THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 FOLIAGE
 
 By the Same Writer 
 
 THE SOUL'S DESTROYER AND OTHER 
 POEMS 
 
 Wrappers, is. nett ; postage, id. 
 
 NEW POEMS 
 Cloth, is. f>d. nett ; postage, i}</. 
 
 NATURE POEMS, AND OTHERS 
 Grey Boards, is. nett; postage, i^J. 
 
 FAREWELL TO POESY 
 Grey Boards, is. nett ; postage, lid. 
 
 SONGS OF JOY 
 2s. Cd.
 
 FOLIAGE 
 
 VARIOUS POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM H. DAVIES 
 
 LONDON 
 
 ELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREET 
 1913
 
 007 
 
 8-S 
 
 The Author thanks the editors of the following magazines 
 for permission to reprint these pvems : THE ENGLISH 
 REVIEW, NATION, WESTMINSTER GAZETTE, NEW 
 STATESMAN, NASH'S, VINEYARD and the ODD 
 VOLUME.
 
 CONTENTS " 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THUNDERSTORMS 9 
 
 STRONG MOMENTS . , . . . 10 
 
 A GREETING n 
 
 SWEET STAY-AT-HOME 12 
 
 THE STARVED 14 
 
 A MAY MORNING 15 
 
 THE LONELY DKEAMEK. 16 
 
 CHRISTMAS 17 
 
 LAUGHING ROSE 19 
 
 SEEKING JOY 20 
 
 THE OLD OAK TREE 21 
 
 POOR KINGS 23 
 
 LOVE AND THE MUSE ..... 24 
 
 MY YOUTH 25 
 
 SMILES 26 
 
 MAD POLL 27 
 
 JOY SUPREME 28 
 
 FRANCIS THOMPSON 29 
 
 THE BIRD-MAN . . . , . 31 
 
 WINTER'S BEAUTY ..... 32 
 
 THE CHURCH ORGAN , . 33 
 
 HEIGH HO, THE RAIN ..... 33 
 
 LOVE'S INSPIRATION 34 
 
 NIGHT WANDERERS 35 
 
 YOUNG BEAUTY 36
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAC.K 
 
 WHO I KNOW 37 
 
 SWEET BIRDS, I COME 38 
 
 THE Two LIVES 39 
 
 HIDDEN LOVE 40 
 
 LIFE is JOLLY 41 
 
 THE FOG 42 
 
 A WOMAN'S CHARMS 43 
 
 DREAMS OF THE SEA 44 
 
 THE WONDER-MAKER 46 
 
 THE HELPLESS 47 
 
 AN EARLY LOVE 48 
 
 DREAM TRAGEDIES 49 
 
 CHILDREN AT PLAY 50 
 
 WHEN THE CUCKOO SINGS 51 
 
 RETURN TO NATURE 52 
 
 A STRANGE CITY 59
 
 THUNDERSTORMS 
 
 MY mind has thunderstorms, 
 That brood for heavy hours : 
 
 Until they rain me words, 
 
 My thoughts are drooping flowers 
 
 And sulking, silent birds. 
 
 Yet come, dark thunderstorms, 
 And brood your heavy hours ; 
 
 For when you rain me words, 
 My thoughts are dancing flowers 
 
 And joyful singing birds.
 
 STRONG MOMENTS 
 
 SOMETIMES I hear fine ladies sing, 
 
 Sometimes I smoke and drink with men ; 
 
 Sometimes I play at games of cards 
 Judge me to be no strong man then. 
 
 The strongest moment of my life 
 Is when I think about the poor ; 
 
 When, like a spring that rain has fed, 
 My pity rises more and more. 
 
 The flower that loves the warmth and light, 
 Has all its mornings bathed in dew ; 
 
 My heart has moments wet with tears, 
 My weakness is they are so few. 
 
 10
 
 A GREETING 
 
 GOOD morning, Life and all 
 Things glad and beautiful. 
 My pockets nothing hold, 
 But he that owns the gold, 
 The Sun, is my great friend 
 His spending has no end. 
 
 Hail to the morning sky, 
 
 Which bright clouds measure high ; 
 
 Hail to you birds whose throats 
 
 Would number leaves by notes ; 
 
 Hail to you shady bowers, 
 
 And you green fields of flowers. 
 
 Hail to you women fair, 
 That make a show so rare 
 In cloth as white as milk 
 Be't calico or silk : 
 Good morning, Life and all 
 Things glad and beautiful. 
 
 ii
 
 SWEET STAY-AT-HOME 
 
 SWEET Stay-at-Home, sweet Well-content, 
 Thou knowest of no strange continent : 
 Thou hast not felt thy bosom keep 
 A gentle motion with the deep \ 
 Thou hast not sailed in Indian seas, 
 Where scent comes forth in every breeze. 
 Thou hast not seen the rich grape grow 
 For miles, as far as eyes can go ; 
 Thou hast not seen a summer's night 
 When maids could sew by a worm's light ; 
 Nor the North Sea in spring send out 
 Bright hues that like birds flit about 
 In solid cages of white ice 
 Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Love-one-place. 
 Thou hast not seen black fingers pick 
 White cotton when the bloom is thick, 
 Nor heard black throats in harmony ; 
 Nor hast thou sat on stones that lie 
 Flat on the earth, that once did rise 
 To hide proud kings from common eyes, 
 Thou hast not seen plains full of bloom 
 Where green things had such little room 
 12
 
 SWEET STAY-AT-HOME 
 
 They pleased the eye like fairer flowers 
 Sweet Stay-at-Home, all these long hours. 
 Sweet Well-content, sweet Love-one-place, 
 Sweet, simple maid, bless thy dear face ; 
 For thou hast made more homely stuff 
 Nurture thy gentle self enough ; 
 I love thee for a heart that's kind 
 Not for the knowledge in thy mind.
 
 THE STARVED 
 
 MY little Lamb, what is amiss ? 
 If there was milk in mother's kiss, 
 You would not look as white as this. 
 
