do not fail mc while the unbroken dews 
 
 Hang like a captive shower, 
 In vagrant places that my wanderings choose 
 
 To cherish into flower ; 
 Ah, do not let your spirit fail 
 My spirit, while the hours prevail 
 
 That only love can use.
 
 IV 
 
 MUST I walk lonely underneath the seas 
 Of April's blossom, watch the shining drift 
 
 Of clustered bloom through all the apple-trees, 
 With never an azure rift, 
 
 Look upward through the glistening cherry-bough, 
 
 For ever lonely now. 
 
 Must I go empty through sweet lanes of thorn, 
 And see their wands flowered in fleecy white, 
 
 Stretching through all the land now Spring is born, 
 To fill the fields with light, 
 
 Must I stand empty for sweet April's sake 
 
 To watch the leaf-buds break.
 
 22 IN APRIL 
 
 Now when the primrose beds are palest gold, 
 And cuckoo-flowers stand sentinel in the grass, 
 
 Must I see all the joys of April told, 
 And through them joyless pass, 
 
 In all the love that drops from April's sky, 
 
 Must I go loveless by.
 
 V 
 
 I CALL you through the sapphire deep 
 That hides the folded shrouds of sleep, 
 Along the amethystine way 
 That stretches in the wake of day. 
 
 Through all the pearly lakes that soon 
 Flow through the skies below the moon, 
 Through all the heaven's wide sea of light 
 I call you from the caves of night. 
 
 Through all earth's bitter prayers that press 
 Up from its floods of loneliness, 
 To find some pity for their pain, 
 I call you to my heart again.
 
 VI 
 
 On, do you doubt the ways, 
 
 The paths of breaking fire, 
 My chariot wheels shall take these April days 
 
 With swift desire, 
 The road whose delicate shadows are ablaze 
 
 With quivering flames that neither drop nor tire. 
 
 Oh, do you doubt they strayed 
 
 Down from the heavenly hill, 
 My captive steeds whose passionate feet are made 
 
 To be so still, 
 Whose breath stirs tenderly as wind-flowers laid 
 
 In tremulous dreams the April moonlights fill.
 
 IN APRIL 25 
 
 Fear not my steeds shall fail 
 
 To keep their high estate, 
 Their foreheads are new-crowned with stars that pale 
 
 The moons of fate ; 
 Ah, do not doubt my chariot shall avail 
 
 To bring you surely to the Eternal Gate.
 
 By the Arno 
 
 SUNSET 
 
 Between the mountains and the sea, 
 
 And the river flows, 
 With all its prisoned water free 
 
 From the frozen snows, 
 Through the city's heart by night and day, 
 By the palaces and quiet way 
 
 That it loves and knows. 
 
 Upon its breast a crimson stain, 
 
 In the noon-day sun, 
 That trembles to a flower of pain, 
 
 Till the day be done, 
 Till its burning petals break to fire 
 In the passion of a great desire 
 
 That may ne'er be won.
 
 BY THE ARNO 27 
 
 Oh flower of joy that I have found 
 
 For my soul's relief, 
 Thy dews are sweet to parching ground, 
 
 Oh my flower of grief, 
 That I gathered with my fainting breath, 
 Oh my flower of life, my flower of death, 
 
 Let the hour be brief. 
 
 I give thee to the river's breast, 
 
 Where my tears are shed, 
 The city's heart thy place of rest, 
 
 Where my heart has bled, 
 And thy fire to pass me as a tide, 
 In a flood of crimson purple dyed, 
 
 For the joy that's dead. 
 
 Ah me, not all the city's need 
 
 May thy passion hold, 
 The river has no chasm freed 
 
 For thy flames of gold,
 
 BY THE A.RNO 
 
 And thy fire leaps upward to the sky, 
 In a burning flood that will not die 
 Till my heart be cold. 
 
 The city and the river's brink, 
 
 Where I fear to stand, 
 The cup of peace my soul would drink, 
 
 To my trembling hand, 
 And my flower that never dies, ah me — 
 Between the mountains and the sea — 
 
 In the cypress land.
 
 At Night 
 
 The door is shut and barred upon my home, 
 My home that for so long has held my pain, 
 My home where all my tears were wept in vain, 
 And through the night in silence I am come, 
 And my tired hope that all the day was dumb, 
 Has dropped to perish as a wounded bird ; 
 And through the night there is not any word 
 To save my hope whose wings grow cold and numb 
 The darkness presses close on either hand, 
 Oh, I am out upon a driving sea 
 And strain and break to ride as I were free, 
 I drift on swelling tides that seek no strand, 
 That never more may break upon the land, 
 The great unchannelled floods of misery.
 
 II 
 
 The future holds one plot of barren earth 
 That my long grief shall water into flower, 
 And one unborn shall gather there for dower 
 
 A perfect blossom that shall have its birth, 
 
 So rare I may not guess its shape or worth : 
 And there shall be one day so full of joy, 
 Shall heal my shattered days with sweet employ, 
 
 Shall flood their wistful patience with its mirth ; 
 
 Such must there be, oh God, Who made the waste 
 So bare beneath the Heaven, Who hast spread 
 The stones upon the path that I must tread, 
 
 Who set the thorns through which I may not haste, 
 
 The bitter fruits which I must faint to taste, 
 Such must there be, oh God, Who art o'erhead.
 
 Ill 
 
 For those who in Love's Service have no part, 
 Whose altars stand in shadow and are bare, 
 Whose silence never breaks to praise or prayer, 
 For those whose hands are empty in Love's mart, 
 Who through Thy night and day-time feel the smart, 
 The pain of pilgrims outcast from Thy grace, 
 W r ho in Love's company have found no place, 
 But bear Thy doom, oh God, Who made the heart 
 To thirst to madness with its long desire, — 
 
 For those, drop down the deep sleep of Thy 
 
 might — 
 For those, oh God, whose pale uncertain flight 
 From Thy refusals may not rest nor tire, 
 Who drift, as smoke is drifted from the fire, 
 Across a mighty hope that fills the night.
 
 IV 
 
 A storm is passing through the night, and soon 
 The heavy clouds are out upon their road, 
 From east and west they gather up their load, 
 And from the night they ask not any boon 
 But their old right to sweep across the moon, 
 To blot its light and hide the paling stars, 
 To drop their torrents down, and leave the scars 
 Of their fierce passion on the unborn noon : 
 And deep within the night's unbroken breath 
 The blinding courses of their fires arc bent, 
 Their anguish of rebellion poured and spent ; 
 And in Night's even pulse no failing saith 
 How close its ancient bond is held with Death, 
 The brooding Night that knows its great intent.
 
 A Wanderer 
 
 I AM a bird that beats upon the air, 
 
 With tired wings that may not fold in death, 
 With eyes that may no longer pierce despair, 
 
 With broken flight that strives and faints for 
 breath, 
 
 I fall within your gate — 
 Ah take me in and hold me for a day 
 
 Beside your hearth that I may feel its flame, 
 And when the fire has dropped and burned away, 
 I will fly forth again from whence I came ; 
 You shall not know my fate. 
 
 I am a wanderer through the starless night, 
 With secrets of the morning in my breast, 
 I bear a deathless vision of the light 
 
 That flows at dawn about my waiting nest ; 
 Enclose me with your hands — 
 
 D
 
 34 A WANDERER 
 
 The shining dews are hidden in mine eyes, 
 The sweetness of the woods is in my mouth, 
 
 And from your door I may no more arise, 
 So swiftly have I flown to find the South, 
 From out the icy lands. 
 
 Oh hasten to your door, the night is long, 
 
 The coldness clings about me like a shroud, 
 Are all the prison bars of sleep so strong, 
 
 You come not forth to one who calls aloud ; 
 Has Heaven no further care 
 For all the pain and passion of my doom, 
 
 The gathered anguish of a storm that flings 
 Its cry against the silence of your room ; 
 
 I am a wanderer with tired wings, 
 That beat upon the air.
 
 Your Gift 
 
 YOU turn your face away, 
 Whose light would shine 
 On the flower of my spirit that pales, 
 That is sick for the comfort that fails, 
 Whose petals pine 
 And wither day by day. 
 
 Your heart so cold in sleep, 
 I may not wake, 
 And I wander and slip from your sight 
 To the measureless caves of the night, 
 And for your sake 
 My flower of passion keep. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 YOUR CIFT 
 
 You give me to the night 
 That chains the stars, 
 To the dreams that are locked in the earth, 
 That must anguish and die at their birth, 
 Whose shadowy bars 
 Shall ever stay their flight. 
 
 You give me to the wind 
 That rocks the day, 
 And I drift in the wrack of his wings, 
 In the salt of the seas that he flings. 
 A castaway 
 Unloved and left behind 
 
 You give me to my grief 
 That has no place 
 In the cities of earth or of Heaven, 
 That must drift as a ghost that is driven. 
 Shut out from grace, 
 In its great unbelief.
 
 YOUR GIFT 2)7 
 
 Oh you whose heart is cold, 
 If I should show 
 All the waste of my life at your side, 
 All the flower of my soul that has died, 
 You would not know 
 The gift of gifts you hold. 
 
