THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 IRVINE 
 
 GIFT OF 
 Walter Allen
 
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 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 VILLA RUBEIN, AND OTHER STOVES 
 THE ISLAND PHARISEES 
 THE MAN OF PROPERTY 
 THE COUNTRY HOUSE 
 FRATERNITY 
 THE PATRICIAN 
 
 A COMMENTARY 
 A MOTLEY 
 
 PLAYS : THE SILVER BOX 
 JOY 
 STRIFE 
 JUSTICE 
 
 THE LITTLE DREAM 
 THE PIGEON
 
 MOODS, SONGS, AND 
 DOGGERELS 
 
 BY 
 JOHN GALSWORTHY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 1912
 
 Copyright, 1912, by Charles Scribner's Sons 
 
 Published March, 1912 
 
 PR 
 
 Mt
 
 TO 
 MY WIFE
 
 THE Author's thanks are due to the Editors 
 of Scribner's Magazine, Atlantic Monthly, 
 English Review, Nation, Outlook, and Daily 
 Mail for permission to reprint some of these 
 verses. 
 
 March 1912.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 MOODS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Dream 3 
 
 Courage 19 
 
 Love 20 
 
 Errantry 21 
 
 Time 24 
 
 * Acceptation 25 
 
 The Seeds of Light 26 
 
 I Ask 28 
 
 Highland Spring 29 
 
 The Downs 30 
 
 Old Year 31 
 
 The Moon at Dawn 33 
 
 Serenity 34 
 
 Nightmare 36 
 
 On a Soldier's Funeral 37 
 
 Let 39 
 
 Rhyme of the Land and Sea 40 
 
 Slum Cry 41 
 
 Autumn by the Sea 42 
 
 Magpie 44 
 
 *- Question 45 
 
 Silver Point 48 
 ix
 
 PAGE 
 
 Deflowered 49 
 
 The Soul 50 
 
 Autumn 52 
 
 Street Lamps 54 
 
 Persia Moritura 56 
 
 Gaulzery Moor 58 
 
 The Moor Grave 59 
 
 The Prayer 60 
 
 Dedication 61 
 
 SONGS 
 
 Devon to Me! 65 
 
 A Mood 68 
 
 Counting the Stars 69 
 
 Straw in the Street 71 
 
 Cuckoo Song: Dartmoor 72 
 
 Countryman's Song 74 
 Land Song of the West Country 76 
 
 Past 79 
 
 When Love is Young 81 
 
 Wind 82 
 
 Rose and Yew 83 
 
 The Cup 84 
 
 Village Sleep Song 85 
 
 x
 
 DOGGERELS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Drake's Spirit 89 
 
 Plymouth 91 
 
 The Cliff Church 92 
 
 Promenade 94 
 
 Tittle-Tattle 95 
 
 The Robin 97 
 
 To My Dog 98 
 
 "The Birth of Venus" 100 
 To the Spirit of Our Times. [1899] 101 
 
 The Flowers 104 
 
 Hetaira 106 
 
 The Devon Sage 107 
 
 '-Rhyme after Rain 109 
 
 Life? in 
 
 XI
 
 MOODS
 
 A Dream 
 
 I dreamed. Now God appeared to me, 
 And beckoned. Forth, in night, we went 
 To where a tall and lonely tree 
 With ropes of yew-dark bough was bent. 
 And, crowned by fiery sky of stars, 
 God said: "0 man! confess thy faith! 
 The word thou speakest saves or bars, 
 For here are gallows of thy death 1" 
 
 Then, staring at that gallows yew, 
 
 And all the starry witness, I 
 
 With ague shuddered. Well I knew 
 
 That I must speak, and tell no lie; 
 
 For if in cowardice I fled 
 
 The clean confession of my hope, 
 
 God would not spare, but hang me dead 
 
 Within that twine of yew-dark rope.
 
 Yet even while I strove to find 
 Breath for my words, to make them live, 
 There stabbed such pity thro' my mind 
 That I my happy life must give 
 Give up my little day, my all, 
 With this my unrepentant breath, 
 And watch my choking body fall 
 Condemned by my own words to death. 
 
 For surely what I had to tell, 
 The doubting story of my trust, 
 Denying faith in Heaven or Hell, 
 Would make me very gallows-dust 
 To this dark God stark standing there, 
 So like a tall black shadow flung 
 Up high on misty midnight air 
 By lighted lanthorn lowly swung.
 
 And all my days of past delight, 
 As to a drowning man came by 
 And all the litanies of night 
 And prayed, and spoke me tenderly. 
 And all the perfume and the grace, 
 The stealing beauty of this earth, 
 Put out its fingers to my face, 
 And softly murmured me its worth. 
 
 I saw my love with tender eyes, 
 And unbound hair, and girdle free; 
 I watched her darken with surprise, 
 And cry: "Dost thou abandon me?" 
 And what could I but answer then: 
 "My flower, my pearl, my summer sky, 
 When God requires their faith of men, 
 What can they do, save speak and die?"
 
 I marked the pageantry of noon 
 Once more with gold and music pass; 
 I saw the silvery cold moon 
 Spill her last glamour on the grass; 
 I hung once more above that stream, 
 Whose twining waters draw me down 
 And down from gazing, till I seem 
 Myself to be that water brown. 
 
 I felt the last sweet wind creep up 
 To tell his tale from tree to tree, 
 And steal his scent from honey-cup 
 And shake the fragrance over me. 
 I heard once more the cuckoo's call 
 And ah! the misery of pain, 
 To know that once was once for all, 
 And I'd not hear my bird again.
 
 I heard a last proud battle-cry, 
 And felt my pulses leap once more, 
 And saw bright lances pierce the sky 
 And all the wizardry of war. 
 I felt once more the wings of sleep 
 Soft closing round my drowsy head, 
 And pressed my languid being deep 
 Within the snowdrift of my bed. 
 
 Then, as I choked, and manned my soul 
 For death, two stars came flying low, 
 As might some disembodied owl, 
 Circling unsighted, but for glow 
 Of its twin yellow eyes; then all 
 The owlish stars came clustering near; 
 And from its horrid grandeur tall 
 That gallows-yew bent down to hear.
 
 And faint I spoke: "I know my faith 
 But shadows that required of men. 
 Yet, thou God! if only wraith 
 Of creed I hold, 'tis all I can. 
 For well I know that he is base 
 Who hides in grey hypocrisy, 
 And glib pretends, to save his face, 
 And says 'I see/ who does not see. 
 
 "This then, O God! is all my creed: 
 In the beginning there was still 
 What there is now, no less, no more; 
 And at the end of all there will 
 Be just as much. There is no score 
 Of final judgment. Wonder's tale 
 Will never, never all be told. 
 There will be none without the pale, 
 No saint elect within the fold. 
 