 The wolf of Hunger, it is he 
 That takes away thy milk from me, 
 And I have much to do for thee. 
 If thou couldst live on love, I know 
 No babe in all the land could show 
 More rosy cheeks and louder crow. 
 
 Thy father's dead, Alas for thee : 
 I cannot keep this wolf from me, 
 That takes thy milk so bold and free. 
 
 If thy dear father lived, he'd drive 
 
 Away this beast with whom I strive, 
 
 And thou, my pretty Lamb, wouldst thrive. 
 
 Ah, my poor babe, my love's so great 
 I'd swallow common rags for meat 
 If they could make milk rich and sweet. 
 
 My little Lamb, what is amiss ? 
 Come, I must wake thee with a kiss, 
 For Death would own a sleep like this.
 
 A MAY MORNING 
 
 THE sky is clear, 
 
 The sun is bright ; 
 The cows are red, 
 
 The sheep are white ; 
 Trees in the meadows 
 Make happy shadows. 
 Birds in the hedge 
 
 Are perched and sing ; 
 Swallows and larks 
 
 Are on the wing : 
 Two merry cuckoos 
 Are making echoes. 
 
 Bird and the beast 
 Have the dew yet ; 
 
 My road shines dry, 
 Theirs bright and wet : 
 
 Death gives no warning, 
 
 On this May morning. 
 
 I see no Christ 
 
 Nailed on a tree, 
 Dying for sin ; 
 
 No sin I see : 
 No thoughts for sadness, 
 All thou-hts for gladness. 
 15
 
 THE LONELY DREAMER 
 
 HE lives his lonely life, and when he dies 
 A thousand hearts maybe will utter sighs ; 
 Because they liked his songs, and now their bird 
 Sleeps with his head beneath his wing, unheard. 
 
 But what kind hand will tend his grave, and 
 
 bring 
 
 Those blossoms there, of which he used to sing ? 
 Who'll kiss his mound, and wish the time would 
 
 come 
 To lie with him inside that silent tomb ? 
 
 And who'll forget the dreamer's skill, and shed 
 A tear because a loving heart is dead ? 
 Heigh ho for gossip then, and common sighs 
 And let his death bring tears in no one's eyes. 
 
 j6
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 CHRISTMAS has come, let's eat and drink 
 This is no time to sit and think ; 
 Farewell to study, books and pen, 
 And welcome to all kinds of men. 
 Let all men now get rid of care, 
 And what one has let others share ; 
 Then 'tis the same, no matter which 
 Of us is poor, or which is rich. 
 Let each man have enough this day, 
 Since those that can are glad to pay ; 
 There's nothing now too rich or good 
 For poor men, not the King's own food. 
 Now like a singing bird my feet 
 Touch earth, and I must drink and eat. 
 Welcome to all men : I'll not care 
 What any of my fellows wear ; 
 We'll not let cloth divide our souls, 
 They'll swim stark naked in the bowls. 
 Welcome, poor beggar : I'll not see 
 That hand of yours dislodge a flea, 
 While you sit at my side and beg, 
 Or right foot scratching your left leg. 
 Farewell restraint : we will not now 
 
 17 c
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 Measure the ale our brains allow, 
 
 But drink as much as we can hold. 
 
 We'll count no change when we spend gold 
 
 This is no time to save, but spend, 
 
 To give for nothing, not to lend. 
 
 Let foes make friends : let them forget 
 
 The mischief-making dead that fret 
 
 The living with complaint like this 
 
 " He wronged us once, hate him and his." 
 
 Christmas has come ; let every man 
 
 Eat, drink, be merry all he can. 
 
 Ale's my best mark, but if port wine 
 
 Or whisky's yours let it be mine ; 
 
 No matter what lies in the bowls, 
 
 We'll make it rich with our own souls. 
 
 Farewell to study, books and pen, 
 
 And welcome to all kinds of men. 
 
 18
 
 LAUGHING ROSE 
 
 IK I were gusty April now, 
 
 How I would blow at laughing Rose ; 
 I'd make her ribbons slip their knots, 
 
 And all her hair come loose. 
 
 If I were merry April now, 
 
 How I would pelt her cheeks with showers ; 
 I'd make carnations, rich and warm, 
 
 Of her vermilion flowers. 
 
 Since she will laugh in April's face, 
 No matter how he rains or blows 
 
 Then O that I wild April were, 
 To play with laughing Rose. 
 
 19 C 2
 
 SEEKING JOY 
 
 TOY, how I sought thee ! 
 Silver 1 spent and gold, 
 On the pleasures of this world, 
 
 In splendid garments clad ; 
 The wine I drank was sweet, 
 Rich morsels I did eat 
 
 Oh, but my life was sad ! 
 Joy, how I sought thee ! 
 
 Joy, I have found thee ! 
 Far from the halls of Mirth, 
 Back to the soft green earth, 
 
 Where people are not many ; 
 I find thee, Joy, in hours 
 With clouds, and birds, and fiowers- 
 
 Thou dost not charge one penny. 
 Joy, I have found thee ! 
 
 20
 
 THE OLD OAK TREE 
 
 I SIT beneath your leaves, old oak, 
 You mighty one of all the trees ; 
 
 Within whose hollow trunk a man 
 Could stable his big horse with ease. 
 
 I see your knuckles hard and strong, 
 But have no fear they'll come to blows ; 
 
 Your life is long, and mine is short, 
 
 But which has known the greater woes ? 
 
 Thou has not seen starved women here, 
 Or man gone mad because ill-fed 
 
 Who stares at stones in city streets, 
 Mistaking them for hunks of bread. 
 
 Thou hast not felt the shivering backs 
 Of homeless children lying down 
 
 And sleeping in the cold, night air 
 Like doors and walls in London town. 
 
 Knowing thou hast not known such shame, 
 And only storms have come thy way, 
 
 Methinks I could in comfort spend 
 My summer with thee, day by day. 
 21
 
 THE OLD OAK TREE 
 
 To lie by day in thy green shade, 
 And in thy hollow rest at night ; 
 
 And through the open doorway see 
 The stars turn over leaves of light. 
 