 Oh you whose sleep is dear, 
 And long to take, 
 Should you dream how they sicken and die, 
 Who are cast from the earth and the sky, 
 You would awake 
 And keep your gift for fear.
 
 My Angel 
 
 My passion was an angel veiled in grey, 
 
 She stood and dreamed apart on shadowy ground, 
 
 So still she was she stirred not night or day 
 
 In those dim hills her timorous feet had found ; 
 
 My passion was an angel veiled in grey 
 
 Until she fled you down the immortal way. 
 
 My passion was an angel clad in white, 
 
 Her glistening wings were spread to sweep the 
 skies, 
 
 The eternal gates were opened at her flight, 
 Wet with the unshaken dews of paradise ; 
 
 Till God, Who had no pity for her peace, 
 
 Closed all the heavenly roads of her release.
 
 MY ANGEL 39 
 
 My passion was an angel wrapt in fire, 
 
 Outcast from heaven and pilgrim from her birth, 
 
 About her flamed the torches of desire 
 
 That left no streams of healing on the earth ; 
 
 Till God said she should die for pity's sake — 
 
 My angel neither heaven nor earth would take. 
 
 My angel who is dead you shall not see, 
 
 Nor how your name is scarred upon her breast, 
 
 Scorched on her whiteness for eternity, 
 
 Your tenderest name that burnt her into rest ; 
 
 My angel that you killed you shall not see, 
 
 Shrouded and still she lies 'twixt you and me.
 
 Speedwells 
 
 I CAME to lay my sorrow in the wood, 
 
 It had so heavy grown, 
 And on my way the little speedwells stood, 
 
 And claimed it for their own. 
 
 I came to let my tears in anguish fall, 
 
 They were too great to bear, 
 And now the little speedwells hold them all, 
 
 I have no tears to spare. 
 
 There is no other sign, by flower or leaf, 
 
 To mark the road I came ; 
 This tiny cup of blue bears all the grief 
 
 I had not strength to name.
 
 In Spring 
 
 The land is full of blossom, in the plain 
 
 The flowering orchards lie, 
 As lightly as a mist that brings the rain 
 
 Across the morning sky, 
 As clouds that float at sunrise from the hills, 
 Until the valley with their glory fills, 
 Again, again, 
 
 The Spring that comes in vain. 
 
 Along the green recesses of the air, 
 
 The rapture of her birth, 
 Is flowing as a stream that seeks to bear 
 
 All sweetness of the earth,
 
 42 IN SPRING 
 
 Through woods that hold her myriad flowers and 
 
 leaves, 
 Such joy she has, she hears not one who grieves, 
 She has no care 
 The Spring who may not spare. 
 
 I have no place among her bowers and trees, 
 
 So soon her choice was done, 
 I low shall I bear sweet company with these, 
 
 If love may not be won : 
 Oh sun and shade that fill each leafy deep, 
 In all the faith and promise that you keep 
 Send down some ease, 
 
 Some healing in your breeze. 
 
 I falter in your world so fair and new, 
 
 Beneath your laden boughs, 
 Oh joyous Spring, whose careless heart is true 
 
 To nought but happy vows,
 
 IN SPRING 43 
 
 Oh, Spring, who have no memory for tears, 
 For all the waste of joy through all the years, 
 So few, so few, 
 Your gifts that are my due. 
 
 Beyond your woods and streams my cry awakes, 
 
 Beyond your seas and strands, 
 Its pain shall pierce some lover's heart that breaks 
 
 For love in future lands, 
 And all my passion in his eyes shall shine, 
 And if the song he sings be his or mine, 
 He shall not make 
 
 One more for his dove's sake. 
 
 Across denying Heaven my song shall go, 
 
 Full burdened with my need, 
 And in some lover's veins my love shall flow, 
 
 My love that shall be freed ;
 
 44 IN SPRING 
 
 My longing shall so melt into his sigh, 
 And in his prayer my own so deep shall lie, 
 No word shall show 
 If it be his or no. 
 
 Across the years my thought in his shall rest, 
 
 And he shall guard it well, 
 As mine to his in joy were newly prest 
 
 My heart in his shall dwell, 
 In dreams that hang upon the edge of night, 
 That float between the darkness and the light ; 
 Oh tireless quest, 
 
 Oh search, so strangely blest. 
 
 So near, so near, the one beloved face 
 
 That I may never see, 
 So wise, so sure, across the vasty space, 
 
 The eyes that pity me ;
 
 IN SPRING 45 
 
 Oh friend, oh lover, whom I may not find, 
 Oh Spring, whose great refusals hold and bind, 
 I claim my place 
 Oh Spring, in all your grace.
 
 Wisdom 
 
 How can I measure your sorrow, 
 
 How do I know 
 The weight of to-day and to-morrow, 
 
 Of days long ago, 
 The grief, and the burden to follow, 
 
 That speech may not show ? 
 
 Deep in my heart is the measure, 
 
 Laid by the years, 
 To fathom, beneath all your pleasure, 
 
 The flood of your tears, 
 To mark all the desolate leisure 
 
 Your lonely heart fears.
 
 To the Caryatid 
 
 in the Elgin Room — British Museum 
 
 So long ago, and day by day, 
 I came to learn from you, to pray, 
 You did not hear, you did not know 
 The thing I craved, so long ago. 
 
 The days were always days of spring, 
 Hope laid her hand on every thing, 
 And in your spacious room, on me, 
 She rested it most lovingly. 
 
 Of all the season's sun and showers, 
 I gathered up the fairest flowers,
 
 48 TO THE CARYATID 
 
 And brought my garlands, fresh and sweet, 
 To lay in gladness at your feet 
 
 And prayed to stand in strength, as you, 
 Through the long years untried and new, 
 With dauntless mien and steadfast gaze, 
 To bear the burden of the days. 
 
 Now many tired years are told, 
 My prayer long since is dead and cold, 
 You were too wise to grant it me, 
 Although I prayed so patiently. 
 
 But at your feet my flowers lie, 
 The happy flowers which cannot die, 
 I see them through my tears, and know 
 They are as sweet as long ago.
 
 Release 
 
 All, Love, through what unfathomed deeps 
 
 Thy feet have sped, 
 Up what bare hills and barren steeps 
 
 Thy hands have led, 
 What bitter nights and burning days 
 Have marked thy ways. 
 
 And I have followed all the while, 
 
 So close to thee, 
 Hoping thou wouldest turn and smile, 
 
 To gladden me, 
 To tell me we should safely come 
 To thy fair home. 
 
 E
 
 50 RELEASE 
 
 But thou dost ever onward press, 
 
 With hidden face, 
 Ah surely none may wear thy dress, 
 
 None take thy place ; 
 Ah tell me it is thou indeed 
 With whom I speed. 
 
 Dear Love, dear Love, thy tightening hand 
 
 Is stern and cold, 
 I see the gates of thy great land 
 
 Grown clear and bold, 
 And Death, alone, comes forth in peace 
 To my release.
 
 Comrades 
 
 What shall I do when you pass by 
 And gaze at me so quietly, 
 What shall I give of all my store, 
 To help you to your joy once more ! 
 
 Some jewelled gift, some treasured thing, 
 I had not meant for offering ; 
 Shall I not bid you take the whole 
 Of what I prize, to heal your soul ! 
 
 For I have seen the lonely track, 
 The cruel chasms, bitter black, 
 The stony roads no pastures meet, 
 Which you have pressed with bleeding feet. 
 
 E 2
 
 5^ 
 
 COMRADES 
 
 And heard afar the dire refrain, 
 That beat upon your heart and brain, 
 The thunders through your darkness hurled, 
 Big with the griefs of all the world. 
 
 For I have known the tears and strife 
 Which wasted all your pride of life, 
 The precious hoard God meant should last, 
 Till your perfected years were past. 
 
 And pictured the relentless days, 
 Through which the sunlight never strays, 
 Stretching before you like a sea, 
 Ever more dark and drearily. 
 
 What shall I give, what shall I say, 
 To help you on your lonely way, 
 A kindly hand, a smile or so, 
 A gentler glance — for all I know ?
 
 COMRADES 53 
 
 Maybe a tender word or two, 
 At most a prayer, or tear for you, 
 And strength to tell you help is vain, 
 Dead joys do never rise again.
 
 To a Stranger 
 
 Last night I lay and dreamed of you, 
 Through all the wind and rain, 
 
 So close a part I seemed of you, 
 I could not wake again ; 
 
 Sunk in your spirit, deep, so deep, 
 
 In the blue caverns of my sleep. 
 
 Your face seemed full of love for me 
 You knew my heart's desire, 
 
 Vague and unquiet as the sea, 
 For which I toil and tire 
 
 With prayer and pilgrimage and tears, 
 
 Through all the rolling of the years.
 
 TO A STRANGER 55 
 
 You welcomed me with gentle hands, 
 
 As one expected long, 
 The earth was made of heavenly lands, 
 
 And life an angel-song, 
 Fervent and full from rise to fall, 
 With God's great music through it all. 
 
 How came it to be you I sought, 
 
 In the wide realm of sleep ? 
 Remote from all my waking thought, 
 
 As the two ways we keep 
 Are distant, with dark growths between, 
 Making each day a surer screen. 
 
