I 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 NEW POEMS
 
 NEW POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM H. DAVIES 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "The Soul's Destroyer" 
 
 LONDON 
 
 ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET 
 1907
 
 PR 
 
 n 
 An 
 
 TO 
 
 HELEN AND EDWARD THOMAS
 
 NOTE 
 
 SOME time ago I published a book of poems 
 called The Soul's Destroyer, which was kindly 
 received. The poems in the present book have 
 been written since, some during my stay in 
 London, others while in the country. I don't 
 think it is necessary to classify them, as the 
 subjects speak for themselves. 
 
 W. H. D.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PACK 
 
 MARGERY 9 
 
 THE WAYS OF TIME 10 
 
 A SAFE ESTATE n 
 
 THE LIKENESS 12 
 
 ALE 13 
 
 THE DISTINCTION 15 
 
 "SCOTTY"BlLL l6 
 
 THE LAMENT OF AGE 17 
 
 THE Ox 18 
 
 CATHARINE 19 
 
 THE CITY'S WAYS 21 
 
 THE FORSAKEN DEAD 23 
 
 THE DYING 26 
 
 TIME'S RULE 27 
 
 A FAMILIAR FACE 28 
 
 A BLIND CHILD 29 
 
 THE CALM 30 
 
 STRANGE PEOPLE 32 
 
 THE HAPPIEST LIFE 33 
 
 THE PRIMROSE 35 
 
 THE HOMELESS MAN 37 
 
 VlOLKT TO THE BEE 39 
 
 IN JUNE 41
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 WONDERING BROWN 
 
 Music 
 
 FACTS 
 
 NEW-COMERS .... 
 
 PARTED 
 
 THE END OF SUMMER . 
 
 THE JOLLY TRAMP 
 
 ONE WE LOVE 
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE SLUMS 
 
 THE TOOTHACHE . 
 
 APRIL ..... 
 
 WHISKEY . 
 
 HOPE ABANDONED .
 
 MARGERY 
 
 THE Butterfly loves Mignonette, 
 And every moment deeper sips ; 
 
 When Winds do shake him by his wings, 
 He fastens tighter with his lips ; 
 
 So let the whole world make me shake, 
 
 I will not from my true love break. 
 
 The bird is perched alone and sings, 
 Not all the rain can make him stop ; 
 
 In sooth he singeth more, as though 
 He'd sing one note for each rain-drop ; 
 
 So, like that bird, to his heart true, 
 
 I'll sing through showers that wet me 
 through. 
 
 A thousand trees to every house, 
 
 A singing bird in every tree ; 
 And in the midst of these she dwells, 
 
 And lives for me doth Margery ; 
 Where we can take our sweet love's fill 
 Shut in a garden green and still.
 
 THE WAYS OF TIME 
 
 As far as my own heart's concerned, 
 I give old Time contempt ; but when 
 
 I ask for girls and boys, he brings 
 Me grey-haired dames and men. 
 
 I ask to see a leafy house, 
 
 Where Nature almost laughed her way 
 Right in : he shows me a stone block, 
 
 Bare of a leafy spray. 
 
 As butterflies are but winged flowers, 
 Half sorry for their change, who fain, 
 
 So still and long they lie on leaves, 
 Would be thought flowers again 
 
 E'en so my thoughts, that should expand, 
 And grow to higher themes above, 
 
 Return like butterflies to lie 
 On the old things I love. 
 
 I would not care one jot how soon 
 Death came, had I one day at last 
 
 To be again the boy I was, 
 With children of the past. 
 
 Age ofttimes grudges me good day ; 
 
 Children hallo with pleasant stare : 
 When I was young one child ne'er failed 
 
 She with the longest hair. 
 
 10
 
 A SAFE ESTATE 
 
 IF I hear Robin sing in mirth, 
 
 I for no company shall pine ; 
 Millions of souls, indeed ! on earth 
 
 I know two only, his and mine. 
 I like red Robin, he doth draw 
 
 More close than many of my kin ; 
 The last face yestere'en I saw, 
 
 His first this morn came peeping in ; 
 For him my curtain is half drawn, 
 To follow on the look of Morn. 
 
 He who loves Nature truly, hath 
 
 His wealth in her kind hands ; and it 
 Is in safe trust until his death, 
 
 Increasing as he uses it ; 
 'Tis proof 'gainst water, thief, and flame ; 
 
 He'll not lay wild hands on his life, 
 As one who, in his health and prime, 
 
 Lets out his blood with a sharp knife, 
 When of ten ships but nine returned, 
 Or out of houses ten one burned. 
 
 ii
 
 THE LIKENESS 
 
 WHEN I came forth this morn I saw 
 Quite twenty cloudlets in the air ; 
 
 And then I saw a flock of sheep, 
 
 Which told me how those clouds came 
 there. 
 