 22
 
 POOR KINGS 
 
 GOD'S pity on poor kings, 
 
 They know no gentle rest ; 
 The North and South cry out, 
 
 Cries come from East and West 
 " Come, open this new Dock, 
 
 Building, Bazaar or Fair." 
 Lord, what a wretched life 
 
 Such men must bear. 
 
 They're followed, watched and spied, 
 
 No liberty they know ; 
 Some eye will watch them still, 
 
 No matter where they go. 
 When in green lanes I muse, 
 
 Alone, and hear birds sing, 
 God's pity then, say I, 
 
 On some poor king.
 
 LOVE AND THE MUSE 
 
 MY back is turned on Spring and all her flowers, 
 The birds no longer charm from tree to tree ; 
 
 The cuckoo had his home in this green world 
 Ten days before his voice was heard by me. 
 
 Had I an answer from a dear one's lips, 
 
 My love of life would soon regain its power ; 
 
 And suckle my sweet dreams, that tug my heart, 
 And whimper to be nourished every hour. 
 
 Give me that answer now, and then my Muse, 
 That for my sweet life's sake must never die, 
 
 Will rise like that great wave that leaps and 
 
 hangs 
 The sea-weed on a vessel's mast-top high.
 
 MY YOUTH 
 
 MY youth was my old age, 
 
 Weary and long ; 
 It had too many cares 
 
 To think of song ; 
 My moulting days all came 
 
 When I was young. 
 
 Now, in life's prime, my soul 
 Comes out in flower ; 
 
 Late, as with Robin, comes 
 My singing power ; 
 
 I was not born to joy 
 Till this late hour.
 
 SMILES 
 
 I SAW a black girl once, 
 
 As black as winter's night ; 
 Till through her parted lips 
 
 There came a flood of light ; 
 It was the milky way 
 
 Across her face so black : 
 Her two lips closed again, 
 
 And night came back. 
 
 I see a maiden now, 
 
 Fair as a summer's day ; 
 Yet through her parted lips 
 
 I see the milky way ; 
 It makes the broad daylight 
 
 In summer time look black : 
 Her two lips close again, 
 
 And night comes back. 
 
 26
 
 MAD POLL 
 
 THERE goes mad Poll, dressed in wild flowers, 
 Poor, crazy Poll, now old and wan ; 
 
 Her hair all down, like any child : 
 She swings her two arms like a man. 
 
 Poor, crazy Poll is never sad, 
 
 She never misses one that dies ; 
 When neighbours show their new-born babes, 
 
 They seem familiar to her eyes. 
 
 Her bonnet's always in her hand, 
 Or on the ground, and lying near ; 
 
 She thinks it is a thing for play, 
 Or pretty show, and not to wear. 
 
 She gives the sick no sympathy, 
 
 She never soothes a child that cries ; 
 
 She never whimpers, night or day, 
 
 She makes no moans, she makes no sighs. 
 
 She talks about some battle old, 
 Fought many a day from yesterday ; 
 
 And when that war is done, her love 
 " Ha, ha ! " Poll laughs, and skips away. 
 27
 
 JOY SUPREME 
 
 THE birds are pirates of her notes, 
 
 The blossoms steal her face's light ; 
 The stars in ambush lie all day, 
 
 To take her glances for the night. 
 Her voice can shame rain-pelted leaves ; 
 
 Young robin has no notes as sweet 
 In autumn, when the air is still, 
 
 And all the other birds are mute. 
 
 When I set eyes on ripe, red plums 
 
 That seem a sin and shame to bite, 
 Such are her lips, which I would kiss, 
 
 And still would keep before my sight. 
 When I behold proud gossamer 
 
 Make silent billows in the air, 
 Then think I of her head's fine stuff, 
 
 Finer than gossamer's, I swear. 
 
 The miser has his joy, with gold 
 
 Beneath his pillow in the night ; 
 My head shall lie on soft warm hair, 
 
 And miser's know not that delight. 
 Captains that own their ships can boast 
 
 Their joy to feel the rolling brine 
 But I shall lie near her, and feel 
 
 Her soft warm bosom swell on mine 
 28
 
 FRANCIS THOMPSON 
 
 THOU hadst no home, and thou couldst see 
 In every street the windows' light : 
 Dragging thy limbs about all night, 
 
 Xo window kept a light for thee. 
 
 However much thou wert distressed, 
 Or tired of moving, and felt sick, 
 Thy life was on the open deck 
 
 Thou hadst no cabin for thy rest. 
 
 Thy barque was helpless 'neath the sky, 
 No pilot thought thee worth his pains 
 To guide for love or money gains 
 
 Like phantom ships the rich sailed by. 
 
 Thy shadow mocked thee night and day, 
 
 Thy life's companion, it alone; 
 
 It did not sigh, it did not moan, 
 But mocked thy moves in every way. 
 
 In spite of all, the mind had force, 
 And, like a stream whose surface flows 
 The wrong way when a strong wind blows, 
 
 It underneath maintained its course. 
 29
 
 FRANCIS THOMPSON 
 
 Oft didst thou think thy mind would flower 
 Too late for good, as some bruised tree 
 That blooms in Autumn, and we see 
 
 Fruit not worth picking, hard and sour. 
 
 Some poets feign their wounds and scars. 
 If they had known real suffering hours, 
 They'd show, in place of Fancy's flowers, 
 
 More of Imagination's stars. 
 
 So, if thy fruits of Poesy 
 Are rich, it is at this dear cost 
 That they were nipt by Sorrow's frost, 
 
 In nights of homeless misery.
 
 THE BIRD-MAN 
 
 MAN is a bird : 
 
 He rises on fine wings 
 Into the Heaven's clear light ; 
 
 He flies away and sings 
 There's music in his flight. 
 