 And now you draw me with a spell 
 
 I have no power to break, 
 My lonely heart alone knows well 
 
 How it must ache and ache : 
 I pray you do not pass to-day, 
 Till I have dreamed my dream away !
 
 A Prayer 
 
 WllEN summer sweetness fills the land, 
 And summer sunlight floods the sea, 
 
 When ships sail by on either hand, 
 A richly laden argosy ; 
 
 Oh may my boat, well freighted, ride, 
 
 With priceless treasures on the tide. 
 
 When cruel winds beat on the sea, 
 And angry clouds blot out the land, 
 
 When on the waters close to me 
 
 The shattered ships drift by unmanned, 
 
 Oh may my heart be strong to bear 
 
 Its portion, in the great despair.
 
 At Last 
 
 My feet had faltered in the way, 
 
 Before I was aware, 
 In the bleak road it was most mete 
 I should before the night complete, 
 The stony road that tore my feet — 
 
 Which were so bare. 
 
 My eyes were watchful as I went, 
 
 And steadfast night and day, 
 Through all the valley mists that rise 
 From spring to spring — I was so wise- 
 There were not any tearless eyes 
 More clear than they.
 
 58 AT LAST 
 
 So sure upon the road I was, 
 
 My heart was cold as stone, 
 I would not let its passion wake, 
 I strove and killed it for the sake 
 Of that high way I thought to take, 
 
 Till Heaven were won. 
 
 So cold my heart and icy deep, 
 
 The dreams upon it cast, 
 My pain was like a frozen shroud 
 Round a dead Queen whose face is proud, 
 The while I said that God allowed 
 
 Such pain to last. 
 
 But came a day of all the days 
 
 That were so surely bleak, 
 My shroud was changed to leaping flame, 
 From sun and moon and stars there came 
 A fire to fill my heart — whose name 
 
 I dare not speak.
 
 AT LAST 59 
 
 I did not stop for joy or fear, 
 
 I did not stay my feet, 
 I said " My heart is strong as fire, 
 My heart shall burn with its desire, 
 Its rapture shall not break nor tire 
 
 This is most mete." 
 
 Before I was aware, oh God, 
 
 Before my strength could choose, 
 I left the road so long decreed, 
 I faltered — and my steps were freed, 
 To find these flowers — for all my need — 
 These morning dews. 
 
 This summer bed of fragrant thyme, 
 
 For me so newly made, 
 These shining meadows through whose sun 
 Like little streams the shadows run, 
 Where now — before the day is done — 
 
 I am afraid.
 
 60 AT LAST 
 
 My tears are wet upon my cheek 
 
 I have not any care, 
 Deep in the dews I bow my face — 
 To ask Thy pity in this place, 
 Where I have faltered by Thy grace, 
 
 So unaware.
 
 Giving 
 
 Ah, bring it not so grudgingly, 
 
 The gift thou bringest me, 
 Thy kind hands shining from afar 
 
 Let me in welcome see, 
 And know the treasure that they hold 
 For purest gold. 
 
 And with glad feet that linger not, 
 Come through the summer land, 
 
 Through the sweet fragrance of the flowers, 
 Swiftly to where I stand, 
 
 And in the sunshine let me wear 
 
 Thy token rare.
 
 62 GIVING 
 
 Fairer for mc will be the day, 
 Fair all the days will be, 
 
 And thy rich gift upon my breast 
 Shall make me fair to see ; 
 
 And beautiful, through all the years, 
 
 In joys and tears. 
 
 Ah come, and coming do not ask 
 The answering gift of mine, 
 
 Thou hast the pride of offering, 
 Taste now the joy divine, 
 
 And come, content to pass to-day 
 
 Empty away.
 
 October 
 
 FROM falling leaf to falling leaf 
 
 How strange it was, through all the year, 
 In all its joy and all its grief, 
 
 You did not know I loved you dear ; 
 Through all the winter-time and spring, 
 
 You smiled and watched me come and go, 
 Through all the summer blossoming, 
 
 How strange it was you did not know ! 
 
 Your face shone from my earth and sky, 
 Your voice was in my heart always, 
 
 Days were as dreams when you were by, 
 And nights of dreaming linked the days ;
 
 64 OCTOBER 
 
 In my great joy I craved so much, 
 My life lay trembling at your hand, 
 
 I prayed you for one magic touch, 
 How strange you did not understand ! 
 
 From leaf to leaf, the trees are bare, 
 
 The autumn wind is cold and stern, 
 And outlined in the clear sharp air 
 
 Lies a new world for me to learn ; 
 Stranger than all, dear friend, to-day, 
 
 You take my hand and do not know 
 A thousand years have passed away, 
 
 Since last year — when I loved you so.
 
 A Concert 
 
 Ah, was it all a fantasy, 
 
 You in your distant stall, 
 The silver stream of melody 
 
 Which floated through the hall, 
 And I, in my obscurer place, 
 Gazing upon your flower face ? 
 
 Around you how the music clung 
 
 And trembled, till a sea 
 Of passion was unbound and swung 
 
 Between your face and me ; 
 And you were hidden from my sight, 
 
 Plunged into waves of blackest night.
 
 66 A CONCERT 
 
 And when the strife and tumult ceased, 
 
 The music wandered far, 
 From all its human load released, 
 
 To moon and evening star, 
 Where a few notes most clear and true 
 Pierced the deep Heaven's deepest blue. 
 
 Ah, was it all a fantasy ! 
 
 The outer world we reach, 
 As cold and distant as may be, 
 
 A stranger, each to each ; 
 But in my heart a sound so sweet, 
 All Paradise is in the street.
 
 In Yonder Bay 
 
 In yonder bay the waves find rest, 
 They die along the great shore's breast, 
 With one low sound 
 
 Of longing for the fuller breeze 
 Which rode across the trackless seas, 
 And swept them round. 
 
 Ah, love, if I might find their rest, 
 Might end my wanderings on thy breast, 
 
 I should not sigh 
 
 F 2
 
 68 IN' YONDER BAY 
 
 For fuller life, so I might stay 
 My heart's throb on thy heart some day, 
 Before I die.
 
 Night 
 
 And art thou come again, Oh Night, 
 
 I know thee by thy starry crown, 
 And by the mists of violet light 
 
 Which gather where thy robes fall down. 
 I know thee by the purple clouds 
 
 Thy strong wings spread around the moon, 
 And by the stillness which enshrouds 
 
 Thy presence, thou art come too soon, 
 Too soon, for lo thy fair love Sleep 
 
 Turns not her sweet face to the skies, 
 She lingers where the shadows creep, 
 
 And stays to kiss our children's eyes.
 
 yo NIGH T 
 
 But when her gentle hands have blest 
 
 Our homesteads, she will come to thee, 
 And through the holy hours of rest 
 
 Thine arms will hold her safe, and she 
 Will hear the promises again 
 
 Thou bringest from the distant spheres, 
 And learn the reason of our pain, 
 
 The meaning of our bitter tears. 
 Thine eyes are steadfast and I dare 
 
 Their mighty mystery to read, 
 But mine arc dimmed by thought and care, 
 
 And fail me in my greatest need. 
 
 I watch for thee, wilt thou not bring 
 A message to my fainting heart ? 
 
 Through summer-time and snow and spring 
 I watch for thee, must thou depart 
 
 Thus silently — when will it come, 
 That perfect day which we await ?
 
 NIGHT 71 
 
 For us thy lips are ever dumb, 
 And voiceless is thy calm estate. 
 
 Ah ! tell thy fair love Sleep, that she 
 May touch me when she passes by, 
 
 And whisper what she hears from thee 
 In some sweet lullaby.
 
 Out on the Moor 
 
 I HAVE been wandering to-day 
 Out on the moor, and have seen 
 
 The country stretching far away, 
 In stony slopes and wastes of green. 
 
 I watched the distant hill-tops lie 
 Out in the sun-set fair and free, 
 
 Like purple clouds across the sky, 
 — And further still the line of sea. 
 
 I heard the lark above me sing, 
 I saw the plover flying near, 
 
 And many a little hidden spring, 
 
 And twinkling water brown and clear.
 
 OUT ON THE MOOR 73 
 
 And brightest sun and darkest shower, 
 And day and night-time come to rest, 
 
 With toiling wind and tenderest flower, 
 Upon the moor's untiring breast. 
 
 We falter in our smiles and tears, 
 We faint with joys and sorrows won, 
 
 The moors stretch out through all the years, 
 In perfect peace — till Time be done. 
 
 And peace is love, dear love I know 
 There is no greater thing than this, 
 
 It is the utmost love can show, 
 It is the utmost love can miss. 
 
 The love within my soul for thee, 
 Before the world was had its birth, 
 
 It is the part God gives to me 
 Of the great wisdom of the earth.
 
 The Unknown Poets 
 
 In the light of a summer sky, 
 
 In the warmth of a noon-day sun, 
 With the roses in fullest bloom, 
 
 With the gold of the hours to run ; 
 With the earth breathing deep for joy 
 
 Of the riches that deck her breast, 
 With her promises new and sweet, 
 
 They pass unknown to their rest. 
 