 8
 
 "If then this mighty magic world 
 Has always been, will ever be, 
 There must be laws within it curled 
 That spin it thro' eternity. 
 I see two equal laws obey 
 One sovran, never-captured Law 
 For all this world would melt away 
 If Heart of Mystery we saw. 
 
 "And first of these twin equal laws 
 Is that dynamic force which flows 
 In life of every birth the cause 
 Replumes the tree, and swells the rose; 
 Inflames and clouds the violet Spring, 
 Inhabits all the mighty flood, 
 The breezes' lightest whispering, 
 The every impulse of our blood.
 
 "That spirit force which cannot tire 
 Of franchisement, and keeps no troth; 
 Nor ever rests from building spire 
 And painting colours on the moth. 
 A quenchless flame that licks all air, 
 And lights and drives the wandering star, 
 That dyes with gold the maiden's hair, 
 And rives with frost the granite spar. 
 
 "The second equal law is this: 
 Implicit deep in all increase 
 And stir of living things, there is 
 A nothingness, a fate of peace, 
 A night, a death, an ebbing down, 
 A fading out of life. The bush, 
 That burgeons, dons a funeral gown; 
 And every tune contains its hush. 
 
 10
 
 "All forms upswelling have within 
 Their hearts a static decadence; 
 In utter stillness does the thin 
 Reverberation lose its sense; 
 To ash the spark of spirit dies, 
 Each revolution of each sphere, 
 Each swoop of every bird that flies 
 To its own stilly death draws near. 
 
 "And there's between these laws the leap, 
 And drive, and stir of endless war; 
 The sway from rage of lust to sleep, 
 And all the cosmic whims that mar 
 Perfection. From this Strife is born 
 All variance of shape and flight 
 As clouds of mountain sunset torn 
 From slumber-grey by flare of light. 
 
 ii
 
 "Yet these two laws, so fixed apart 
 
 As day and night, are brought to fold 
 
 Within that one and Sovran Heart 
 
 Whose secret never shall be told, 
 
 Yet shall thro' time, and thro' all space 
 
 With mystery pervade the world, 
 
 And make it holier than face 
 
 Of dawn that sun and mist have pearled. 
 
 "That Sovran Heart is Harmony! 
 Its eyes unseen, its ways unknown. 
 Tis utter Justice; boundless Sea 
 Of Unity; and Secret Throne 
 Of Love; a spirit Meeting Place 
 Of vital dust and mortal breath, 
 That needs no point of time or space 
 To bind together Life and Death. 
 
 12
 
 "Tis thus, O God! I see the Vast 
 Self-fashioned, and Self-wonderful 
 A jewel infinite, so fast 
 With secret light, can never dull; 
 It is all Space, so cannot fall, 
 It is all Motion, may not move, 
 It is of Time the very all, 
 And has within itself all Love. 
 
 "And that brief gathering of dust 
 And breath myself doth bear this All 
 Resemblance, both of outer crust 
 And inner fire, perpetual. 
 I too, a battlefield of laws, 
 Am rhymed with Harmony Divine 
 That knows, alone, the utter cause 
 Of me; and can the end define.
 
 "Yea, I am nothing but a gleam 
 
 Of mystery a tiny pearl 
 
 Of sunlit water, but a dream 
 
 Immune from waking. Through the whirl 
 
 Of ages I shall never earn 
 
 Reality; and if I might, 
 
 I would not. Wherefore should I yearn 
 
 To lift the veil, and strip delight? 
 
 "Though rush and stab of pain bemuse; 
 And snakes of evil coil me round 
 With slimy torment; dark with hues 
 Ironic, Grief and Pity hound 
 Me to rebel with aching heart 
 Rebel, rebel until I die! 
 Yet in my secret soul apart 
 The whole is rhymed that know I.
 
 "If through our night stalk comrades Pain 
 
 And Wrong, 'tis but the dipping half 
 
 Of equipoise. This life again 
 
 I shall not live, and I would have 
 
 My living soul in flower with love 
 
 Of Harmony that so my death 
 
 Shall be no fall, and no remove, 
 
 But reconcilement's very breath." 
 
 I ceased. Then that dark, tail-up Thing 
 Of Terror, that great shadow flung 
 On curtained Night, black-menacing, 
 Stretched hand to where the gallows hung. 
 And all the owlish stars abased 
 Their staring; and the yew-ropes twined 
 To catch me, where I desperate faced 
 Him all my eager life resigned.
 
 Yet, in that bravery of soul 
 
 Which flames in icy clutching death, 
 
 I bade my parching tongue outroll 
 
 The last defiance of my breath: 
 
 "Thou art not Him I know! Thou hast 
 
 No part in all my vision. Thou 
 
 Art Dissonance and Hatred. Fast 
 
 Is my God throned. No God art Thou!" 
 
 Then all the firmament gave groan 
 Of death. And lo! That was not there! 
 The curious stars had winged, and gone 
 To their far glitter; all the air 
 Was crystal. Swift, the gallows yew, 
 Unbinding all her branches, meshed 
 My face with shade; and sudden dew 
 With frost my nightmared soul refreshed. 
 
 16
 
 And there around me dark had flowered 
 
 With day; and summer moths as bright 
 
 As amethysts uprose, and towered, 
 
 To gem with colour all the night. 
 
 The blossoms smelled like noon, and shone 
 
 In crimson patines on the dark. 
 
 And wonder! Carolling alone 
 
 In sky of night, I heard a lark. 
 
 A silent music grass and leaf, 
 And stream, and whispered morning blew 
 Around me; and a burning sheaf 
 Of Sun, in darkness, glistened thro'. 
 The breathless wind, of fire and frost, 
 Flew to the leaves, yet stirred not one. 
 And round me all the happy host 
 Of life was flying, yet had flown.
 
 No more were life and death apart, 
 No more the winter longed for June. 
 And oh! the marriage in my heart 
 Of sun and shadow, hush and tune! 
 It still was night, and yet was day! 
 O magic dream of God revealed, 
 Of waking sleep, and golden-grey 
 O Utter Mystery unsealed! 
 
 18
 
 Courage 
 
 Courage is but a word, and yet, of words, 
 The only sentinel of permanence; 
 The ruddy watch-fire of cold winter days, 
 We steal its comfort, lift our weary swords, 
 And on. For faith without it has no sense ; 
 And love to wind of doubt and tremor sways; 
 And life for ever quaking marsh must tread. 
 
 Laws give it not, before it prayer will blush, 
 Hope has it not, nor pride of being true. 
 'Tis the mysterious soul which never yields, 
 But hales us on and on to breast the rush 
 Of all the fortunes we shall happen through. 
 And when Death calls across his shadowy 
 
 fields 
 Dying, it answers: "Here! I am not dead!"
 
 Love 
 
 O Love ! that love which comes so stealthily, 
 And takes us up, and twists us as it will 
 What fever'd hours of agony you bring! 
 How oft we wake and cry : " God set me free 
 Of love-Hx) never love again!" And still 
 We fall, and clutch you by the knees, and 
 
 cling 
 And press our lips and so, once more are 
 
 glad! 
 