 That flock of sheep, on that green grass, 
 Well it might lie so still and proud ! 
 
 Its likeness had been drawn in heaven, 
 On a blue sky, in silvery cloud. 
 
 I gazed me up, I gazed me down, 
 
 And swore, though good the likeness was, 
 
 'Twas a long way from justice done 
 
 To such white wool, such sparkling grass. 
 
 12
 
 ALE 
 
 O WHAT a merry world I see 
 
 Before me through a quart of ale : 
 
 Now if sometimes that men would laugh, 
 And women too would sigh and wail 
 
 To laugh or wail's an easy task 
 
 For all who drink at my ale-cask. 
 
 Life is a shade ; Death wears the flesh ; 
 
 But a quart of ale puts flesh on me, 
 And gives me power then to outgrin 
 
 That ugly grinner Death, when he 
 Doth as some passing shadow seem, 
 Whereas 'tis Life is a thin dream. 
 
 Now do I hear thee weep and groan, 
 Who hath a comrade sunk at sea ? 
 
 Then quaff thee of my good old ale. 
 And it will raise him up for thee ; 
 
 Thou'lt think as little of him then 
 
 As when he moved with living men.
 
 ALE 
 
 If thou hast hopes to move the world, 
 
 And every effort it doth fail, 
 Then to thy side call Jack and Jim, 
 
 And bid them drink with thee good ale ; 
 So may the world, that would not hear, 
 Perish in hell with all your care. 
 
 One quart of good old ale, and I 
 Feel then what life immortal is : 
 
 The brain is empty of all thought, 
 
 The heart is brimming o'er with bliss ; 
 
 Time's first child, Life, doth live ; but Death, 
 
 The second, hath not yet his breath. 
 
 Give me a quart of good old ale, 
 Am I a homeless man on earth ? 
 
 Nay, I want not your roof and quilt, 
 I'll lie warm at the moon's cold hearth ; 
 
 No grumbling ghost to grudge my bed, 
 
 His grave, ha ! ha ! holds up my head.
 
 THE DISTINCTION 
 
 THIS Talent is a slip, or shoot, 
 
 Cut off the family tree ; 
 To train with care and educate, 
 
 Which withers if let be. 
 
 But Genius is a seed that comes 
 From where no man doth know ; 
 
 Though left uncared, aye, hindered too, 
 It cannot help but grow. 
 
 Talent's an outlet of Life's stream, 
 Whose waters know no change ; 
 
 But Genius bringeth in from far 
 New waters, sweet and strange.
 
 "SCOTTY" BILL 
 
 THERE'S " Scotty " Bill, four score of years, 
 
 Who, every morn that we arise, 
 Will swear that summer's not yet come, 
 
 And questions us " Where are the 
 
 flies ? " 
 His age, methought, unsettled him, 
 
 Yet still I felt some strange surprise 
 When, every day, he damned and raved 
 
 That Summer had not brought more flies. 
 
 I asked a lodger " Tell me why 
 
 Bill swears, and where his trouble lies." 
 
 " Old Bill makes sticky papers, and 
 He makes his living catching flies." 
 
 Now what though Summer brings sweet 
 flowers, 
 
 They'll not make glad his aged eyes. 
 Tell him not then that Summer's come, 
 
 If she hath come without her flies. 
 
 And Bill, he knows a thing or two, 
 For here he strikes the cursed cause 
 
 That robbed sweet Summer of her flies 
 " 'Tis those damn sanitation laws." 
 
 With better food, and half a home, 
 I'd back Bill for a hundred years : 
 
 Death failed to blow his light out thrice. 
 Expecting help from hopeless tears. 
 
 16
 
 THE LAMENT OF AGE 
 
 WHY must I dig this old mine still, 
 Deep in the dark, the damp, and cold, 
 Just for a speck or two outdoled ! 
 
 It in my youth gave little toil 
 To find its top yield nugget gold. 
 
 My precious yields they came and went, 
 My mine worked out in every run : 
 I hear the young ones making fun, 
 
 Who must, alas ! grow old and spent, 
 And lose their gold as I have done. 
 
 The top is rich enough for youth, 
 Who needs must dig as he grows old 
 Deep in the dark, the damp, and cold ; 
 
 Until he learns the woful truth 
 The more he digs the less his gold. 
 