 In the busy and eager town, 
 In the desolate crowded street, 
 
 In a passionate great despair 
 For the faces they do not meet ;
 
 THE UNKNOWN POETS 75 
 
 With the world passing heedless by 
 In its pleasure and pride and strife, 
 
 While its magical pulses beat 
 They silently slip from life. 
 
 For the need of a kindly voice 
 
 To bid theirs arise clear and strong, 
 To tell them the world has need, 
 
 Ever need of a poet's song ; 
 For the sound of a healing word 
 
 In their hurts on the stony way, 
 For the want of their daily bread 
 
 They pass, as the chosen may. 
 
 With tears in their tired hearts, 
 
 Bitter tears which they dare not weep 
 
 In the sorrow that gave them birth, 
 In the watches they had to keep ;
 
 j6 THE UNKNOWN POETS 
 
 In a love which they spent for nought, 
 In a longing they might not quell, 
 
 In a life that they failed to live, — 
 And passing, for them, is well. 
 
 In the flood of a triumph song, 
 
 From the burden of words set free, 
 In the beautiful last release 
 
 Of a striving life melody ; — 
 For the sake of a radiant height 
 
 They climbed ere the years were spent, 
 — For the joy of a moment there, 
 
 They die, and are well content.
 
 To One Asleep 
 
 Ah, do not wake, if sleeping be so dear, 
 
 My torch of sorrow on your dream shall shine 
 
 As moonlight, when the darkening cloud is near, 
 More surely for a moment that is mine : 
 
 In your still dream my paling beauty shows 
 
 As dimly as a dying love that knows 
 
 The love it longs for colder than the snows, 
 And barren as the waste where it must pine. 
 
 But let my wandering passion find a fold 
 Within the spacious meadows of your sleep, 
 
 Let its sharp cry that dies not nor grows old, 
 Break through the walls of silence that you keep
 
 7^ TO ONE ASLEEP 
 
 The loneliness of noon and summer-end, 
 Of prayers that tired lips no more may spend, 
 Oh let it stretch about you while I send 
 My cry into your dream that is so deep.
 
 Beyond the Walls of Peace 
 
 If you should meet with one who strays 
 
 Beyond the walls of peace, 
 Who spends the passion of his days 
 
 In dreams that never cease, 
 Oh tell him that the outcast ways 
 
 Find no release. 
 
 If you should look into his eyes, 
 
 And see the shadow there 
 Of his dear City's towers and skies, 
 
 Where once his heart lay bare, 
 Oh tell him those who are most wise 
 
 Their vision spare.
 
 80 BEYOND THE WALLS OF PEACE 
 
 If you should sec him turn and wait, 
 
 Fast bound by his desire, 
 Beyond the walls disconsolate, 
 
 In dreams that never tire, 
 Oh tell him that the city gate 
 
 Is barred by fire. 
 
 No other torches shall divide 
 
 The roads for his release, 
 Oh tell him they stretch dark and wide, 
 
 Long roads that never cease, 
 If you should meet with one outside 
 
 The walls of peace.
 
 The Songs Unsung 
 
 LIGHT as petals in their falling, 
 Through a twilight summer hour, 
 
 Is your coming, and your passing 
 As the perfume of a flower ; 
 
 And your voices by the wayside, 
 As a sigh the trees embower. 
 
 From the forest and the meadow, 
 From the mountain and the sea, 
 
 From the stars beyond the star-world, 
 From the visions yet to be, 
 
 As a dying song you linger 
 On the air, and call to me. 
 
 G
 
 82 THE SONGS UNSUNG 
 
 Stay, ah stay, and cross my threshold, 
 See the door is open wide, 
 
 And I listen for your coming 
 
 Through all things that do betide, 
 
 Through the weeping and the laughter, 
 That you may with me abide. 
 
 I will give you dainty raiment, 
 Jewelled o'er with fancies rare, 
 
 Through the shadow and the sunshine, 
 I will weave it for your wear ; 
 
 Till all people see you clearly 
 In the town's great thoroughfare. 
 
 Ah ! you call me, but to mock me, 
 Fairy folk who will not stay ; 
 
 As I hasten to your summons 
 Like a mist you fade away ; 
 
 Like a dream I dream, awaking, 
 On the border of the day.
 
 A Ballad of Victory 
 
 G 2
 
 A Ballad of Victory 
 
 WITH quiet step and gentle face, 
 
 With tattered cloak and empty hands, 
 
 She came into the market place, 
 A traveller from many lands. 
 
 And by the costly merchandise, 
 
 Where people thronged in eager quest, 
 
 She paused awhile with patient eyes, 
 And begged a little space for rest. 
 
 And where the fairest blossoms lay, 
 And where the rarest fruits were sent, 
 
 From earth's abundant store that day, 
 She turned and smiled, in her content.
 
 86 A BALLAD OF VICTORY 
 
 And where the meagre stall was bare, 
 Where no exultant voice was heard, 
 
 Beside the barren basket, there 
 
 She stayed to say her sweetest word. 
 
 Around her all the people came, 
 Drawn by the magic of her speech, 
 
 To learn the music of her name, 
 
 And whose the country she would reach. 
 
 She looked upon them as she stood, 
 Until her eyes were full of tears, 
 
 She said, " My way is fair and good, 
 And good my service to the years." 
 
 When for her beauty men besought 
 To ease the sadness at her heart, 
 
 She murmured, " You can give me nought 
 But space to rest, ere I depart."
 
 A BALLAD OF VICTORY 87 
 
 When for her tender healing ways 
 The women begged her love again, 
 
 She answered, " In these bounteous days 
 I may not let my love remain." 
 
 And when the children touched her hair, 
 And put their hands about her face, 
 
 She sighed, " There is so much to share, 
 I well might bide a little space." 
 
 But ere the shadows longer grew, 
 
 Or up the sky the evening stole, 
 She took the lonely way she knew, 
 
 And journeyed onward to her goal. 
 
 She turned away with steadfast air 
 
 From all their choice of fair and sweet, 
 
 And as she turned they saw how bare 
 And bruised were her pilgrim feet.
 
 88 A BALLAD OF VICTORY 
 
 Through many a rent and tattered fold, 
 As she went forward on her quest, 
 
 They saw the big wounds, deep and old, 
 The cruel scars upon her breast. 
 
 They called to her to wait and learn 
 
 How they would cure her pain — to dwell 
 
 With them a while, she did but turn 
 And wave her smiling last farewell. 
 
 Then in their midst a woman rose 
 And said, " I do not know her name-, 
 
 Nor whose the land to which she goes, 
 But well the roads by which she came. 
 
 "Among the lonely hills they lie, 
 
 Beyond the town's protecting wall, 
 Where travellers may faint and die, 
 And no one hearken when they call.
 
 A BALLAD OF VICTORY 89 
 
 " Far up the barren heights they go, 
 Worn ever deeper night and day, 
 By toiling feet and tears that flow 
 
 For some sweet flower to mark the way. 
 
 " And down the stony slopes they lead, 
 Through many a deep and dark ravine, 
 Where long ago it was decreed 
 
 Nor sun, nor moonlight should be seen. 
 
 " Across the waste where no help is, 
 
 And through the winds and blinding showers, 
 Among the mist-bound silences 
 
 And through the cold despairing hours. 
 
 " Among the lonely, lonely hills, 
 
 Ah, me, I do not know her name, 
 Nor whose the bidding she fulfils, 
 
 But well the roads by which she came."
 
 90 A BALLAD OF VICTORY 
 
 Then spoke a youth who long apart 
 Had watched the people come and go, 
 
 With clearer eyes and wiser heart, 
 
 And cried, " Her face and name I know, 
 
 " And well the passage of her flight, 
 The starless plains she must ascend, 
 And well the darkness of the night 
 In which her pilgrimage shall end. 
 
 " But stronger than the years that roll, 
 Than travail past or yet to be, 
 She presses to her hidden goal, 
 A crownless unknown ' Victory.' '
 
 Songs
 
 My love shall be a cloud, to float 
 Across the purple deeps of night, 
 
 To bear you in a pearly boat, 
 With sails of light. 
 
 My love shall be a little breeze 
 That passes through the tallest fir, 
 
 To blow you o'er the leafy seas, 
 Like gossamer. 
 
 My love shall be a petal small 
 
 That trembles from a jasmine bower, 
 
 To bring a perfume in its fall, 
 From one sweet flower.
 
 II 
 
 My bird who may not lift his wing, 
 
 Nor stir in his cold nest, 
 Who never more may dare to sing, 
 
 Who sits with frozen breast, 
 My bird who in the wood alone 
 
 Is turned to stone. 
 
 How shall he find the seas of light 
 
 That flood the leafy ways, 
 Or watch the shadow's trembling flight 
 
 That neither goes not stays, 
 How seek his dreaming mate who keeps 
 
 The pearly deeps.
 
 songs 95 
 
 How shall he learn the liquid notes 
 
 That break the passionate air, 
 Or hear the melody that floats 
 
 From love sung unaware, 
 My bird who may not raise his head — 
 
 Who now is dead.
 