 And if you go, or if you never come, 
 Through what a grieving wilderness of pain 
 We travel on! In prisons stripped of light 
 We blindly grope, and wander without home. 
 The friendless winds that sweep across the 
 
 plain 
 
 The beggars meeting us at silent night 
 Than we, are not more desolate and sad! 
 
 20
 
 Errantry 
 
 Come! Let us lay a crazy lance in rest, 
 And tilt at windmills under a wild sky! 
 For who would live so petty and unblest 
 That dare not tilt at something ere he die, 
 Rather than, screened by safe majority, 
 Preserve his little life to little ends, 
 And never raise a rebel battle-cry! 
 
 Ah! for the weapon wistful and sublime, 
 Whose lifted point recks naught of woe or 
 
 weal, 
 
 Since Fate demands it shivered every time! 
 When in the wildness of our charge we reel 
 Men laugh indeed the sweeter heavens smile, 
 For all the world of fat prosperity 
 Has not the value of that broken steel! 
 
 21
 
 Ah ! for the summons of a challenge cry 
 That sets to swinging fast the bell which tolls 
 A high and leaping chime of sympathy 
 Within that true cathedral of our souls 
 Set in our bodies' jeering market-place 
 So, crystal-clear, the shepherd's wayward pipe 
 From feasts his cynical soft sheep cajoles. 
 
 God save the pennon, ragged to the dawn, 
 That signs to moon to stand, and sun to fly ; 
 And flutters when the weak is overborne 
 To stem the tide of fate and certainty. 
 That knows not reason, and that seeks no 
 
 fame 
 
 But has engraved around its stubborn wood 
 The words: "Knight-Errant, till Eternity!" 
 
 22
 
 So ! Undismayed beneath the serried clouds, 
 Raise up the banner of forlorn defence 
 A jest to the complacency of crowds 
 Bright-haloed with the one diviner sense: 
 To hold itself as nothing to itself; 
 And in the quest of its imagined star 
 To lose all thought of after-recompense !
 
 Time 
 
 Beneath this vast serene of sky 
 Where worlds are but as mica dust, 
 From age to age the wind goes by; 
 Unnumbered summer burns the grass. 
 On lion rocks, at rest from strife 
 The aeons are but lichen rust. 
 Then what is man's so brittle life? 
 The buzzing of the flies that pass! 
 
 24
 
 Acceptation 
 
 Blue sky, grey stones, and the far sea, 
 
 The lark's song trilling over me; 
 
 Grey stones, blue sky, and the green weed- 
 
 You have no sense that I can read; 
 
 Nor on the wind's breath passing by 
 
 Comes any meaning melody! 
 
 Blue sky, grey stones, and the far sea, 
 
 Lark's song, green weed, wind melody 
 
 You are! And I'll contented be!
 
 The Seeds of Light 
 
 Once of a mazy afternoon, beside that southern 
 sea, 
 
 I watched a shoal of sunny beams come swim- 
 ming close to me. 
 
 Each was a whited candle-flame a-flickering in 
 air; 
 
 Each was a silver daffodil astonied to be 
 there ; 
 
 Each was a diving summer star, its brightness 
 come to lave; 
 
 And each a little naked spirit leaping on the 
 wave. 
 
 26
 
 And while I sat, and while I dreamed, beside 
 
 that summer sea, 
 There came the fairest thought of all that 
 
 ever came to me: 
 The tiny lives of tiny men, no more they 
 
 seemed to mean 
 Than one of those sweet seeds of light sown 
 
 on that water green; 
 No more they seemed, no less they seemed, 
 
 than shimmerings of sky 
 The little sunny smiles of God that glisten 
 
 forth and die. 
 
 27
 
 I Ask 
 
 My happy lime is gold with flowers; 
 From noon to noon the breezes blow 
 Their love pipes; and the wild bees beat 
 The drums of all these summer hours . . 
 Yet stifling in the valley heat 
 A woman's dying there below! 
 
 Between the blowing rose so red 
 And honey-saffroned lily cup, 
 Receiving Heaven, so I lie! ... 
 But down the field a calf lies dead;* 
 At this same burning summer sky 
 Its velvet darkened eye looks up. 
 
 ** 
 
 Behind the fairest masks of life 
 Dwells ever that pale constant death. 
 What, then, Philosophers, to say? 
 Must we keep wistful death to wife? 
 Or hide her image quite away, 
 And, wanton, draw forgetful breath? 
 
 28
 
 Highland Spring 
 
 There's mating madness in the air, 
 Passionate, grave. The blossoms burst; 
 The burns run quick to lips athirst; 
 And solemn gaze the maids heart-free. 
 
 The white clouds race, the sun rays flare 
 And glamour gold on pallid mist; 
 With greedy mouth the Spring has kissed 
 The wind that links the sky with sea. 
 
 The blue and lonely mountains stare, 
 And, longing, draw the blue above. 
 The hour is come! O Flower of Love 
 I can no longer keep from thee! 
 
 29
 
 The Downs 
 
 Oh ! the Downs high to the cool sky ; 
 And the feel of the sun-warmed moss; 
 And each cardoon, like a full moon, 
 Fairy-spun of the thistle floss; 
 And the beech grove, and a wood-.dove, 
 And the trail where the shepherds pass; 
 And the lark's song, and the wind-song, 
 And the scent of the parching grass!
 
 Old Year 
 
 To-night Old Year must die, 
 And join the vagabonding shades of time, 
 And haunt, and sob, and sigh 
 Around the tower where soon New Year will 
 chime. 
 
 How fast the slim feet move! 
 
 The fiddles whine, the reedy oboes flute ; 
 
 Lips whisper, eyes look love 
 
 And Old Year's dying, dying underfoot! 
 
 So mute, and spent, so wan- 
 Poor corse! beneath the laughter flying by; 
 The revel dances on 
 
 And treads you to the dust condemned to 
 die!
 
 Among the flowers that soon 
 
 Will cling and breathe above your pallid 
 death, 
 
 On with the rigadoon! 
 
 Dance, dance! Be uttered never a mourn- 
 ing breath! . . . 
 
 The moonlight floods the grass, 
 
 The music's hushed, and all the festal din; 
 
 The pale musicians pass, 
 
 Each clasping close his green-cased violin. 
 
 Old Year! not breathing now, 
 Along the polished floor you lie alone; 
 I bend, and touch your brow 
 My dead Year, that has slipped away and 
 gone!
 
 The Moon at Dawn 
 
 When, every dawn, the homeless breeze 
 Creeps back to wake the sleeping trees, 
 The moon steals down and no one sees! 
 
 Yes! every morn, no watcher there, 
 She turns that face, once angel fair, 
 And smiles, as only harlots dare! 
 