 O shafts and beams that propped upright 
 This mine for eighty years and more 
 For I can count my years four score 
 
 Now that my lamp gives feeble light, 
 Fall, that the earth may close me o'er !
 
 THE OX 
 
 WHY should I pause, poor beast, to praise 
 Thy back so red, thy sides so white ; 
 
 And on thy brow the curls in which 
 Thy mournful eyes take no delight ? 
 
 I dare not make fast friends with kine, 
 Nor sheep, nor fowl that cannot fly ; 
 
 For they live not for Nature's voice, 
 
 Since 'tis Man's will when they must die. 
 
 So, if I call thee some pet name, 
 And give thee of my care to-day, 
 
 Where wilt thou be to-morrow morn, 
 When I turn curious eyes thy way ? 
 
 Nay, I'll not miss what I'll not find, 
 And I'll find no fond cares for thee ; 
 
 So take away those great sad eyes 
 That stare across yon fence at me. 
 
 See you that Robin, by himself, 
 
 Perched on that leafless apple branch, 
 
 His breast like one red apple left 
 The last and best of all by chance ? 
 
 If I do but give heed to him, 
 
 He will come daily to my door ; 
 And 'tis the will of God, not Man, 
 "When Robin cometh there no more. 
 
 18
 
 CATHARINE 
 
 WE children every morn would wait 
 
 For Catharine, at the garden gate ; 
 
 Behind school-time, her sunny hair 
 
 Melted the master's frown of care, 
 
 What time his hand but threatened pain, 
 
 Shaking aloft his awful cane ; 
 
 So here one morn we two did wait 
 
 For Catharine, at the garden gate. 
 
 To Dave I say " There's sure to be 
 
 Some coral isle unknown at sea, 
 
 And if I see it first 'tis mine ! 
 
 But I'll give it to Catharine." 
 
 " When she grows up," says Dave to me, 
 
 " Some ruler in a far countree, 
 
 Where every voice but his is dumb, 
 
 Owner of pearls, and gold, and gum, 
 
 Will build for her a shining throne, 
 
 Higher than his, beside his own ; 
 
 And he, who would not list before, 
 
 Will listen to Catharine, adore 
 
 Her face and form ; and," Dave went on 
 
 When came a man there pale and wan,
 
 CATHARINE 
 
 Whose face was dark and wet, though 
 
 kind ; 
 
 He, coming there seemed like a wind 
 Whose breath is rain, yet will not stop 
 To give the parched flowers a drop : 
 " Go, children, to your school," he said ; 
 " Alone, for Catharine is dead." 
 
 20
 
 THE CITY'S WAYS 
 
 YE say the City stunts the child, 
 
 And robs its bone of half its growth ; 
 
 And makes less rich the mother's milk, 
 Which is her baby's blood, forsooth. 
 
 Ye say the City drained its blood 
 But hath it done no more than that ? 
 
 What made the child to stone the dog ? 
 What made him pinch and scald the cat ? 
 
 True, it makes shoulders narrower, 
 And maketh men as dwarves to be : 
 
 But what hath made them worse than 
 
 that 
 Demons of hell for cruelty ? 
 
 Wouldst know the City's cruel ways ? 
 
 The homeless dog and cat do know ; 
 And bony nags that cannot last 
 
 For long the pace they're whipt to go. 
 
 Or ask the Ox, strange from green fields, 
 And from the farmer's kindly ken ; 
 
 Now chased to death with curse and blow, 
 By wild things that do seem like men. 
 
 21
 
 THE CITY'S WAYS 
 
 I gave no thought how cruel 'twas, 
 
 Until I saw in kindly keep 
 The grazing ox, the ploughing horse, 
 
 So stout and strong, and fearless sheep. 
 
 A good law, for both man and beast : 
 Let all flesh food for a thousand pities 
 
 Enter to us as lifeless meat, 
 And goad no live thing through our cities. 
 
 Why think of them, though goaded, 
 
 cursed, 
 
 Of horses, oxen, sheep, in sooth ; 
 The city's far more hard on men 
 
 Some starve, some slave, and some do 
 both. 
 