 Ill 
 
 Oil, moons of longing that roll 
 
 Through the warm summer sky, 
 Your fires are burning my soul 
 
 That have left you so cold, 
 Oh nights that prison me fast, 
 
 In whose beauty I die, 
 Your spells about me are cast, 
 
 I am lost in your hold. 
 
 My heart is pressed to the springs, 
 
 And the passion of life, 
 My heart is bared to the stings 
 
 And the anguish of death,
 
 songs 97 
 
 My pang of knowledge is deep 
 
 As the seas in their strife, 
 And big the tears that I weep 
 
 With the salt of their breath. 
 
 H
 
 IV 
 
 If I were in the valley-land, 
 
 And you far up the mountain blue, 
 
 Would you just turn and wave your hand, 
 And bid me strive to follow you ? 
 
 If I were in the tossing sea, 
 And you upon the quiet shore, 
 
 Would you send out your help to me, 
 And bid me to my life once more ? 
 
 If I were cast from Heaven's gate, 
 And you within so glad and fair, 
 
 I know you would come forth and wait 
 Beside me, love, in my despair.
 
 V 
 
 Why am I singing all alone, 
 Outside your window here ? 
 
 Because the roses are all blown, 
 And all the sky is clear. 
 
 Because the glen I passed was fair, 
 And fresh with morning dew, 
 
 Because the gold shines in your hair, 
 Because your eyes are blue. 
 
 Because for many a sunny mile 
 The hills stretch out, and furled 
 
 Is every cloud : because God's smile 
 Is shining through the world. 
 
 H 2
 
 VI 
 
 All love, the sweet spring blossoms cling 
 To many a broken wind-tossed bough, 
 And young birds among branches sing, 
 That mutely hung till now. 
 
 The little new-born things which lie 
 In dewy meadows, sleep and dream 
 Beside the brook that twinkles by 
 To some great lonely stream. 
 
 And children, now the day is told, 
 From many a warm and cosy nest, 
 Look up to see the young moon hold 
 The old moon to her breast.
 
 SONGS IOI 
 
 Dear love, my pulses throb and start 
 To-night with longings sweet and new, 
 And young hopes beat within a heart 
 Grown old in loving you.
 
 VII 
 
 When the sun shone on the sand there, 
 And the roses bloomed above, 
 
 When the blue waves kissed the land there 
 How I longed to see my love. 
 
 But he will not hear my calling, 
 And the moonbeams come and go, 
 
 And my tears are falling, falling, 
 Because I want him so.
 
 VIII 
 
 She comes through the meadow yonder, 
 Her face is turned to the west, 
 
 And I divine how her clear eyes shine 
 With the light of a lasting rest ; 
 
 And the rays of the sun-set wander 
 To bless her, and she is blest — 
 
 By touch of their golden splendour, 
 By beauty of earth and sky, 
 
 Her spirit waits at the western gates, 
 No music can pass her by 
 
 That Heaven or Earth may send her, 
 I watch where I stand, and sigh.
 
 IX 
 
 Amid a crown of radiant hills, 
 
 A little wood with blossoms rare 
 Breathes sweetly, while the young- lark trills 
 His new learnt melody and fills 
 The fragrant air. 
 
 Among its boughs the fresh winds play, 
 
 And, where the spreading branches part, 
 The sun-light drops from spray to spray, 
 To seek the ferny streams which stray 
 Within its heart.
 
 SONGS IO5 
 
 And there the wild bee fills his cells, 
 
 And murmurs through the golden hours, 
 And charmed fancies and sweet spells, 
 Are woven in the tall blue-bells 
 And cuckoo-flowers. 
 
 There many a mossy bank entwined 
 
 With shining leaves awaits our choice, 
 Come swiftly, love, my soul unbind 
 With thy dear looks, that it may find 
 Its prisoned voice.
 
 X 
 
 The little songs that come and go, 
 In tender measures, to and fro, 
 Whene'er the day brings you to me, 
 Keep my heart full of melody. 
 
 But on my lute I strive in vain 
 To play the music o'er again, 
 And you, dear love, will never know 
 The little songs that come and go.
 
 XI 
 
 Because your treasure is near 
 
 To the touch of your hand, 
 And fresh and flowing and clear 
 
 Your deep well of delight, 
 The place is bared to the sky 
 
 Where my treasure should stand, 
 The rain of fountains is dry, 
 
 That was sweet to my sight. 
 
 Because your day is ablaze 
 
 With the flowers that are blown, 
 
 And glad for length of the ways 
 That are never to part,
 
 IOS SONGS 
 
 I watch and tremble for grief 
 
 In the shadow alone, 
 And branch and blossom and leaf 
 
 Bring the pain to my heart. 
 
 Because the word is so kind 
 
 That is breathed in your ear, 
 And sweet the thoughts you unbind, 
 
 In your rapture of peace, 
 My words are laggard and late, 
 
 With the thoughts that are dear, 
 My thoughts that falter and wait 
 
 For their joy of release.
 
 XII 
 
 I PLUCKED my love from out my heart, 
 
 My love that burned like fire, 
 My faithful love that would not stray, 
 My love that scarred the night and day 
 My love that burned my soul away, 
 With its desire. 
 
 I flung it to the distant stars, 
 
 When sun and day were fled, 
 And from the night there fell such peace, 
 For comfort of that sweet release 
 I prayed it might not ever cease — 
 Till love were dead.
 
 I IO SONGS 
 
 And with the morning's dawn, my love 
 
 Rose in a flame of light, 
 From every hidden star it leapt, 
 And through my empty heart it swept, 
 For joy of love's return, I wept 
 And veiled my sight.
 
 XIII 
 
 OUTSIDE the hedge of roses 
 That walls my garden round, 
 
 And many a flower encloses, 
 Lies fresh unfurrowed ground. 
 
 I have not delved nor planted 
 In that strange land, nor come 
 
 To sow, in soil enchanted, 
 Fresh promises of bloom. 
 
 My labours all have ended 
 Within my fragrant wall, 
 
 The blossoms I have tended 
 Have grown so sweet and tall.
 
 I I 2 SONGS 
 
 But now in silver showers 
 Your laughter falls on me, 
 
 And fairer than all flowers 
 Your flower- face I see. 
 
 And, bound no more by roses, 
 I break my barrier through, 
 
 And leave all it encloses, 
 Dear one, to follow you.
 
 XIV 
 
 ACROSS the sea beyond the sand, 
 At sunrise I shall sail away, 
 
 To dwell in that enchanted land 
 Where Love does stay. 
 
 And up each lonely mountain peak, 
 Where'er the narrow path may lead, 
 
 Beneath its burning skies I'll seek 
 The One I need. 
 
 Across its plains by moon and star, 
 
 And darkest night my road shall be, 
 Until I clasp the hands which are 
 
 Held forth to me. 
 
 I
 
 114 SONGS 
 
 And if the storms be fierce and strong 
 To tire me ere the search be done, 
 
 My peace will be more sweet and long 
 If peace be won.
 
 XV 
 
 For love of you my lute was strung, 
 When singing days were fair and young, 
 When life and hope and song were new, 
 And all were sweet for love of you. 
 
 For love of you from June to June 
 My heart beat to a triumph tune, 
 And music rose by sea and land, 
 In answer to a victor's hand. 
 
 For love of you from sun to sun, 
 I strove to sing when songs were done, 
 And on each failing string my tears 
 Burnt silence, through the empty years. 
 
 I 2
 
 Il6 SONGS 
 
 But broken now 'neath evening skies, 
 My lute for ever tuneless lies, 
 And I but mourn the songs I knew, 
 Which were so sweet for love of you.
 
 XVI 
 
 I COULD not through the burning day 
 
 In hope prevail, 
 Beside my task I could not stay, 
 
 If love should fail. 
 
 Nor underneath the evening sky, 
 
 When labours cease, 
 Fold both my tired hands and lie 
 
 At last in peace. 
 
 Ah, what to me in death or life 
 
 Could then avail ! 
 I dare not ask for rest or strife 
 
 If love should fail.
 
 XVII 
 
 OUTSIDE your heart the lonely way 
 
 Is dark and cold, 
 There is no light nor guiding ray, 
 
 From any fold. 
 
 Through all the black encircling air 
 
 And blinding rain, 
 I stretch my hands, in my despair, 
 
 For help in vain. 
 
 The wind blows downward from the hills 
 
 In fierce unrest, 
 And bears me wheresoe'er it wills, 
 
 Upon its breast.
 
 SONGS I I 9 
 
 Oh let your heart be opened wide, 
 
 For pity's sake, 
 And bid me come again inside, 
 
 Where mine may break.
 
 XVIII 
 
 Because I built my nest so high, 
 
 Must I despair 
 If a fierce wind, with bitter cry, 
 Passes the lower branches by, 
 
 And mine makes bare ? 
 
 Because I hung it, in my pride, 
 
 So near the skies, 
 Higher than other nests abide, 
 Must I lament if far and wide 
 
 It scattered lies ?
 
 SONGS I 2 I 
 
 I shall but build, and build my best, 
 
 Till, safety won, 
 I hang aloft my new-made nest, 
 High as of old, and see it rest 
 
 As near the sun.
 