 
 
 I saw her once, the insatiate moon, 
 Go stealing, coiffed with orange hood, 
 From Night, her lover, still in swoon 
 All wanton she, who chaste was wooed! 
 
 33
 
 Serenity 
 
 The smiling sea 
 
 And land do dream, and sky; 
 
 The very bee 
 
 Doth dream as he goes by. 
 
 In dreamy fields 
 Of blue, moon's scimitar 
 Doth dream it shields 
 One dreaming timid star. 
 
 The barques drift slow, 
 And, dreaming, melt away 
 Where golden glow 
 Consoles the death of day; 
 
 34
 
 And land is stark 
 
 With that far row of trees 
 
 Like puff-balls, dark, 
 
 And eerie, down the breeze. 
 
 The dreaming flowers, 
 The dreaming lovers nod. 
 Serene these hours 
 Serenity is God!
 
 Nightmare 
 
 There fell a man in the heat, 
 Out of the race he ran, 
 Who knew too well he was not beat- 
 O God! Was I that man?
 
 On a Soldier's Funeral 
 
 No pipes have skirled; 
 But Heaven's wildest music blares! 
 Above the compound lightning flares, 
 The rain is whirled. 
 
 No drums shall roll 
 "Pis but a private soldier gone! 
 The cold light paints no funeral stone 
 No bell need toll! 
 
 He lived his tame 
 And little day of silent tasks 
 And silent duty no one asks 
 To know his name. 
 
 37
 
 The milestones fade 
 Along the road that he has come. 
 No cheer of music takes him home 
 His wage is paid. 
 
 The wind shrills high, 
 The rapid day is chasing grief 
 With lash of blinding rain and brief 
 The footfalls die.
 
 Let 
 
 My love lived there! And now 
 'Tis but a shell of brick, 
 New-painted, flowered about 
 So far from being quick 
 As night, when stars die out. 
 
 From windows gaily wide, 
 Where once the curtained dark 
 My Heaven used to hide, 
 The memories wan and stark 
 Troop down to me outside. 
 
 39
 
 Rhyme of the Land and Sea 
 
 By the side of me the immortal Pan 
 
 Lies the sweetest thing of the sea; 
 
 In her gown of brine, 
 
 With her breast to mine, 
 
 And her drowned dark hair lies she! 
 
 And her eyes that have looked on the fathomy 
 
 weed, 
 So mournful are fixed on me: 
 
 "I am thy slave, O Master, O Pan! 
 
 And never shall more be free!" 
 
 But her smile like the wine-red, shadowy 
 
 sea, 
 
 When the day slides past and down 
 By the gods, it is tender death to me! 
 In its waters dark I drown! 
 
 "O slave of mine! Thou mystery 
 
 Of srniling depths I drown!" 
 
 40
 
 Slum Cry 
 
 Of a night without stars wind withdrawn, 
 God's face hidden, indignity near me, 
 Drink and the paraffin flares to sear me 
 Dust-coloured hunger so was I bora! 
 
 Of a city noonday sand through sieve 
 Sifting down, dusk padding the glamour 
 I of the desolate, white-lipped clamour 
 Millioning fester so do I live! 
 
 Of a poor-house morning not asking why, 
 Breath choked, dry-eyed death of me star- 
 ing; 
 
 Faces of strangers, and no one caring 
 God! who hath made me! so shall I die!
 
 Autumn by the Sea 
 
 We'll hear the uncompanioned murmur of 
 
 the swell, 
 
 And touch the drift-wood, delicately grey, 
 And with our quickened senses smell 
 The sea-flowers all the day! 
 
 We'll count the white gulls pasturing on 
 
 meadows brown, 
 
 And gaze into the arches of the blue, 
 Till evening's ice comes stealing down 
 From those far fields of dew. 
 
 Now slow the crimson Sun-god swathes his 
 
 eye, and sails 
 
 To sleep in his innumerable cloak; 
 And gentle heat's gold pathway fails 
 In autumn's opal smoke! 
 
 42
 
 Then long we'll watch the journey of the 
 
 soft half-moon 
 A gold-bright moth slow-spinning up the 
 
 sky, 
 
 And know the dark flight all too soon 
 Of land-birds passing by. 
 
 Through all the black wide night of stars 
 
 our souls shall touch 
 
 The sky, in God's own quietude of things, 
 And gain brief freedom from this clutch 
 Of Life's encompassings. 
 
 43
 
 Magpie 
 
 O Magpie, lonely flying 
 What do you bring to me? 
 Two for joy, and one for sorrow! 
 Loved to-day, is lost to-morrow! 
 O Magpie, flying, flying 
 What have you brought to me? 
 
 44
 
 Question 
 
 Where do we go, brothers, when we are 
 
 done 
 
 Where drift, free of dull clay? 
 Hover dancing beams of the sun, 
 Sheen of moon on the night woods fey? 
 
 Are we a cry, brothers, wind in the trees 
 Bough songs, whispering by? 
 Wild-grass music under the breeze? 
 River's chuckle and reedy sigh? 
 
 Shall we be flower cups, golden and white, 
 Field stars lighted each noon? 
 Dew-grey cobwebs, spun in the night 
 We grand travellers, gone so soon? 
 
 45
 
 Are we the desolate moods of the sea, 
 Vague rhyme, lap of green waves? 
 Grey bird's call; the hum of the bee; 
 Bat's shrill gibber in eerie caves? 
 
 Light on the fern shadows spilled from the 
 
 leaves ; 
 
 Bud-gold, dyed in spring dawn; 
 Ivied satin under the eaves; 
 Wind-blown silver of summer corn? 
 
 Are we the griefs buried deep in dear hearts 
 Sore left mourning us gone? 
 Watching yew-tree's shadowy darts; 
 Rain-drops, sad, on the funeral stone?
 
 Shall we flit comforting over the earth 
 Brave thoughts, ghosts of kind days; 
 Soft console each quavering birth; 
 Death's old whispering footsteps praise? 
 
 Where is the home for us? Let it be told, 
 Thou dark God, and I cease! 
 Not till wings of Mystery fold 
 May my question rest in peace! 
 
 47
 
 Silver Point 
 
 Sharp against a sky of grey 
 Pigeon's nest in naked tree; 
 All the silver twigs up-curled, 
 All the leafy spirits furled; 
 Not a breath to fan the day! 
 
 World aspiring and severe, 
 Not a hum of fly or bee, 
 Not a song, and not a cry, 
 Not a perfume stealing by; 
 Stillest moment of the year!
 
 Deflowered 
 
 Here I come, to my trade! 
 Look back at me, sad men!- 
 
 What I am now, you made 
 A ghost, a painted murrain. 
 
 Here I stand, in the dark! 
 Look back at me, sad men!- 
 
 The gay hours that I mark 
 Will never strike again. 
 