 Man is a bird : 
 
 In swiftest speed he burns, 
 With twist and dive and leap ; 
 
 A bird whose sudden turns 
 Can drive the frightened sheep. 
 
 Man is a bird : 
 
 Over the mountain high, 
 Whose head is in the skies, 
 
 Cut from its shoulder by 
 A cloud the bird-man flies. 
 
 Man is a bird : 
 
 Eagles from mountain crag 
 Swooped down to prove his worth ; 
 
 But now they rise to drag 
 Him down from Heaven to earth !
 
 WINTER'S BEAUTY 
 
 Is it not fine to walk in spring, 
 When leaves are born, and hear birds sing ? 
 And when they lose their singing powers, 
 In summer, watch the bees at flowers ? 
 Is it not fine, when summer's past, 
 To have the leaves, no longer fast, 
 Biting my heel where'er I go, 
 Or dancing lightly on my toe ? 
 Now winter's here and rivers freeze ; 
 As I walk out I see the trees, 
 Wherein the pretty squirrels sleep, 
 All standing in the snow so deep : 
 And every twig, however small, 
 Is blossomed white and beautiful. 
 Then welcome, winter, with thy power 
 To make this tree a big white flower ; 
 To make this tree a lovely sight, 
 With fifty brown arms draped in white, 
 While thousands of small fingers show 
 In soft white gloves of purest snow.
 
 THE CHURCH ORGAN 
 
 THE homeless man has heard thy voice, 
 Its sound doth move his memory deep ; 
 
 He stares bewildered, as a man 
 That's shook by earthquake in his sleep. 
 
 Thy solemn voice doth bring to mind 
 The days that are forever gone : 
 
 Thou bringest to mind our early days, 
 Ere we made second homes or none. 
 
 HEIGH HO, THE RAIN 
 
 THE Lark that in heaven dim 
 Can match a rainy hour 
 With his own music's shower, 
 
 Can make me sing like him 
 Heigh ho ! The rain ! 
 
 Sing when a Nightingale 
 
 Pours forth her own sweet soul 
 To hear dread thunder roll 
 
 Into a tearful tale 
 Heigh ho ! The rain ! 
 
 33 D
 
 HEIGH HO, THE RAIN 
 
 Sing when a Sparrow's seen 
 
 Trying to lie at rest 
 
 By pressing his warm breast 
 To leaves so wet and green 
 
 Heigh ho ! The rain ! 
 
 LOVE'S INSPIRATION 
 
 GIVE me the chance, and I will make 
 
 Thy thoughts of me, like worms this day, 
 Take wings and change to butterflies 
 
 That in the golden light shall play ; 
 Thy cold, clear heart the quiet pool 
 
 That never heard Love's nightingale 
 Shall hear his music night and day, 
 
 And in no seasons shall it fail. 
 
 I'll make thy happy heart my port, 
 
 Where all my thoughts are anchored fast ; 
 Thy meditations, full of praise, 
 
 The flags of glory on each mast. 
 I'll make my Soul thy shepherd soon, 
 
 With all thy thoughts my grateful flock ; 
 And thou shalt say, each time I go 
 
 How long, my Love, ere thou'lt come back ? 
 34
 
 NIGHT WANDERERS 
 
 THEY hear the bell of midnight toll, 
 And shiver in their flesh and soul ; 
 They lie on hard, cold wood or stone, 
 Iron, and ache in every bone ; 
 They hate the night : they see no eyes 
 Of loved ones in the starlit skies. 
 They see the cold, dark water near ; 
 They dare not take long looks for fear 
 They'll fall like those poor birds that see 
 A snake's eyes staring at their tree. 
 Some of them laugh, half-mad ; and some 
 All through the chilly night are dumb ; 
 Like poor, weak infants some converse, 
 And cough like giants, deep and hoarse. 
 
 35
 
 YOUNG BEAUTY 
 
 WHEN at each door the ruffian winds 
 Have laid a dying man to groan, 
 
 And filled the air on winter nights 
 With cries of infants left alone ; 
 
 And every thing that has a bed 
 
 Will sigh for others that have none : 
 
 On such a night, when bitter cold, 
 
 Young Beauty, full of love thoughts sweet, 
 
 Can redden in her looking-glass ; 
 With but one gown on, in bare feet, 
 
 She from her own reflected charms 
 Can feel the joy of summer's heat.
 
 WHO I KNOW 
 
 I DO not know his grace the Duke, 
 Outside whose gilded gate there died 
 
 Of want a feeble, poor old man, 
 With but his shadow at his side. 
 
 I do not know his Lady fair, 
 
 Who in a bath of milk doth lie ; 
 More milk than could feed fifty babes, 
 
 That for the want of it must die. 
 
 But well I know the mother poor, 
 
 Three pounds of flesh wrapped in her shawl 
 A puny babe that, stripped at home, 
 
 Looks like a rabbit skinned, so small. 
 
 And well I know the homeless waif, 
 
 Fed by the poorest of the poor ; 
 Since I have seen that child alone, 
 
 Crying against a bolted door. 
 
 37
 
 SWEET BIRDS, I COME 
 
 THE bird that now 
 
 On bush and tree, 
 Near leaves so green 
 
 Looks down to see 
 Flowers looking up 
 
 He either sings 
 In ecstasy 
 
 Or claps his wings. 
 
 Why should I slave 
 
 For finer dress 
 Or ornaments ; 
 
 Will flowers smile less 
 For rags than silk ? 
 
 Are birds less dumb 
 For tramp than squire ? 
 
 Sweet birds, I come.
 
 THE TWO LIVES 
 
 Now how could I, with gold to spare, 
 Who know the harlot's arms, and wine, 
 
 Sit in this green field all alone, 
 If Nature was not truly mine ? 
 
 That Pleasure life wakes stale at morn, 
 From heavy sleep that no rest brings : 
 
 This life of quiet joy wakes fresh, 
 
 And claps its wings at morn, and sings. 
 