 XIX 
 
 My lover's lute has golden strings, 
 Bright as the sunlight in the air, 
 
 My lover touches them and sings 
 His happy music everywhere. 
 
 My lover's eyes see very far, 
 
 Through the great toiling in the street, 
 To where the sea and mountains are, 
 
 And all the land lies still and sweet. 
 
 My lover's lips are very kind, 
 
 He smiles on all who pass him by, 
 
 And all who pass him, leave behind 
 A greeting, with a smile or sigh.
 
 SONGS I 2 3 
 
 My lover's heart, ah none may say 
 How tenderly it beats for me, 
 
 And, if I took my love away, 
 
 How silent all its song would be.
 
 XX 
 
 If all the world were right, 
 How fair our love could grow, 
 
 At what a radiant height 
 
 Its shining flower would blow. 
 
 Through what untroubled air 
 
 Its fragrant boughs would spread, 
 
 On fruit how sweet and rare 
 Might we be freely fed. 
 
 But ah, what should we tend, 
 
 In sorrow and delight, 
 Our hearts how could we spend, 
 
 If all the world were right !
 
 XXI 
 
 If my poor words were colours, 
 
 A magic brush my pen, 
 Ah me, what radiant pages 
 
 My songs would make you then. 
 
 The fairest tints of morning 
 Should picture hopes for you, 
 
 My joy in your sweet living, 
 The sky's divinest blue. 
 
 In purple and in crimson 
 
 My thoughts of you should twine, 
 And through them all my love, dear, 
 
 In purest gold would shine.
 
 XXII 
 
 If you will sing the songs I play, 
 Then you shall be my clear, 
 
 And I will cherish you alway, 
 And love you far and near ; 
 
 If you will, in sweet singing, say 
 
 The songs I play. 
 
 And if to all the deeper strain 
 A surer rhyme you learn, 
 
 Ah me, to what a rich refrain 
 My striving chords shall turn ; 
 
 If you will learn the deeper strain, 
 
 The great refrain.
 
 XXIII 
 
 THROUGH all the happy summer-time 
 
 Your fancy follows me, 
 As lightly as the thistle-down 
 
 Comes floating out to sea. 
 
 Frailer than any flower that grows 
 
 Beside the changing tide, 
 It braves the waters carelessly, 
 
 Where I, in danger, ride. 
 
 Oh bid them both fly home again, 
 Such fair and fragile things, 
 
 Lest I may strive to capture them, 
 To cheer my wanderings.
 
 XXIV 
 
 I DO not love you very much, 
 Only your tuneful voice, 
 
 Which, in a happy moment, takes 
 The music of my choice. 
 
 I do not love you, dear, at all, 
 Only your merry ways, 
 
 Which linger in my mind, and set 
 Me dreaming through the days 
 
 In truth, I think it is dislike 
 You kindle in my heart, 
 
 Because you come so joyously 
 To steal so large a part.
 
 Three Songs Written to Old Music 
 
 K
 
 Croatian 
 
 Rose that wert red, 
 
 Drop thy flower on my head, 
 
 Rose that wert red. 
 
 Leaves that were sweet, 
 Spill thy dews on my feet, 
 Leaves that were sweet. 
 
 Bird whose tired song 
 Broke and died the day long, 
 Sing thy old wrong. 
 
 Heart whose clear flame 
 Failed before the night came, 
 Hide thy sharp shame. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 CROATIAN 
 
 Rose that wcrt red, 
 
 Drop thy flower on my head, 
 
 Now that I am dead.
 
 Finnish 
 
 (A Translation) 
 
 FAR so far my sweetheart is, 
 Long it takes to find him, 
 
 Lonely miles of land and sea 
 Left so far behind him. 
 
 Far so far my sweetheart strays, 
 And my hope is dying, 
 
 Far so far, the little birds 
 Cannot there be flying. 
 
 If a letter that were his 
 
 Some swift bird would bear me 
 I should be so surely healed, 
 
 Sorrow then would spare me.
 
 134 FINNISH 
 
 Fly to me, oh little bird, 
 Speak that I may hear you, 
 
 Were you in my sweetheart's land 
 And my sweetheart near you ? 
 
 Fly to me, oh little bird, 
 Speak that I may hear you.
 
 Russian 
 
 All the night and all the day, 
 
 In the desert I do stray, 
 
 Through the wind and through the snow, 
 
 In the darkness I must go. 
 
 When the winter days are done, 
 Fainting in the summer sun, 
 On the treeless plains I stray, 
 Through the night and through the day. 
 
 From your heart which is my home, 
 Sad and outcast I do roam, 
 Lost beneath an alien sky, 
 While the suns and moons go by.
 
 136 RUSSIAN 
 
 Deep the pain that does not end, 
 Sharp the cry that I do send, 
 From the desert where I roam, 
 Sad and outcast from my home.
 
 To my Children
 
 I 
 
 SHALL I make a song for you, 
 
 Children dear, 
 Not too hard or long for you, 
 
 Just as clear 
 As your lives which opened so, 
 
 A while ago ? 
 
 How shall I find any word 
 
 Old or new, 
 That the wise earth has not heard 
 
 Ages through, 
 Ever since her ways grew sweet 
 
 With little feet ?
 
 I4O TO MY CHILDREN 
 
 How you bless my clay and hour, 
 
 She can say, 
 As the sweet and spotless flower 
 
 Of her may 
 Lies in fullest bloom at rest, 
 
 Upon her breast. 
 
 All the happy service done, 
 
 Well she knows, 
 All the longing, and the one 
 
 Prayer that goes 
 Trembling through the unknown years, 
 
 For you my dears. 
 
 How I love you, she repeats, 
 
 How rejoice, 
 All my singing she completes, 
 
 For my voice, 
 Of the song in her great heart, 
 
 Is but a part
 
 II 
 
 SLEEP my little dearest one, 
 
 I will guard thy sleep, 
 Safely little nearest one, 
 
 I will hold thee deep, 
 In the dark unfathomed sea 
 Where sweet dreams are made for thee. 
 
 Rest my little baby dear, 
 
 I will watch thy rest, 
 Thou shalt feel the waters near, 
 
 Only on my breast ; 
 In the strong and tender tide, 
 Still my love shall be thy guide.
 
 Ill 
 
 My little dear, so fast asleep, 
 
 Whose arms about me cling, 
 What kisses shall she have to keep, 
 
 While she is slumbering ? 
 
 Upon her golden baby-hair, 
 
 The golden dreams I'll kiss 
 Which Life spread through my morning fair, 
 
 And I have saved, for this. 
 
 Upon her baby eyes I'll press 
 
 The kiss Love gave to me, 
 When his great joy and loveliness 
 
 Made all things fair to see.
 
 TO MY CHILDREN 1 43 
 
 And on her lips, with smiles astir, 
 
 Ah me, what prayer of old 
 May now be kissed to comfort her, 
 
 Should Love or Life grow cold.
 
 IV 
 
 Her Hair 
 
 EACH morning, as the day begins, 
 Her hair is sunlight to my eyes, 
 
 Each morning as a new day wins 
 The changeful skies. 
 
 In silken mists the tresses wind 
 
 And float about her, while my hands 
 
 With loving care each day unbind 
 The yellow strands. 
 
 And then a dancing cloud of gold 
 Plays all around my darling's face, 
 
 Each morning while the days still hold 
 My hour of grace.
 
 HER HAIR 145 
 
 And lightly, from my finger-tips, 
 The sadness I no more can stay 
 
 Into the golden glory slips, 
 And dies away.
 
 On the Moor 
 
 Out on the moor the sun is bright, 
 
 And the gorse is yellow, 
 The sky is blue and the air is light, 
 
 And a little fellow 
 May walk for miles in the grassy way, 
 On a holiday. 
 
 Out on the moor the wild bee dips 
 
 In the sweet fresh heather, 
 And through the bracken the young hare slips, 
 
 In the autumn weather, 
 And all around shine the tiny wings 
 Of a thousand things.
 
 VI 
 When You are Lonely 
 
 When you are lonely, full of care, 
 
 Or sad with some new sorrow, 
 And when your tired fancy hides 
 
 The brightness of the morrow, 
 Ah, turn your footsteps to the woods 
 
 And meadows, where the rills, 
 Are quietly flowing, when the moon 
 
 And stars shine on the hills. 
 
 Upon your brow the great wise trees 
 Will breathe, and something sweet 
 
 Will reach you from the fragrant grass 
 You press beneath your feet, 
 
 L 2
 
 [48 WHEN V«U' AKK LONELY 
 
 And a fair spirit of the fields, 
 Peaceful and happy-eyed, 
 
 Will find a way into your heart, 
 I think, and there abide.
 
 VII 
 In the Woods 
 
 Are your grave eyes graver growing ? 
 
 Sweetheart, may I look 
 At the treasured thoughts which move you 
 
 In the poet's book ? 
 Stay not in the lazy shade 
 
 With the drowsy roses ; 
 Come into the woods and see 
 
 Where I find my posies. 
 
 Has the buried singer left us 
 
 Songs to make you weep ? 
 Are you saddened by the sorrow 
 
 That his numbers keep ?
 