 Here I droop, in the night! 
 Look back at me, sad men!- 
 
 The dark flower of delight 
 Bedrabbled down with rain. 
 
 49
 
 The Soul 
 
 My soul's the sky my flying soul! 
 The lightnings flare, the thunders roll, 
 The sun and moon and stars go by, 
 And great winds sweep my soul, the sky! 
 
 My brooding soul my soul's the sea! 
 The snaky weed, and whishing scree, 
 The white waves' surge from pole to pole, 
 And still green depths the sea's my soul! 
 
 My soul's the Spring my loving soul! 
 Will dance, and leap, and drain the bowl 
 Of love; and, longing, twine and cling 
 To all the world my soul's the Spring!
 
 My fevered soul! My soul's the Town! 
 Thro' flaring street goes up and down; 
 The bells of feast and traffic toll 
 And maze their music in my soul. 
 
 My tranquil soul! My soul too wide 
 For Sky, or Spring, or Town, or Tide! 
 Thou traveller to outer strand 
 Of Home Serene my soul so grand!
 
 Autumn 
 
 When every leaf has different hue, 
 And flames of birch tree blow; 
 And high against November blue 
 The white cloud's bent in bow; 
 
 When buzzard hawk wheels in the Sun, 
 And harsh daws crown the cleave, 
 And autumn paints the heather dun, 
 And white buds make believe;
 
 When droning thresher hums its song 
 And tale of harvest proves, 
 And rusty steers the lane-ways throng, 
 And grey birds flit in droves; 
 
 Then bird, and beast, and every tree, 
 And those few flowers that blow, 
 Do seem such treasure-loves to me 
 Who would no winter know! 
 
 S3
 
 Street Lamps 
 
 Lamps, lamps! Lamps ev'rywhere! 
 You wistful, gay, and burning eyes, 
 You stars low-driven from the skies 
 Down on the rainy air. 
 
 You merchant eyes, that never tire 
 Of spying out our little ways; 
 Of summing up our little days 
 In ledgerings of fire 
 
 54
 
 Inscrutable your nightly glance, 
 Your lighting and your snuffing out, 
 Your flicker through the windy rout, 
 Guiding this mazy dance. 
 
 O watchful, troubled gaze of gold, 
 Protecting us upon our beats 
 You piteous glamour of the streets, 
 Youthless, and never old! 
 
 55
 
 Persia Moritura 
 
 Home of the free! Protector of the weak! 
 Shall We and this Great Grey Ally make sand 
 Of all a nation's budding green, and wreak 
 Our winter will on that unhappy land? 
 Is all our steel of soul dissolved and flown? 
 Have fumes of fear encased our heart of 
 
 flame? 
 
 Are we with panic so deep-rotted down 
 In self, that we can feel no longer shame 
 To league, and steal a nation's hope of 
 
 youth ? 
 
 Oh! Sirs! Is our Star merely cynical? 
 Is God reduced? That we must darken 
 
 truth, 
 And break our honour with this creeping 
 
 fall?
 
 Is Freedom but a word a flaring boast? 
 Is Self -concern horizon's utter sum? 
 If so To-day let England die, and ghost 
 Through all her godless history to come! 
 If, Sirs, the faith of men be Force alone, 
 Let us ring down The farce is nothing 
 
 worth ! 
 
 If Life be only prayer to things of stone, 
 Come Death! And let us, friends, go mock- 
 ing forth ! 
 But if there's aught, in all Time's bloody 
 
 hours, 
 
 Of Justice, if the herbs of Pity grow 
 O Native Land, let not those only flowers 
 Of God be desert-strewn and withered now! 
 
 57
 
 Gaulzery Moor 
 
 Moor of my fathers the road leads high 
 
 I, a slow-foot traveller, pass, 
 
 Gorse and heather, heather and grass, 
 
 Up to the curve of the autumn sky. 
 
 Purple are all the darkening tors 
 
 That crown the swift-retreating day; 
 
 The far-blown wood-smoke steals its way 
 
 From stars of fire in the cottage doors; 
 
 And the South-West wind with her reedy 
 
 tune 
 
 Sings in the pines her wild, soft praise; 
 There hangs a golden, mocking moon 
 At the Western cornerways! 
 
 Then, ah! beneath these native trees 
 
 To press my body to the earth; 
 
 To drink the life-wine of this breeze, 
 
 And drinking die of dearth!
 
 The Moor Grave 
 
 I lie out here under a heather sod, 
 
 A moor-stone at my head; the moor-winds 
 play above. 
 
 I lie out here. ... In graveyards of their 
 God 
 
 They would not bury desperate me who died 
 for love. 
 
 I lie out here under the sun and moon; 
 
 Across me bearded ponies stride, the cur- 
 lews cry. 
 
 I have no little tombstone screed, no: "Soon 
 
 To glory shall she rise!" But deathless 
 peace have I! 
 
 59
 
 The Prayer 
 
 If on a Spring night I went by 
 And God were standing there, 
 What is the prayer that I would cry 
 To Him? This is the prayer: 
 
 O Lord of Courage grave, 
 
 O Master of this night of Spring! 
 
 Make firm in me a heart too brave 
 
 To ask Thee anything] 
 
 60
 
 Dedication 
 
 Thine is the solitude that rare flowers know, 
 Whose face is slender aristocracy. 
 And yet, of flowers that in the garden grow, 
 There's none disputes thy sweet supremacy. 
 Thine is the oldest secret of the world: 
 How to be loved, and still to keep apart 
 A lily blown, a bud not yet uncurled 
 Gold-fortuned I, whose very breath thou art ! 
 
 61
 
 SONGS
 
 Devon to Me! 
 
 Where my fathers stood 
 Watching the sea, 
 Gale-spent herring-boats 
 Hugging the lea; 
 There my mother lives, 
 Moorland and tree. 
 Sight o' the blossom! 
 Devon to me! 
 
 Where my fathers walked, 
 Driving the plough; 
 Whistled their hearts out 
 Who whistles now? 
 There my mother burns 
 Fire faggots free. 
 Scent o' the wood-smoke! 
 Devon to me!
 
 Where my fathers sat, 
 Passing their bowls; 
 They've no cider now, 
 God rest their souls! 
 There my Mother feeds 
 Red cattle three. 
 Taste o' the cream-pan! 
 Devon to me! 
 
 Where my fathers sleep, 
 Turning to dust, 
 This old body throw 
 When die I must! 
 There my Mother calls, 
 Wakeful is She! 
 Sound o' the West-wind! 
 Devon to me! 
 
 66
 
 Where my fathers lie, 
 When I am gone, 
 Who need pity me 
 Dead? Never one! 
 There my Mother clasps 
 Me. Let me be ! 
 Feel o' the red earth! 
 Devon to me!
 
 A Mood 
 
 Love's a flower, is born and broken, 
 Plucked apace and hugged apart. 
 Evening comes, it clings poor token 
 Dead and dry, on lover's heart. 
 