 So here sit I, alone till noon, 
 
 In one long dream of quiet bliss ; 
 
 I hear the lark and share his joy, 
 
 With no more winedrops than were his. 
 
 Such, Nature, is thy charm and power 
 Since I have made the Muse my wife 
 
 To keep me from the harlot's arms, 
 And save me from a drunkard's life. 
 
 39
 
 HIDDEN LOVE 
 
 THE bird of Fortune sings when free, 
 But captured, soon grows dumb ; and we, 
 To hear his fast declining powers, 
 Must soon forget that he is ours. 
 So, when I win that maid, no doubt 
 Love soon will seem to be half out ; 
 Like blighted leaves drooped to the ground, 
 Whose roots are still untouched and sound, 
 So will our love's root still be strong 
 When others think the leaves go wrong. 
 Though we may quarrel, 'twill not prove 
 That she and I are less in love ; 
 The parrot, though he mocked the dove, 
 Died when she died, and proved his love. 
 When merry springtime comes, we hear 
 How all things into love must stir ; 
 How birds would rather sing than eat, 
 How joyful sheep would rather bleat : 
 And daffodils nod heads of gold, 
 And dance in April's sparkling cold. 
 So in our early love did we 
 Dance much and skip, and laugh with glee : 
 But let none think our love is flown 
 If, when we're married, little's shown : 
 E'en though our lips be dumb of song, 
 Our hearts can still be singing strong. 
 40
 
 LIFE IS JOLLY 
 
 THIS life is jolly, O ! 
 
 I envy no man's lot ; 
 My eyes can much admire, 
 
 And still my heart crave not ; 
 There's no true joy in gold, 
 
 It breeds desire for more ; 
 Whatever wealth man has, 
 
 Desire can keep him poor. 
 
 This life is jolly, O ! 
 
 Power has his fawning slaves, 
 But if he rests his mind, 
 
 Those wretches turn bold knaves. 
 Fame's field is full of flowers, 
 
 It dazzles as we pass, 
 But men who walk that field 
 
 Starve for the common grass. 
 
 This life is jolly, O ! 
 
 Let others know they die, 
 Enough to know I live, 
 
 And make no question why ; 
 I care not whence I came, 
 
 Nor whither I shall go ; 
 Let others think of these 
 
 This life is jolly, O !
 
 THE FOG 
 
 I SAW the fog grow thick, 
 
 Which soon made blind my ken ; 
 It made tall men of boys, 
 
 And giants of tall men. 
 
 It clutched my throat, I coughed ; 
 
 Nothing was in my head 
 Except two heavy eyes 
 
 Like balls of burning lead. 
 
 And when it grew so black 
 That I could know no place, 
 
 I lost all judgment then, 
 Of distance and of space. 
 
 The street lamps, and the lights 
 
 Upon the halted cars, 
 Could either be on earth 
 
 Or be the heavenly stars. 
 
 A man passed by me close, 
 
 I asked my way, he said, 
 " Come, follow me, my friend "- 
 
 I followed where he led. 
 
 He rapped the stones in front, 
 
 " Trust me," he said, " and come " 
 
 I followed like a child 
 A blind man led me home.
 
 A WOMAN'S CHARMS 
 
 My purse is yours, Sweet Heart, for I 
 Can count no coins with you close by ; 
 I scorn like sailors them, when they 
 Have drawn on shore their deep-sea pay ; 
 Only my thoughts I value now, 
 Which, like the simple glowworms, throw 
 Their beams to greet thee bravely, Love 
 Their glorious light in Heaven above. 
 Since I have felt thy waves of light, 
 Beating against my soul, the sight 
 Of gems from Afric's continent 
 Move me to no great wonderment. 
 Since I, Sweet Heart, have known thine hair, 
 The fur of ermine, sable, bear, 
 Or silver fox, for me can keep 
 No more to praise than common sheep. 
 Though ten Isaiahs' souls were mine, 
 They could not sing such charms as thine. 
 Two little hands that show with pride, 
 Two timid, little feet that hide ; 
 Two eyes no dark Senoras show 
 Their burning like in Mexico ; 
 Two coral gates wherein is shown 
 43
 
 A WOMAN'S CHARMS 
 
 Your queen of charms, on a white throne ; 
 Your queen of charms, the lovely smile 
 That on its white throne could beguile 
 The mastiff from his gates in hell ; 
 Who by no whine or bark could tell 
 His masters what thing made him go 
 And countless other charms I know. 
 October's hedge has far less hues 
 Than thou hast charms from which to choose. 
 
 DREAMS OF THE SEA 
 
 I KNOW not why I yearn for thee again, 
 To sail once more upon thy fickle flood ; 
 
 I'll hear thy waves wash under my death-bed, 
 Thy salt is lodged forever in my blood. 
 
 Yet I have seen thee lash the vessel's sides 
 In fury, with thy many tailed whip; 
 
 And I have seen thee, too, like Galilee, 
 When Jesus walked in peace to Simon's ship 
 
 And I have seen thy gentle breeze as soft 
 As summer's, when it makes the cornfields 
 
 run; 
 And I have seen thy rude and lusty gale 
 
 Make ships show half their bellies to the sun. 
 44
 
 DREAMS OF THE SEA 
 
 Thou knowest the way to tame the wildest life, 
 Thou knowest the way to bend the great and 
 
 proud : 
 
 I think of that Armada whose puffed sails, 
 Greedy and large, came swallowing every 
 cloud. 
 
 But I have seen the sea-boy, young and 
 drowned, 
 
 Lying on shore and, by thy cruel hand, 
 A seaweed beard was on his tender chin, 
 
 His heaven-blue eyes were filled with 
 
 common sand. 
 And yet, for all, I yearn for thee again, 
 
 To sail once more upon thy fickle flood : 
 I'll hear thy waves wash under my death-bed, 
 
 Thy salt is lodged forever in my blood. 
 