 150 IN THE WOODS 
 
 Or were all the songs he gave us 
 Born in happy hours ? 
 
 Come with me, he found his music 
 Where I find my flowers.
 
 VIII 
 
 June 
 
 The skies are blue 
 
 O'er the meadow now, 
 And the leaves are new 
 
 On the willow-bough, 
 While the glad earth sings 
 
 In one joyous tune, 
 All the happy things 
 
 Of the happy June. 
 
 Oh the joyous time 
 
 Of the fresh sweet June, 
 And the happy rhyme 
 
 That must die so soon ;
 
 JUNE 
 
 But again — again — 
 
 When the years are young, 
 Will the sweet refrain 
 
 Be sung — be sung.
 
 IX 
 
 Two Songs 
 
 WINDS blow cold in the bright March weather, 
 Yet I heard her sing in the street to-day, 
 
 The tattered garments scarce hung together 
 Round her tiny form as she turned away ; 
 
 She was too little to know or care 
 
 Why she and her mother were singing there. 
 
 Skies are fair when the buds are springing, 
 
 When the March sun rises up fresh and strong, 
 
 And a little maid, with her mother, singing, 
 Smiled in my face as she skipped along, 
 
 She was too happy to wonder why 
 
 She laughed and sang as she passed me by.
 
 X 
 
 In Summer Days 
 
 Is it the sunshine on my eyes 
 
 Such slumber throws, 
 Here as I sit, too tired to rise, 
 
 They to unclose : 
 Here as I sit with work undone, 
 In the wind and sun ? 
 
 Is it the sunshine makes me weep, 
 
 My little ones, 
 Makes me silently pray for sleep, 
 
 While the day runs 
 From morn to noon and noon to night, 
 And the quiet star-light ?
 
 IN SUMMER DAYS 1 55 
 
 Ah sun and wind, so strong and good, 
 
 That lap me round 
 With all the sweetness of the wood, 
 
 From tree and ground ; 
 You make no cheeks with sorrow wet, 
 No sad eyes set. 
 
 I weep for one short hour to sing, 
 
 In all the day, 
 The happy fancies I would bring 
 
 The children's play ; 
 To give the gifts they ask of me, 
 
 Which should be so free. 
 
 My hand to take when sights are new, 
 
 And strange thoughts grow, 
 My heart to lean on, with the few 
 
 Child-dreams I know ; 
 My loving arms throughout the years 
 For their smiles and tears.
 
 156 IN SUMMER DAYS 
 
 And ever I go out and in 
 
 More wearily, 
 With shrunken life so pale and thin, 
 
 And drearily 
 I murmur that I must not stay, 
 For their grief or play. 
 
 I must not stay, the hours are fleet, 
 
 And much to do, 
 And much to earn for daily meat, 
 
 The days all through, 
 To keep the little hard won nest 
 For the children's rest. 
 
 Ah lady with the folded hands, 
 
 You drive in state, 
 So close to where my baby stands 
 
 Most desolate, 
 With folded hands you pass, each day, 
 And you look away !
 
 Miscellaneous Poems
 
 The One I Choose 
 
 How shall I, in my pride, array 
 
 The one I choose, 
 What purple and what gems display 
 
 For her to use, 
 What flowing silk and flowered hem, 
 
 What diadem ? 
 
 What shall I, in my love, desire 
 
 Her eyes to see, 
 When she steps forth in her attire 
 
 So daintily, 
 What pathway shall I deem most meet 
 
 For her dear feet ?
 
 [6o THE ONE I CHOOI 
 
 Each thread of gold, in Heaven wrought, 
 
 Which I receive 
 To fashion my divinest thought, 
 
 I will inweave, 
 And twine a rare and royal dress 
 
 For my princess. 
 
 In her clear sight the magic earth 
 
 Shall all be fair, 
 No evil thing will come to birth 
 
 In her pure air, 
 All paths shall turn to fragrant ways 
 
 Wherein she strays.
 
 Orpheus 
 
 We wandered in that shadowland, 
 
 My fair love, you and I, 
 Through all its strangeness hand in hand, 
 
 We journeyed silently. 
 
 My lyre is hanging cold and dumb, 
 
 Mute with our triumph song, 
 I have no voice now you are come, 
 
 Whom I have sought so long. 
 
 But I will bring you in Love's land, 
 
 Into Love's highest place, 
 And crown you there, and understand 
 
 The wonder of your face. 
 
 M
 
 1 62 ORPHEUS 
 
 And then my joyous song shall rise 
 To sun and moon and star ; 
 
 And all the worlds beyond the skies 
 Shall tell how fair you are.
 
 The Clavichord 
 
 The night is full of fantasies, 
 
 And, while you play, 
 A light wind blows among the trees 
 
 Far, far away. 
 
 And far away the daffodils 
 
 Begin to stir, 
 While all the sunny woodland fills 
 
 With gossamer. 
 
 And now a starry bugle calls, 
 
 And lo, in rings 
 And crystal drops, the music falls 
 
 From angels' wings. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE CLAVICHORD 
 
 There arc sweet whisperings in the air, 
 
 And softly told 
 Are fair forgotten things, that were 
 
 So dear of old. 
 
 And now the tale is newly said, 
 
 Of sad and sweet, 
 And now the unseen choir have fled 
 
 With twinkling feet. 
 
 Their floating raiment touches me 
 
 As they depart, 
 And new songs strive for melody 
 
 Within my heart.
 
 At Duclair 
 
 The song of songs my heart would make 
 Is full as the great river is, 
 Of summer's noon-day mysteries ; 
 
 Of imaged orchards that do slake 
 
 A thirst within its flood to take 
 Their rapture of cool dreams. 
 
 The sun's immortal nets that strive 
 To catch the ripples as they move, 
 The pools whose deepest waters prove 
 A haven all the heavens contrive, 
 Where summer clouds may come to drive 
 Their cars and fleecy teams, —
 
 I 66 AT DUCLAIR 
 
 The starry flowers that mark the way 
 By grassy margins to the wood, 
 The shining flowers whose quiet mood 
 
 Is as of starlight to the day, 
 
 All these are in my song to stay 
 The floods of my desire. 
 
 The wandering shadows from the west 
 That every summer twilight brings, 
 To hold the stream with spreading wings, 
 
 And every fallen star whose quest 
 
 Is hidden in the river's breast, 
 Burn in my song like fire, — 
 
 With all the passionate tides that bear 
 The travail of the shrouded nights, 
 When hanging from their gleaming lights, 
 
 Shining like jewels set in air, 
 
 Great boats, that through the darkness fare 
 Sweep upwards from the sea.
 
 AT DUCLAIR I 6/ 
 
 So heavy in my song they He, 
 
 These summer mysteries that break 
 My heart for love, that, for your sake, 
 If you should breathe one tiniest sigh 
 For love of me, the song would die, 
 Its burden would be free.
 
 My Palace-Home 
 
 Give me thy hand, dear friend, and let me take thee 
 Into my palace-home and garden fair, 
 
 Beside me follow close, ah, it will make thee 
 Still dearer, sweetest friend, to see thee there. 
 
 Give me thy hand, dear friend, and let me show thee 
 The peaceful resting places in the shade, 
 
 Where the stream, flowing pleasantly below thee, 
 Stills each unquiet thought the day has made. 
 
 ***** 
 
 No, no, dear friend, my palace-home is lonely, 
 
 No hand but mine may pluck the flowers there, 
 And, since for me they bud and blossom only, 
 Thou canst not tell me that they are not fair.
 
 A Portrait 
 
 In winter days you came to me, 
 When sitters all had taken flight, 
 
 When I no longer thought to see 
 Gay faces by my studio light ; 
 
 When grave and gay long since had sought 
 
 The brightness mine no longer brought. 
 
 And when my painting, good and ill, 
 Discarded lay amid the gloom, 
 
 When only shadows stayed to fill 
 The vacant spaces of my room ; 
 
 In such a dreary hour your feet 
 
 Came kindly up the lonely street.
 
 17° A PORTRAIT 
 
 Of silks and jewels rarely wed, 
 
 Of flower-hued embroideries, 
 Your flowing raiment surely shed 
 
 A heavenly fragrance for my ease ; 
 And healing rays for me to see 
 And paint you by — so gratefully. 
 
 And with the cunning of my hand, 
 And with the passion of my heart, 
 
 With all my life at my command 
 Did I perform my grateful part, 
 
 And beautiful beyond compare, 
 
 I set you on my canvas there. 
 
 But you, with nought but laughing ey 
 Went forth again without a word, 
 
 From my beseeching prayers and sighs, 
 You turned, as though you had not heard, 
 
 You would not learn, or stay to see, 
 
 The triumph you had made for me.
 
 A PORTRAIT 171 
 
 And when the year had changed to spring 
 
 And, idle through the sunny day, 
 About you I sat wondering, 
 
 You came once more my studio way, 
 And with a cold indifferent face 
 You passed the old familiar place. 
 
 With all its former splendour gone, 
 
 In sombre folds your raiment fell, 
 No jewels from its dulness shone 
 
 Of all that I had loved so well, 
 No beauty now nor grace betrayed 
 Yours was the picture I had made. 
 