 Love's the rhyme of a summer minute 
 Woven close like hum of flies; 
 Sob of wind, and meaning in it 
 Dies away, as summer dies. 
 
 Love's a shimmery morning bubble 
 Puffed all gay from pipe of noon; 
 Spun aloft on breath of trouble 
 Bursts in air is gone too soon! 
 
 68
 
 Counting the Stars 
 
 The cuckoo bird has long been dumb, 
 And owls instead and flitting jars 
 Call out, call out for us to come, 
 My Love and me, to count the stars; 
 And into this wide orchard rove 
 The whispering trees scarce give us room, 
 That drop their petals on my Love 
 And me beneath the apple bloom. 
 
 And each pale petal is alive 
 With dew of twilight from the sky, 
 Where all the stars hang hi their hive, 
 That weVe to count, my Love and I. 
 The boughs below, the boughs above, 
 They scatter, lest their twisted gloom 
 Should stay the counting of my Love 
 And me beneath the apple bloom.
 
 And when the Mother Moon comes by, 
 And puts the little stars to bed, 
 We count, my timid Love and I, 
 The pretty apple stars instead; 
 Until at last all lights remove, 
 And dark sleep dropping on the combe, 
 Fastens the eyelids of my Love 
 And me beneath the apple bloom. 
 
 70
 
 Straw in the Street 
 
 Straw in the street! 
 
 My heart, oh! hearken 
 
 Fate thrums its song of sorrow! 
 
 The windows darken- 
 
 O God of all to-morrow! 
 
 Straw in the street! 
 
 To wintry sleeping 
 
 Turns all our summer laughter. 
 
 The brooms are sweeping 
 
 There's naught for me hereafter!
 
 Cuckoo Song: Dartmoor 
 
 Mayday wears a summer smile, 
 
 Mayday is a mummer, 
 
 Sleepy rills and fat green fields, 
 
 All the coat of summer. 
 
 Sturdy blackthorn twining stars, 
 
 Golden gorse a-shining, 
 
 All the tors blow honey-sweet 
 
 Honey deaths to pining! 
 
 Cuckoo's tell-a-secret song 
 Mocks the bells, mocks the bells. 
 Whistle back, and win along! 
 Win along, and follow! 
 Cuckoo's on the restless moor, 
 Church is in the hollow! 
 
 72
 
 Moorland birdies hopping by, 
 
 Skylark's dew a-dropping; 
 
 Whispers from the valley stream, 
 
 Crisp the ponies cropping! 
 
 Clash your bells! Old Church have done 
 
 Of wishing you may get me! 
 
 I'll go worshipping the sun 
 
 While the sun will let me! 
 
 Cuckoo's fetter-breaking song 
 
 Mocks the bells, mocks the bells! 
 
 Come, my heart! Let's go along! 
 
 Go along, and follow! 
 
 Cuckoo's on the living moor, 
 
 Church is in the hollow! 
 
 73
 
 Countryman's Song 
 
 Ah ! trouble and trouble and sorrow ! 
 My heart has grown cold wi' her eyes. 
 I'm cheated for aye o' me morrow, 
 And sick to be laid where she lies. 
 For what does it matter what's comin'? 
 'Tis sure to be better than this. 
 Oh! hollow the tune I am hummin', 
 An' truth that I starve for her kiss. 
 
 The taste o' the wind as it passes, 
 The clocks in the strikin' o' time, 
 The smell o' the rain in the grasses 
 Were she an' 'tis all out o' rhyme. 
 So what does it matter what's comin'? 
 'Tis sure to be better than this. 
 Oh! hollow the tune I am hummin', 
 An' truth that I starve for her kiss. 
 
 74
 
 She gave me a long look o' pity, 
 Like a little white owl from a tree, 
 An' dropped. ... So this wonderful city 
 Has only dead ashes for me. 
 An* what does it matter what's comin'? 
 Tis sure to be better than this. 
 Oh! hollow the tune I am hummin'! 
 An' oh! to be done wi' it bliss! 
 
 75
 
 Land Song of the West Country 
 
 The lanes are long, and home is far, 
 
 But we'll go jogging, jogging on. 
 
 The day grows dim, here comes a star, 
 
 Athwart the bank the young moon peeps, 
 
 And all the honeysuckle sleeps. 
 
 But we'll go jogging on. 
 
 The sunset's vanishing apace, 
 But we'll go jogging, jogging on. 
 The land's all like a maiden's face, 
 The more you look the less you see, 
 'Tis all a glowing mystery. 
 And we'll go jogging on.
 
 The trout are rising in the stream, 
 We ford it, jogging, jogging on. 
 The mill-wheel's turning in a dream; 
 The chafer's booming overhead, 
 And every little bird's in bed. 
 And we go jogging on. 
 
 The cottages are praying smoke, 
 As we go jogging, jogging on. 
 The hayrick's bonneted a-poke; 
 The tawny kine are stretched at ease 
 Beneath the dusky, sleeping trees, 
 As we go jogging on. 
 
 77
 
 There's many a drop of tender rain 
 As we go jogging, jogging on. 
 And many a while that's fine again. 
 There's many a dip and many a rise, 
 And many a smile of friendly eyes. 
 There's many a scent, and many a tune, 
 And over all the little moon, 
 As we go jogging on.
 
 The clocks are chiming in my heart 
 Their cobweb chime; 
 Old murmurings of days that die, 
 The sob of things a-drifting by. 
 The clocks are chiming in my heart! 
 
 The stars have twinkled, and gone out 
 Fair candles blown! 
 The hot desires burn low, and wan 
 Those ashy fires, that flamed anon. 
 The stars have twinkled, and gone out! 
 
 79
 
 Old journeys travel in my head! 
 They come and go 
 Forgotten smiles of stranger friends, 
 Sweet, weary miles, and sweeter ends. 
 Old journeys travel in my head ! 
 
 The leaves are dropping from my tree! 
 
 Dead leaves and brown. 
 
 The vine-leaf ghosts make pale my brow; 
 
 For ever frosts and winter now. 
 
 The leaves are dropping from my tree! 
 
 80
 
 When Love Is Young 
 
 When Love is young, she needs no staff, 
 No teaching how to lure and laugh; 
 When Love is young, she swoons away 
 So fiery sweet is Love in May! 
 
 When Love is old, she has no toys, 
 No burning hours, no rainbow joys; 
 When Love is old, she's like a dove 
 Yet strong as death is winter Love! 
 
 81
 
 Wind 
 
 Wind, wind heather gipsy, 
 Whistling in my tree! 
 All the heart of me is tipsy 
 On the sound of thee. 
 Sweet with scent of clover, 
 Salt with breath of sea. 
 Wind, wind wayman lover, 
 Whistling in my tree! 
 
 82
 
 Rose and Yew 
 
 Love flew by! Young wedding day, 
 Peeping through her veil of dew, 
 Saw him, and her heart went fey 
 His wings no shadows threw. 
 