 45
 
 THE WONDER MAKER 
 
 COME, if thou'rt cold to Summer's charms, 
 Her clouds of green, her starry flowers, 
 
 And let this bird, this wandering bird, 
 Make his fine wonder yours ; 
 
 He, hiding in the leaves so green, 
 
 When sampling this fair world of ours, 
 
 Cries cuckoo, clear ; and like Lot's wife, 
 
 I look, though it should cost my life. 
 
 When I can hear that charmed one's voice, 
 
 I taste of immortality ; 
 My joy's so great that on my heart 
 
 Doth lie eternity, 
 As light as any little flower 
 
 So strong a wonder works in me ; 
 Cuckoo ! he cries, and fills my soul 
 With all that's rich and beautiful. 
 
 46
 
 THE HELPLESS 
 
 THOSE poor, heartbroken wretches, doomed 
 To hear at night the clocks' hard tones ; 
 
 They have no beds to warm their limbs, 
 
 But with those limbs must warm cold stones ; 
 
 Those poor weak men, whose coughs and 
 ailings 
 
 Force them to tear at iron railings. 
 
 Those helpless men that starve, my pity ; 
 
 Whose waking day is never done ; 
 Who, save for their own shadows, are 
 
 Doomed night and day to walk alone : 
 They know no bright face but the sun's, 
 So cold and dark are human ones. 
 
 47
 
 AN EARLY LOVE 
 
 AH, sweet young blood, that makes the heart 
 
 So full of joy, and light, 
 That dying children dance with it 
 
 From early morn till night. 
 
 My dreams were blossoms, hers the fruit, 
 
 She was my dearest care ; 
 With gentle hand, and for it, I 
 
 Made playthings of her hair. 
 
 I made my fingers rings of gold, 
 
 And bangles for my wrist ; 
 You should have felt the soft, warm thing 
 
 I made to glove my fist. 
 
 And she should have a crown, I swore, 
 
 With only gold enough 
 To keep together stones more rich 
 
 Than that fine metal stuff. 
 
 Her golden hair gave me more joy 
 
 Than Jason's heart could hold, 
 When all his men cried out Ah, look ! 
 
 He has the Fleece of Gold !
 
 DREAM TRAGEDIES 
 
 THOU art not always kind, O sleep : 
 What awful secrets thou dost keep 
 In store, and ofttimes make us know ; 
 What hero has not fallen low 
 In sleep before a monster grim, 
 And whined for mercy unto him ; 
 Knights, constables, and men-at-arms 
 Have quailed and whined in sleep's alarms. 
 Thou wert not kind last night to make 
 Me like a very coward shake 
 Shake like a thin red-currant bush 
 Robbed of its fruit by a strong thrush. 
 I felt this earth did move ; more slow, 
 And slower yet began to go ; 
 And not a bird was heard to sing, 
 Men and great beasts were shivering ; 
 All living things knew well that when 
 This earth stood still, destruction then 
 Would follow with a mighty crash. 
 'Twas then I broke that awful hush : 
 E'en as a mother, who does come 
 Running in haste back to her home, 
 And looks at once, and lo, the child 
 She left asleep is gone ; and wild 
 She shrieks and loud so did I break 
 With a mad cry that dream, and wake. 
 49 E
 
 CHILDREN AT PLAY 
 
 I HEAR a merry noise indeed : 
 
 Is it the geese and ducks that take 
 
 Their first plunge in a quiet pond 
 That into scores of ripples break 
 
 Or children make this merry sound ? 
 
 I see an oak tree, its strong back 
 
 Could not be bent an inch though all 
 
 Its leaves were stone, or iron even : 
 A boy, with many a lusty call, 
 
 Rides on a bough bareback through Heaven. 
 
 I see two children dig a hole 
 
 And plant in it a cherry-stone : 
 " We'll come to-morrow," one child said 
 
 " And then the tree will be full grown, 
 And all its boughs have cherries red." 
 
 Ah, children, what a life to lead : 
 
 You love the flowers, but when they're past 
 No flowers are missed by your bright eyes ; 
 
 And when cold winter comes at last, 
 Snowflakes shall be your butterflies.
 
 WHEN THE CUCKOO SINGS 
 
 IN summer, when the Cuckoo sings, 
 
 And clouds like greater moons can shine ; 
 When every leafy tree doth hold 
 
 A loving heart that beats with mine : 
 Now, when the Brook has cresses green, 
 
 As well as stones, to check his pace ; 
 And, if the Owl appears, he's forced 
 
 By small birds to some hiding-place : 
 Then, like red Robin in the spring, 
 
 I shun those haunts where men are found ; 
 My house holds little joy until 
 
 Leaves fall and birds can make no sound ; 
 Let none invade that wilderness 
 
 Into whose dark green depths I go 
 Save some fine lady, all in white, 
 
 Comes like a pillar of pure snow 
 
 I''. 2
 
 RETURN TO NATURE 
 
 MY song is of that city which 
 Has men too poor and men too rich ; 
 Where some are sick, too richly fed, 
 While others take the sparrows' bread : 
 Where some have beds to warm their bones, 
 While others sleep on hard, cold stones 
 That suck away their bodies' heat. 
 Where men are drunk in every street ; 
 Men full of poison, like those flies 
 That still attack the horses' eyes. 
 Where some men freeze for want of cloth, 
 While others show their jewels' worth 
 And dress in satin, fur or silk ; 
 Where fine rich ladies wash in milk, 
 While starving mothers have no food 
 To make them fit in flesh and blood ; 
 So that their watery breasts can give 
 Their babies milk and make them live. 
 Where one man does the work of four, 
 And dies worn out before his hour ; 
 While some seek work in vain, and grief 
 Doth make their fretful lives as brief. 
 Where ragged men are seen to wait 
 52
 