 22
 
 THE FORSAKEN DEAD 
 
 WHAT tyrant starved the living out, and 
 
 kept 
 
 Their dead in this deserted settlement ! 
 There is no voice at home, no eyes to look 
 Down from their windows on these 
 
 gardens wild ; 
 
 A tyrant hath refused his people work, 
 Since they had claimed a right to share 
 
 his spoils, 
 
 And they have left their dead forsaken here. 
 Here will I sit upon this fallen tree, 
 Beside these ancient ruins, ivy-crowned, 
 Where Nature makes green mosses ooze 
 
 and spread 
 
 Out of the pores of their decaying walls 
 Here will I sit to mourn that people gone. 
 Where are they gone that there's no 
 
 maiden left 
 
 To weep the fall of this sweet village lost, 
 Down where its waters pass the empty 
 
 mills ! 
 
 No living thing except one tethered lamb, 
 That hath been crying full an hour in vain, 
 And, on that green where children played 
 
 their games,
 
 THE FORSAKEN DEAD 
 
 Hath browsed his circle bare, and bleats to 
 
 see 
 
 More dewy pastures all beyond his reach. 
 Where is maid Margaret, whom I saw 
 
 crowned 
 
 Queen of the May before so many eyes ? 
 And scornful Maud, of her rare beauty 
 
 proud 
 That cruel rose bud, with her close hard 
 
 heart, 
 Between whose folds no mercy drop could 
 
 lodge : 
 And where the men who threw the 
 
 hammer's weight, 
 And leapt this common but three moons 
 
 ago 
 When unto heaven they sent a deafening 
 
 shout 
 
 Like wild Pacific, when he leaps and falls 
 At Raratonga, off a coral reef : 
 Then, in Life's glorious deep they swam 
 
 and laughed, 
 And felt no nameless substance touch their 
 
 limbs 
 To make them sick with dread of things 
 
 unseen. 
 Some other tyrant, in some other shire, 
 
 24
 
 THE FORSAKEN DEAD 
 
 Will drive his people forth, and they will 
 
 come 
 
 Hither, to be this other tyrant's slaves. 
 Then back, ye famished strangers, or haste 
 
 on : 
 There is no joy here, save in one short 
 
 change ; 
 
 Be warned to see these dead forsaken here. 
 Had they no dreamer who might have 
 
 remained 
 
 To sing for them these desolated scenes ? 
 One who might on a starved body take 
 Strong flights beyond the fiery larks in song, 
 With awful music, passionate with hate ? 
 Were I that bard, and that poor people mine, 
 I would make strangers curse that tyrant's 
 
 day : 
 Would call on Sleep, compeller of strange 
 
 dreams, 
 Who leads the unbeliever to the Heaven 
 
 he doubts, 
 And makes a false one fear the Hell he 
 
 scorns 
 Would call on Sleep to bring him ghastly 
 
 dreams, 
 And haunt that tyrant's night without 
 
 repose.
 
 THE DYING 
 
 HE fumbles in the clothes for want of 
 
 thought, 
 And we, in life, health, fearing death, 
 
 supply 
 His dazed brain the power for clearer 
 
 work 
 Imagination to his dying eye. 
 
 Locks, bolts, nor bars make coward's heart 
 
 secure : 
 When I at night see stars shine over 
 
 head, 
 
 And in the morning dew upon the green, 
 Ah ! then I tremble to lie cold and dead 
 
 That I, whom life showed nothing to 
 
 make laugh, 
 Shall grin at last and know no reason 
 
 why; 
 And have no smell when Summer brings 
 
 her flowers, 
 
 And have no ear for birds close where I 
 lie. 
 
 26
 
 TIME'S RULE 
 
 TIME called me out of a dark room 
 
 In a green place to play ; 
 He gave me flowers, fruits, and sweets, 
 
 I laughed all day. 
 
 I sang all day ; I danced ; I moved 
 
 With motion light and free : 
 Like th' little bird whose weight is scarce 
 
 More than a bee. 
 
 The sunny days made golden years, 
 
 Till Time told his fast rule : 
 u I send my happy children all 
 
 To a good school." 
 
 Then to Experience me he took, 
 
 The Master of Life's school ; 
 Who snatched away my flowers and sweets 
 
 And called me fool. 
 
 And made me suffer, made me weep, 
 
 In daily teen and pain ; 
 Would I were back, moaned I, in that 
 
 Green place again ! 
 
 Time heard my plaint ; " that place," said 
 he, 
 
 u Hath now no fruit or flower." 
 " Then take me back to that dark room 
 
 For evermore."
 
 A FAMILIAR FACE 
 
 O FOR an old familiar face, 
 
 To see the child outgrow the man ! 
 "Shun him," they cry, "that man from 
 
 jail : 
 Shun him, that slave to Bacchus ale ; 
 
 Shun him, who swears for all he can." 
 Nay, what care I for that ? I trace 
 My way through him to scenes of joy ; 
 
 I know him not as one who spent 
 
 Prime of his life in jail ; he went 
 To the same school with me a boy, 
 
 Which fills my heart with sweet content. 
 