 Love flew by! Young day was gone, 
 Owls were hooting Whoo to-whoo! 
 Happy-wedded lay alone, 
 Who'd vowed that love was true. 
 
 ^ 
 
 Love flies by, and drops a rose 
 Drops a rose, a sprig of yew! 
 Happy these but ah! for those 
 Whose love has cried: Adieu!
 
 The Cup 
 
 Here is my Cup; a fairy bell, 
 Where the wind's rough fluting turns 
 To a thin-tuned sigh of shell! 
 And all the breath of melody 
 In sob and song she brings to me. 
 
 Here is my Cup; a crystal pool 
 Where the milk-white moonlight burns, 
 And the golden sunlight's cool. 
 As twilight dark, like dew a-shine, 
 The goblet she of every wine. 
 
 84
 
 Village Sleep Song 
 
 Sleep! all who toil; 
 The harvest wains have lumbered by. 
 Cool night has donned her dress of dew 
 And dusk; so dark's the sleepy sky 
 That all day long was burning blue. 
 
 Sleep ! good red soil, 
 That gave such store of golden grain; 
 For sleeping lies the harvest day, 
 Asleep the winding leafy lane 
 Where none's afoot to miss his way. 
 
 Sleep ! village street, 
 You've stared too long upon the sun, 
 More gentle are the eyes of night. 
 Sleep, windows! all your work is done, 
 And all too soon to-morrow's light.
 
 Sleep ! Sleep ! The heat 
 Is slumbering. No chafers hum; 
 And fast asleep the harvest flowers. 
 The spinning jars, and owls have come 
 To sing to sleep the drowsy hours! 
 
 Sleep! honey hives! 
 
 And swallow's flight, and thrushes' call! 
 
 Sleep, tongues! a little, while you may, 
 
 And let God's cool oblivion fall 
 
 On all the gossip of the day. 
 
 Sleep! Men and wives, 
 
 A sweetness of refreshment steal; 
 
 The morning star can vigil keep; 
 
 Too quickly turns the slumber wheel 
 
 And all you little children, sleep! 
 
 86
 
 DOGGERELS
 
 Drake's Spirit 
 
 When the land needs 
 I am coming; 
 I, Francis Drake, 
 From my roaming. 
 Till then, howl, dogs 
 Of prophecy! 
 I yet will drive 
 The unknown sea! 
 
 If my land calls 
 I am coming; 
 I, Francis Drake, 
 From my roaming. 
 So, rest my drum! 
 And phantom barque 
 Still for a while 
 Go sail the dark! 
 
 89
 
 When Heaven wills, 
 I am coming; 
 I, Francis Drake, 
 From my roaming. 
 Then, traitors black, 
 Grey winds all foul, 
 Do ye your worst 
 To shake my soul! 
 
 90
 
 Plymouth 
 
 Stretched at fair ease, 
 Clear-eyed I watch the seas, 
 My finger on the pulse of Time. 
 No nations rise 
 
 Until my captains bid them climb. 
 The trade of worlds I signify; 
 And 'neath my stones 
 The bones of sailors lie.
 
 The Cliff Church 
 
 Here stand I, 
 Buttressed over the seal 
 Time and sky 
 Take no toll from me. 
 
 To me, grey 
 
 Wind-grey, flung with foam- 
 
 Ye that stray 
 
 Wild-foot, come ye home! 
 
 Mother I 
 Mother I will be! 
 Ere ye die, 
 Hear! sons at sea! 
 
 92
 
 Shall I fall, 
 
 Leave my flock of graves? 
 
 Not for all 
 
 Your rebelling waves! 
 
 I stand fast 
 Let the waters cry! 
 Here I last 
 To Eternity! 
 
 93
 
 Promenade 
 
 All sweet and startled gravity 
 
 My Love comes walking from the Park; 
 
 Her eyes are full of what they've seen 
 
 The little bushes puffing green, 
 
 The candles pale that light the chestnut tree. 
 
 The tulip and the jonquil spies; 
 
 The sunshine and the sudden dark; 
 
 The dance of buds; and Madam Dove; 
 
 Sir Blackbird fluting of his love 
 
 These little loves my Love has in her eyes. 
 
 In dainty shoes and subtle hose 
 
 My Love comes walking from the Park. 
 
 She is, I swear, the sweetest thing 
 
 That ever left the heart of Spring, 
 
 To tell the secret: Whence the pollen blows! 
 
 94
 
 Tittle-Tattle 
 
 Tittle-tattle! Scandal and japes, 
 Gibe, and gossip, and folly's rattle! 
 Ringed to fashion, caught like apes 
 In your cage of tittle-tattle! 
 
 Mean your skies, 
 
 And mean the ways you tread; 
 
 The meanness of your eyes 
 
 Is never fully fed. 
 
 You that have birth 
 
 In gold and grovellings! 
 
 You superfluity 
 
 Of miserable earth, 
 
 You trousered things 
 
 And women without souls 
 
 Out of the sunlight 
 
 To your holes! 
 
 95
 
 Tittle-tattle! Whisper and pry! 
 Sneers and snigger, and empty prattle! 
 Truth and charity into a lie 
 To the tune of tittle-tattle! 
 
 96
 
 The Robin 
 
 As I sit hunting for the word 
 
 Each morning in my room, there comes, 
 
 As bold as day, a robin bird, 
 
 And eats up all the breakfast crumbs. 
 
 little friend! so still as air, 
 As your own bobbing shadow, still; 
 bright familiar, strutting there 
 Till you have pecked your little fill 
 
 You are no bird, you fairy sprite 
 
 In hue of red, and hue of dust, 
 
 Who come to turn dark thoughts to light- 
 
 For what are you but living trust? 
 
 97
 
 To My Dog 
 
 My dear, when I leave you 
 I always drop a bit of me 
 A holy glove or sainted shoe 
 Your wistful corse I leave it to, 
 For all your soul has gone to see 
 How I could have the stony heart 
 So to abandon you. 
 
 My dear, when you leave me 
 
 You drop no glove, no sainted shoe; 
 
 And yet you know that humans be 
 
 Mere blocks of dull monstrosity, 
 
 Whose spirits cannot follow you 
 
 When you're away, with all their hearts, 
 
 As yours can follow me. 
 
 98
 
 My dear, since we must leave 
 (One sorry day) I you, you me; 
 I'll learn your wistful way to grieve; 
 Then through the ages we'll retrieve 
 Each other's scent and company; 
 And longing shall not pull my heart 
 As now you pull my sleeve! 
 
 99
 
 4 The Birth of Venus " 
 
 The Spring wind fans her hair, 
 
 And after her fly little waves, 
 
 Her feet are shod in pearly shoen, 
 
 And down her foam-white breast doth shine 
 
 A silver moisture, and new-strewn 
 
 Petals encarnadine. 
 