 RETURN TO NATURE 
 
 For charity that's small and late 
 While others haunt in idle leisure, 
 Theatre doors to pay for pleasure. 
 No more I'll walk those crowded places 
 And take hot dreams from harlots' faces ; 
 I'll know no more those passions' dreams, 
 While musing near these quiet streams ; 
 That biting state of savage lust 
 Which, true love absent, burns to dust. 
 Gold's rattle shall not rob my ears 
 Of this sweet music of the spheres. 
 I'll walk abroad with fancy free ; 
 Each leafy, summer's morn I'll see 
 The trees, all legs or bodies, when 
 They vary in their shapes like men. 
 I'll walk abroad and see again 
 How quiet pools are pricked by rain ; 
 And you shall hear a song as sweet 
 As when green leaves and raindrops meet. 
 I'll hear the Nightingale's fine mood, 
 Rattling with thunder in the wood, 
 Made bolder by each mighty crash ; 
 Who drives her notes with every flash 
 Of lightning through the summer's night. 
 No more I'll walk in that pale light 
 That shows the homeless man awake, 
 Ragged and cold ; harlot and rake 
 53
 
 RETURN TO NATURE 
 
 That have their hearts in rags, and die 
 Before that poor wretch they pass by. 
 Nay, I have found a life so fine 
 That every moment seems divine ; 
 By shunning all those pleasures full, 
 That bring repentance cold and dull. 
 Such misery seen in days gone by, 
 That, made a coward, now I fly 
 To green things, like a bird. Alas ! 
 In days gone by I could not pass 
 Ten men but what the eyes of one 
 Would burn me for no kindness done ; 
 And wretched women I passed by 
 Sent after me a moan or sigh. 
 Ah, wretched days : for in that place 
 My soul's leaves sought the human face, 
 And not the Sun's for warmth and light 
 And so was never free from blight. 
 But seek me now, and you will find 
 Me on some soft green bank reclined ; 
 Watching the stately deer close by, 
 That in a great deep hollow lie 
 Shaking their tails with all the ease 
 That lambs can. First, look for the trees, 
 Then, if you seek me, find me quick. 
 Seek me no more where men are thick, 
 But in green lanes where I can walk 
 54
 
 A mile, and still no human folk 
 Tread on my shadow. Seek me where 
 The strange oak tree is, that can bear 
 One white-leaved branch among the green- 
 Which many a woodman has not seen. 
 If you would find me, go where cows 
 And sheep stand under shady boughs ; 
 Where furious squirrels shake a tree 
 As though they'd like to bury me 
 Under a leaf shower heavy, and 
 I laugh at them for spite, and stand. 
 Seek me no more in human ways 
 Who am a coward since those days 
 My mind was burned by poor men's eyes, 
 And frozen by poor women's sighs. 
 Then send your pearls across the sea, 
 Your feathers, scent and ivory, 
 You distant lands but let my bales 
 Be brought by Cuckoos, Nightingales, 
 That come in spring from your far shores ; 
 Sweet birds that carry richer stores 
 Than men can dream of, when they prize 
 Fine silks and pearls for merchandise ; 
 And dream of ships that take the floods 
 Sunk to their decks with such vain goods ; 
 Bringing that traitor silk, whose soft 
 Smooth tongue persuades the poor too oft 
 55
 
 RETURN TO NATURE 
 
 From sweet content ; and pearls, whose fires 
 Make ashes of our best desires. 
 For I have heard the sighs and whines 
 Of rich men that drink costly wines 
 And eat the best of fish and fowl ; 
 Men that have plenty, and still growl 
 Because they cannot like kings live 
 " Alas !" they whine, " we cannot save." 
 Since I have heard those rich ones sigh, 
 Made poor by their desires so high, 
 I cherish more a simple mind ; 
 That I am well content to find 
 My pictures in the open air, 
 And let my walls and floors go bare ; 
 That I with lovely things can fill 
 My rooms, whene'er sweet Fancy will. 
 I make a fallen tree my chair, 
 And soon forget no cushion's there ; 
 I lie upon the grass or straw, 
 And no soft down do I sigh for ; 
 For with me all the time I keep 
 Sweet dreams that, do I wake or sleep, 
 Shed on me still their kindly beams ; 
 Aye, I am richer with my dreams 
 Than banks where men dull-eyed and cold 
 Without a tremble shovel gold. 
 A happy life is this. I walk 
 56
 
 RETURN TO NATURE 
 
 And hear more birds than people talk ; 
 I hear the birds that sing unseen, 
 On boughs now smothered with leaves green ; 
 I sit and watch the swallows there, 
 Making a circus in the air ; 
 That speed around straight-going crow, 
 As sharks around a ship can go ; 
 I hear the skylark out of sight, 
 Hid perfectly in all this light. 
 The dappled cows in fields I pass, 
 Up to their bosoms in deep grass ; 
 Old oak trees, with their bowels gone, 
 I see with spring's green finery on. 
 I watch the buzzing bees for hours, 
 To see them rush at laughing flowers 
 And butterflies that lie so still. 
 I see great houses on the hill, 
 With shining roofs ; and there shines one, 
 It seems that heaven has dropped the sun. 
 I see yon cloudlet sail the skies, 
 Racing with clouds ten times its size. 
 I walk green pathways, where love waits 
 To talk in whispers at old gates ; 
 Past stiles on which I lean, alone 
 Carved with the names of lovers gone ; 
 I stand on arches whose dark stones 
 Can turn the wind's soft sighs to groans. 
 57
 
 RETURN TO NATURE 
 
 I hear the Cuckoo when first he 
 
 Makes this green world's discovery, 
 
 And re-creates it in my mind, 
 
 Proving my eyes were growing blind. 
 
 I see the rainbow come forth clear 
 
 And wave her coloured scarf to cheer 
 
 The sun long swallowed by a flood 
 
 So do I live in lane and wood. 
 
 Let me look forward to each spring 
 
 As eager as the birds that sing ; 
 
 And feed my eyes on spring's young flowers 
 
 Before the bees by many hours, 
 
 My heart to leap and sing her praise 
 
 Before the birds by many days. 
 
 Go white my hair and skin go dry 
 
 But let my heart a dewdrop lie 
 
 Inside those leaves when they go wrong, 
 
 As fresh as when my life was young.
 