 Then for my gratitude's sweet sake, 
 With firm and patient brush I drew, 
 
 And painted out my last mistake — 
 The beautiful dear face I knew — 
 
 And empty now — whate'er befall 
 
 Your canvas hangs upon my wall.
 
 My Sweetheart 
 
 My sweetheart lavs her hand in mine, 
 When she would have me glad, 
 
 She sings and sings, she never knows 
 What music makes me sad. 
 
 My sweetheart holds my heart to hers, 
 When she would have me rest, 
 
 She never hears the heavy sigh 
 That breaks within my breast. 
 
 Her sweet lips press my tired lids, 
 When she would have me sleep ; 
 
 Alas, they have no power to stay 
 The burning tears I weep.
 
 Her Lover 
 
 The birds sang from the tree, 
 
 " Sweetheart 
 Go forth across the silent hills, 
 For, in the vale their shadow fills, 
 Thy love awaiteth thee 
 
 With lonely heart." 
 
 She wound a wreath of flowers 
 
 So sweet, 
 And, while the birds still sang their som 
 Across the hills, she passed along 
 In the fair sunrise hours, 
 
 Her love to meet.
 
 1 74 HER l.n\ i ! 
 
 But when the sun, asleep 
 
 At eve, 
 Lay hid behind a purple cloud, 
 Each little bird in leafy shroud 
 Saw her return and weep, 
 
 " And dost thou grieve ? " 
 
 " Ah no, I am not sad," 
 
 She said, 
 " He did not know me when I came, 
 But I have crowned him all the same, 
 And how can I be sad ? 
 
 My heart is glad."
 
 The Morning Songs 
 
 And will you sing the songs anew, 
 
 The songs you made for me, 
 When, in the sunrise and the dew, 
 The earth seemed made so fair, for you 
 To turn to melody ? 
 
 And will you seek the flowers again 
 
 You gathered in the spring, 
 Sweet flowers, fragrant with the rain 
 Of tears you will not weep again, 
 In all your gathering ?
 
 176 THE MORNING SONGS 
 
 Ah no, the morning songs are sung, 
 
 And Time treads on apace, 
 High overhead the sun is hung, 
 While in its heat your life is swung, 
 God grant you fullest grace : 
 
 And tuneful ear to string your lute 
 
 To every season's range, 
 Until your lips are cold and mute, 
 Till song and blossom bear their fruit 
 
 In the great changeless change. 
 
 But when the last full numbers break, 
 
 The songs you made for me 
 Shall stir, as when the birds awake, 
 And in your heart sweet singing make, 
 Of morning memory.
 
 In the Quantock Hills 
 
 Here Autumn, like a flying bird 
 
 That through the quivering foliage trills, 
 Comes swiftly in the night, and stays 
 A moment in these grassy ways, 
 Among the hills. 
 
 And with the day's awakened sun, 
 O'er every gold and purple mile, 
 A finer radiance shows where she 
 Folded her bright wings graciously, 
 To rest awhile. 
 
 N
 
 178 IN THE QUANTOCK HILLS 
 
 1 1 ere all the earth is crystal clear, 
 
 And all its people wise and free, 
 Here where the orchards, each on each, 
 Run down the valley, till they reach 
 A crystal sea.
 
 Evening 
 
 LISTEN and we shall hear the voice 
 
 Of Evening, her name she told, 
 When we stayed our boat by the shore to know 
 What wee flower shone 'neath the willow so, 
 
 And her hair was radiant gold. 
 
 Now veiled in grey with silent step, 
 
 She walks where shades are deep, 
 And the great trees hear, and the blossoms know 
 The song she sings, and her music low 
 
 Is charming them to sleep. 
 
 N 2
 
 I So EVENING 
 
 My unseen brother and sister 
 
 Who dwell 'neath the roofs we pass, 
 Are you sad and weary with toil and care, 
 My rest is full, I have rest to spare, 
 I whisper it through your grass.
 
 To-Night 
 
 The hours of the day have departed, 
 
 They folded their wings to rest, 
 When the last red ray of sun-light 
 
 Faded away in the west, 
 And fleecy clouds cover the stars, 
 
 And beyond is a world of blue, 
 And my soul awakes from a slumber 
 
 To-night, and I see right through — 
 
 Away to a world of azure, 
 
 Where white-winged spirits meet, 
 
 While the clouds float and fade below them, 
 And the stars shine at their feet.
 
 182 TO-NIGHT 
 
 They hold out their hands in welcome, 
 And now, for a moment of time, 
 
 Limitless worlds and boundless space, 
 And planets — they all are mine.
 
 Nobody in Town 
 
 I STAND upon my island home, 
 
 My island home in Regent Street, 
 And listen to the ceaseless foam 
 
 Of traffic breaking at my feet : 
 The sky above is clear and sweet, 
 
 The summer day is smiling down, 
 I muse upon it, and repeat 
 
 That there is nobody in town. 
 
 All day a living metronome 
 
 Keeps up a firm relentless beat, 
 
 All day the little children roam 
 Through airless alleys, in the heat ;
 
 184 NOBODY IN TOWN 
 
 All day the men and women meet 
 With tired eyes, and settled frown, 
 
 I marvel, in my safe retreat, 
 That there is nobody in town. 
 
 Ah world beneath the sky's blue dome, 
 In flannels white, and spotless gown, 
 
 Ah would that such a day might come, 
 When there was nobody in town.
 
 A November Rose 
 
 You came to see me yesterday, 
 And plucked a rose-bud on your way, 
 Do you remember ? 
 
 From the sweet bush beside your gate, 
 I did not know it bloomed as late 
 As dull November. 
 
 To-day the world is grey and old, 
 
 Around me, with the fog and cold, 
 
 A dark night closes. 
 
 And I, with thoughts akin to tears, 
 Travel through many bygone years 
 Marked by your roses.
 
 [86 A NOVEMBER ROM 
 
 For blossoms all will soon be done, 
 My latter days are nearly won 
 For quiet reflection. 
 
 And I am tired, and you are sad, 
 For all the love you might have had, 
 And sweet protection. 
 
 But dear, from your November rose 
 To-night a deeper memory grows, 
 Than friend's or lover's. 
 
 Deep as the knowledge is to be, 
 When my last slumber carefully 
 The brown earth covers.
 
 A Model 
 
 Year after year I sit for them, 
 
 The boys and girls who come and go, 
 
 Although my beauty's diadem 
 Has lain for many seasons low. 
 
 When first I came my hair was bright, 
 How hard, they said, to paint its gold, 
 
 How difficult to catch the light 
 That fell upon it, fold on fold. 
 
 How hard to give my happy youth 
 In all its pride of white and red, 
 
 None would believe, in very truth, 
 A maiden was so fair, they said.
 
 I 88 A MODEL 
 
 How could they know they gave to me 
 The daily hope which made me fair, 
 
 Sweet promises of things to be, 
 The happy things I was to share. 
 
 The flowers painted round my face, 
 The magic seas and skies above, 
 
 And many a far enchanted place 
 Full of the summer time and love. 
 
 They set me in a fairy-land, 
 
 So much more real than they knew, 
 
 And I was slow to understand 
 
 The pictures could not all come true. 
 
 But one by one, they died somehow, 
 
 The waking dreams which kept me glad, 
 
 And as I sat, they told me now, 
 None would believe a maid so sad.
 
 A MODEL 189 
 
 They paint me still, but now I sit 
 Just for my neck and shoulder lines, 
 
 And for the little lingering bit 
 Of colour in my hair that shines. 
 
 And as a figure worn and strange 
 Into their groups I sometimes stray, 
 
 To break the light, to mark their range 
 Of sun and shade, of grave and gay. 
 
 And evermore they come and go, 
 
 With life and hope so sweet and high, 
 
 In all the world how should they know 
 There is no one so tired as I !
 
 A Bride 
 
 I saw your portrait yesterday, 
 
 Set in a golden frame, 
 Around it twines a blossom-spray, 
 
 Beneath it is your name. 
 
 And tender smiles are round your mouth, 
 High thoughts are on your biow, 
 
 The world is beautiful as Youth, 
 You are so happy now. 
 
 The shining gates are opened wide, 
 
 Love stretches forth his hand 
 And bids the bridegroom bring his bride 
 
 Into the promised land.
 
 A BRIDE IQI 
 
 And you and he dwell there alone, 
 
 Beneath Love's summer sky, 
 While all the world's great grief and moan 
 
 As a sad dream pass by. 
 
 Yet on Love's flowers strange and rare, 
 
 Your saddest tears shall fall, 
 And in Love's country you shall fare 
 
 The loneliest of all. 

 
 For Windows by Louis Davis 
 
 ARISING from her jewelled bower, 
 Dawn steps from out the flaming sky, 
 
 And in her hand are hopes that flower, 
 And at her feet the hours that die. 
 
 But ere the darkest shadows fall, 
 
 Sweet Evening comes from twilight lands, 
 She pours her peace upon us all, 
 
 And touches us with healing hands. 
 
 in: PRINTED IV Wll AND sons, limited.
 
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