 A thousand times I've set my mind 
 Sternly 'gainst Bacchus and his race ; 
 
 I've seen with pity men go mad, 
 
 And women going to the bad ; 
 
 But Chance hath brought my way a face 
 
 Which shows the boy I love behind. 
 
 " Say, how is little Jane, who went 
 To school between us two ? " u Oh, she 
 Is well ; and babies " " Babies ! 
 " Three." 
 
 And in the name of wonderment, 
 Bacchus hath ta'en a hold on me. 
 
 28
 
 A BLIND CHILD 
 
 HER baby brother laughed last night, 
 The blind child asked her mother why ; 
 It was the light that caught his eye. 
 
 Would she might laugh to see that light ! 
 
 The presence of a stiffened corse 
 Is sad enow ; but, to my mind, 
 The presence of a child that's blind, 
 
 In a green garden, is far worse. 
 
 She felt my cloth for worldly place ; 
 
 She felt my face if I was good ; 
 
 My face lost more than half its blood, 
 For fear her hand would wrongly trace, 
 
 We're in the garden, where are bees 
 And flowers, and birds, and butterflies ; 
 There is one greedy fledgling cries 
 
 For all the food his parent sees ! 
 
 I see them all : flowers of all kind, 
 The sheep and cattle on the leas ; 
 The houses up the hills, and trees 
 
 But I am dumb, for she is blind. 
 
 29
 
 THE CALM 
 
 A BIRD sings on yon apple bough, 
 
 And bees are humming near ; and now 
 
 I think of my tempestuous past, 
 
 And wonder if these joys will last. 
 
 After a storm of many years, 
 
 There comes this calm to lay my fears. 
 
 In vain it comes : an anxious eye 
 
 Looks for a sign in every sky 
 
 Of tempest ; for it cannot be, 
 
 Methinks, that peace will stay with me. 
 
 Anon this mind forgets its past, 
 
 And then methinks this calm will last. 
 
 Then walk I down my lane to see 
 
 Sweet Primrose, pale Anemone, 
 
 Shy Violet, who hid from sight, 
 
 Until I followed a bee right 
 
 To her now while the cries of Spring 
 
 Do make things grow, to run and leap. 
 
 But are these pleasant days to keep ? 
 
 Where shall I be when Summer comes ? 
 
 When, with a bee's mouth closed, she 
 
 hums 
 
 Sounds not to wake, but soft and deep, 
 To make her pretty charges sleep ? 
 
 3
 
 THE CALM 
 
 As long as Heaven is true to Earth, 
 Spring will not fail with her green growth, 
 Nor Autumn with his gold ; but when 
 Troubles beset me, I seek men ; 
 From Nature, with her flowers and songs, 
 To lose myself in human throngs ; 
 From moonlit glade to limelit scene, 
 To playhouses from bowers green ; 
 From mossy rock to painted mortar, 
 To Traffic's wheels from running water ; 
 And from the birds' melodious calls 
 To lose myself in human brawls.
 
 THERE was a man I knew, 
 
 Cruel to child and wife ; 
 To see a pig despatched, 
 
 And blood upon a knife, 
 Made him so sick he retched. 
 
 There was a man I knew, 
 Soft-spoken, he was loved ; 
 
 He took a club and struck 
 
 A fowl which lived and moved 
 
 When he that fowl did pluck. 
 
 There was a man I knew, 
 Refused no stranger ale ; 
 
 But Mrs. Jones' head 
 
 Wagged with this woful tale 
 " His children moan for bread. 
 
 " A farthing's worth of milk 
 
 His little girl goes for, 
 But quarts of ale drinks he, 
 
 And rum and whisky raw " 
 Said Mrs. Jones to me. 
 
 Now these three men I knew, 
 Were Tom, and Dick, and Dave ; 
 
 Dick freely paid for drink, 
 Till Mrs. Jones she gave 
 
 That hint, which made me think.
 
 THE HAPPIEST LIFE 
 
 TAKE from the present hour its sweets ; 
 For, as thou nearest Death's vast sea, 
 To empty thy Life's river there 
 Thou wilt see flowerless banks of sand, 
 And naked rocks on that drear coast. 
 
 We rush through life as though it were 
 A race to grab new-opened land ; 
 We live as though Life's pleasures were 
 Piled at its end, and when 'tis reached, 
 We moan them passed in years long gone. 
 