 A STRANGE CITY 
 
 A WONDROUS city, that had temples there 
 More rich than that one built by David's son, 
 Which called forth Ophir's gold, when Israel 
 Made Lebanon half naked for her sake. 
 I saw white towers where so-called traitors 
 
 died 
 True men whose tongues were bells to honest 
 
 hearts, 
 
 And rang out boldly in false monarch's ears. 
 Saw old black gateways, on whose arches 
 
 crouched 
 
 Stone lions with their bodies gnawed by age. 
 I looked with awe on iron gates that could 
 Tell bloody stories if they had our tongues. 
 I saw tall mounted spires shine in the sun, 
 That stood amidst their army of low streets. 
 I saw in buildings pictures, statues rare, 
 Made in those days when Rome was young, 
 
 and new 
 
 In marble quarried from Carrara's hills ; 
 Statues by sculptors that could almost make 
 Fine cobwebs out of stone so light they 
 
 worked. 
 
 Pictures that breathe in us a living soul, 
 59
 
 A STRANGE CITY 
 
 Such as we seldom feel come from that life 
 The artist copies. Many a lovely sight 
 Such as the half sunk barge with bales of hay, 
 Or sparkling coals employed my wondering 
 
 eyes. 
 I saw old Thames, whose ripples swarmed with 
 
 stars 
 
 Bred by the sun on that fine summer's day ; 
 I saw in fancy fowl and green banks there, 
 And Liza's barge rowed past a thousand swans. 
 I walked in parks and heard sweet music cry 
 In solemn courtyards, midst the men-at-arms; 
 Which suddenly would leap those stony walls 
 And spring up with loud laughter into trees. 
 I walked in busy streets where music oft 
 Went on the march with men; and ofttimes 
 
 heard 
 
 The organ in cathedral, when the boys 
 Like nightingales sang in that thunderstorm ; 
 The organ, with its rich and solemn tones 
 As near a God's voice as a man conceives ; 
 Nor ever dreamt the silent misery 
 That solemn organ brought to homeless men. 
 I heard the drums and soft brass instruments, 
 Led by the silver cornets clear and high 
 Whose sounds turned playing children into 
 
 stones. 
 
 60
 
 A STRANGE CITY 
 
 I saw at night the City's lights shine bright, 
 
 A greater milky way ; how in its spell 
 
 It fascinated with ten thousand eyes ; 
 
 Like those sweet wiles of an enchantress who 
 
 Would still detain her knight gone cold in 
 
 love; 
 
 It was an iceberg with long arms unseen, 
 That felt the deep for vessels far away. 
 All things seemed strange, I stared like any 
 
 child 
 
 That pores on some old face and sees a world 
 Which its familiar granddad and his dame 
 Hid with their love and laughter until then. 
 My feet had not yet felt the cruel rocks 
 Beneath the pleasant moss I seemed to tread. 
 But soon my ears grew weary of that din, 
 My eyes grew tired of all that flesh and stone ; 
 And, as a snail that crawls on a smooth stalk, 
 Will reach the end and find a sharpened 
 
 thorn 
 
 So did I reach the cruel end at last. 
 I saw the starving mother and her child, 
 Who feared that Death would surely end its 
 
 sleep, 
 And cursed the wolf of Hunger with her 
 
 moans. 
 
 A nd yet, methought, when first I entered there, 
 61
 
 A STRANGE CITY 
 
 Into that city with my wondering mind, 
 How marvellous its many sights and sounds ; 
 The traffic with its sound of heavy seas 
 That have and would again unseat the rocks. 
 How common then seemed Nature's hills and 
 
 fields 
 Compared with these high domes and even 
 
 streets, 
 And churches with white towers and bodies 
 
 black. 
 
 The traffic's sound was music to my ears ; 
 A sound of where the white waves, hour by 
 
 hour, 
 
 Attack a reef of coral rising yet ; 
 Or where a mighty warship in a fog, 
 Steams into a large fleet of little boats. 
 Aye, and that fog was strange and wonderful, 
 That made men blind and grope their way at 
 
 noon. 
 
 I saw that City with fierce human surge, 
 With millions of dark waves that still spread 
 
 out 
 
 To swallow more of their green boundaries. 
 Then came a day that noise so stirred my soul, 
 I called them hellish sounds, and thought red 
 
 war 
 
 Was better far than peace in such a town. 
 62
 
 A STRANGE CITY 
 
 To hear that din all day, sometimes my mind 
 Went crazed, and it seemed strange, as I were 
 
 lost 
 
 In some vast forest full of chattering apes. 
 How sick I grew to hear that lasting noise, 
 And all those people forced across my sight, 
 Knowing the acres of green fields and woods 
 That in some country parts outnumbered men ; 
 In half an hour ten thousand men I passed 
 More than nine thousand should have been 
 
 green trees. 
 
 There on a summer's day I saw such crowds 
 That where there was no man man's shadow 
 
 was; 
 
 Millions all cramped together in one hive, 
 Storing, methought, more bitter stuff than 
 
 sweet. 
 The air was foul and stale ; from their green 
 
 homes 
 Young blood had brought its fresh and rosy 
 
 cheeks, 
 Which soon turned colour, like blue streams in 
 
 flood. 
 
 Aye, solitude, black solitude indeed, 
 To meet a million souls and know not one ; 
 This world must soon grow stale to one 
 
 compelled 
 
 63
 
 A STRANGE CITY 
 
 To look all day at faces strange and cold. 
 Oft full of smoke that town ; its summer's day 
 Was darker than a summer's night at sea ; 
 Poison was there, and still men rushed for it, 
 Like cows for acorns that have made them sick. 
 That town was rich and old ; man's flesh was 
 
 cheap, 
 
 But common earth was dear to buy one foot. 
 If I must be fenced in, then let my fence 
 Be some green hedgerow ; under its green 
 
 sprays, 
 
 That shake suspended, let me walk in joy 
 As I do now, in these dear months I love. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
 lOm-ll, '50(2555)470
 
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