 Her eyes are deaths to care, 
 Her eyes of love are tender caves. 
 The blossoms blowing on the trees 
 The young Spring's soft enchanted stir 
 The humming of the golden bees 
 All are the voice of her! 
 
 100
 
 To the Spirit of Our Times. 1899 
 
 (After Sir Walter Raleigh) 
 
 Tell Life she smells of gold, 
 And Simpleness is gone; 
 Old Honesty is cold, 
 And Greatness lives alone. 
 Tell Arts they cringe for pelf, 
 And Pens they flourish cant; 
 Tell Creeds they are but Self, 
 And Tongues they do but rant. 
 
 Tell Credit and Fair Names 
 They show too smug a face, 
 The bow of Honour aims 
 Where Honour has no place. 
 Young Effort's wing is down 
 And tries no more to soar; 
 Since Fair-Play wears the frown 
 Of hatred at our war. 
 
 101
 
 Tell Charity she's mean, 
 
 Whose light is never hid; 
 
 And Mercy she's unseen 
 
 When such as women bid. 
 
 Our Virtue's name is treason, 
 
 A bond of empty sealing. 
 
 Tell Hearts they live by reason, 
 
 And Heads they faint with feeling. 
 
 Tell Smiles they have the canker 
 
 Inherent of conceit; 
 
 False Wit it is but rancour 
 
 A-sneering at defeat. 
 
 Tell Victory she's breath 
 
 That has no longer Beauty; 
 
 And Dignity of Death 
 
 Which saves him from his duty. 
 
 102
 
 Tell Chivalry's complacent, 
 And Modesty asleep; 
 Prim Decency too decent, 
 And Caution all too deep. 
 Tell Journalists their teaching 
 It festers in the city; 
 And Trade of overreaching, 
 That has no room for pity. 
 
 Tell Comfort she's too sure; 
 Tell Patriots they seem. 
 Our Wealth is but a lure, 
 A brazen, petty dream. 
 Ah ! Truth it has no core, 
 But plays a hollow part; 
 For Justice goes no more 
 With singleness of heart! 
 
 103
 
 The Flowers 
 
 In mountain morn, at silver dawn, 
 
 From out the grey dew smother, 
 
 Flower children peep 
 
 Through cobweb sleep, 
 
 And rise from Earth, their mother. 
 
 To mountain sky sun golden high 
 
 In his cerulean yonder 
 
 Like starry snow, 
 
 They jewel below, 
 
 And lift their dewy wonder. 
 
 At mountain noon, to Zephyr tune, 
 
 Each in her own wild fashion, 
 
 Fey young and old 
 
 With scarves of gold 
 
 They weave the dance of passion. 
 
 104
 
 Till lost in dream, by dying gleam- 
 Broidery rare and spangled 
 Their perfumed skein 
 Is wound again, 
 All amethyst entangled. 
 
 And soft in night, by moony light, 
 
 Under the moth's pale hover, 
 
 Grey witchery 
 
 Sweet, velvet, shy, 
 
 They touch the dark, their lover. 
 
 105
 
 Hetaira 
 
 She gave him all her heart; 
 
 She slept beside him; 
 
 She lived her hour in dreaming of his good. 
 
 From all else kept apart 
 
 That he might pride him: 
 
 She loved him only! Surely all she could! 
 
 She braved his darkest mood 
 
 To cool his fever; 
 
 Her care was fairy tale that never ends. . 
 
 And when she died? Ah! would 
 
 They praise her? Never! 
 
 You see, she was not married to him, Friends ! 
 
 106
 
 The Devon Sage 
 
 Zach'ry lad! Venture does et, 
 
 'Tes no gude to set an' muzz et! 
 
 'Tidn' for yu to play at homin', 
 
 All yure vathers went a-roamin'; 
 
 Vish be plenty, sea be wide, 
 
 Never know, ontil yu've tried. 
 
 Soon as ever day be litten, 
 
 There's yure motto, bright and written! 
 
 Sail, no matter what the tide! 
 
 Hold on vast an' grip yure saddle, 
 Givin' up's all viddle vaddle! 
 'Ave no truck nor trade with cantin', 
 Gallivantin', puzzivantin' ! 
 Take an' du ! If one don't pay 
 Get yu roun' the t'other way. 
 Kape yure lip as stiff as leather, 
 Kape yure 'eart so light's a veather! 
 Never snivel, work or play! 
 
 107
 
 Ef yu're beaten, never know et, 
 'Tesn' policy to show et. 
 Wheel spins roun', yure turn's a-comin', 
 Rape yure 'ead up, kape on hummin' ! 
 Go it till yu're black an' blue, 
 Never cut it till yu're thru'. 
 Step et double ef yu valter; 
 Yu've a-got to break yure halter 
 When they comes to hangin' yu. 
 
 Trouble shakes yu, hold on vaster, 
 Never spell the word dizaster. 
 Take yure rain an' take yure sunnin', 
 Kape yure mouth shut when yu're runnm'; 
 Talk's but talk, an' done 'tes done, 
 Braggart's not yure mother's son. 
 'Unter, varmer, vighter, rover, 
 Slape yure slape when all es over 
 Life an' Death 'tes nowt but one! 
 
 108
 
 Rhyme After Rain 
 
 Starry-eyed is April morn, 
 Rainbells glitter on the thorn. 
 Birds are tuning down the lane 
 Patter song of fallen rain. 
 Spring can grieve, but Spring can be 
 Very life of minstrelsy! 
 
 Gather the sob, gather the song! 
 
 Neither will last, neither will last! 
 
 All is yours, but not for long, 
 
 Life travels fast! 
 
 Rainbow's dipping out to sea, 
 Lambs do whisper devilry. 
 Leaves are sweet as e'er you've seen, 
 Sun is golden, grass is green, 
 Meadow's pied with flowers wet, 
 Thrushes sing: "Forget, forget!" 
 
 Gather the grey, gather the gleam! 
 
 Neither will last, neither will last! 
 
 Certainty 'tis but a dream! 
 
 Life travels fast! 
 
 109
 
 Gorse has lit his lanterns all, 
 
 Cobwebbed thrift's a fairy ball, 
 
 Earth it smells as good as new, 
 
 Winds are merry, sky is blue. 
 
 Spring has laughter, Spring has tears, 
 
 Life has courage, life has fears. 
 Gather the tears, gather the mirth! 
 Neither will last, neither will last! 
 Old Year's death is Young Year's birth- 
 Life travels fast! 
 
 no
 
 Life? 
 
 Life? What is Life? 
 The leaping up of level wave; 
 The flaring of an ashy fire; 
 The living wind in airless grave! 
 
 Death? What is Death? 
 The dying of immortal sun; 
 The sleeping of the sleepless moon; 
 The end of story not begun! 
 
 in
 
 OS875 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 ^9875
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000812167 5