 We either do outrace old Time 
 Unto an end where no joys are, 
 Or lie us down in present ease, 
 In gluttony, or drunken sloth, 
 And make Time bear us sleeping on. 
 
 Man makes his life a burning fret, 
 
 Yet beasts do know a shady spot, 
 
 And know what herbs are good ; proud 
 
 man 
 
 Knows not how much, or what to eat, 
 And drinks fire-juice in Summers prime. 
 
 33
 
 THE HAPPIEST LIFE 
 
 We must clear out our vain desires, 
 Which covet more than gold can buy ; 
 We must live more in Nature's way ; 
 For what we want is th' drunkard's ease 
 Sans drugs to give us after pain. 
 
 We all are one at last ; when Death 
 Hath glazed the eye of cruel Czar, 
 Which made so many mortals quail 
 Bury it soon from flies. Ye gods, 
 Flies on that eye which cowed down men ! 
 
 34
 
 THE PRIMROSE 
 
 No more, from now, called pale and wan, 
 As though a pitiful weak thing : 
 
 A sickly offspring of weak Sun 
 And youngish Spring. 
 
 Thy father's golden skin is thine, 
 
 And his eye's gleam ; but his bold rays 
 
 Are tempered by thy mother's blood 
 To softer ways. 
 
 For thou hast made the banks ooze gold, 
 And made old woods their darkness 
 break ; 
 
 In them I would not fall at night 
 Wert thou awake. 
 
 Here is the Primrose family : 
 
 The first born is full blown and tall ; 
 
 Two in half bloom just reach his chin, 
 Three are buds small. 
 
 Then, since the first born healthy seems 
 No drooping one I've chanced upon 
 
 It would be speaking false to call 
 Them pale and wan. 
 
 3S
 
 THE PRIMROSE 
 
 They mean the Primrose plucked and 
 withered, 
 
 Not growing in his golden shine, 
 Who'd prove by him how Phyllis looks 
 
 When she doth pine. 
 
 Indeed, where find a hardier flower ? 
 
 Born when the Spring wind chilly 
 
 blows, 
 Still beautiful in Summer's days 
 
 O rare Primrose !
 
 THE HOMELESS MAN 
 
 WAKE up yon wretch in rags, 
 Remove such filthy bags 
 From doorsteps clean enough : 
 Seems like some shaming stuff 
 That scavengers must take 
 Early, ere people wake. 
 
 The homeless man his mind 
 Is like old Autumn's wind, 
 Who here and there in doubt 
 Doth cast his leaves about, 
 Against high banks some thrown, 
 And some in water blown. 
 
 So with the homeless one ; 
 
 The Law must move him on, 
 
 For did he sit to sleep, 
 
 He might fall in Death's deep 
 
 So shocking to the eye 
 
 Of decent passers-by. 
 
 A tunnel traveller he : 
 No sight of sunny lea, 
 No bursting to the light ; 
 This traveller of the night, 
 No glimpse of heaven doth know- 
 But woe, for ever woe. 
 
 37
 
 THE HOMELESS MAN 
 
 A trespasser is he, 
 
 Wherever others see : 
 
 The child would pelt his bones, 
 
 As one they'd hurl their stones 
 
 With homeless dog or cat, 
 
 And only fear stops that. 
 
 With prayer-books in their hand, 
 Where beggar takes his stand, 
 Church people hurry past ; 
 Perchance one comes at last 
 With jug to fetch some ale, 
 He'll hear the beggar's tale. 
 
 Six butterflies take hours 
 To suck such sweets from flowers 
 As one bee in less time : 
 Work's want is beggar's crime ; 
 Who'll give employ to one 
 Worn to a rag and bone ?
 
 VIOLET TO THE BEE 
 
 O YOU false knight in shining mail, 
 Who visited my early hours 
 
 My days are numbered by your scorn, 
 Since Beauty spurns Love's flowers. 
 
 For true my charms are withered much, 
 
 And dry my body is and lax ; 
 My eye like to a burning wick 
 
 That doth outlast its wax ; 
 
 But for old times' sake look on me, 
 On your first love, who ne'er did fail 
 
 To give sweet favours when you came 
 'Scaped out of Winter's jail. 
 
 Only Primrose was here and I 
 
 When April turned to hard hail-stones 
 The soft rain-drops, and you did make 
 
 In pity such deep groans. 
 
 But now the earth is peopled more, 
 And you have power to make love's 
 choice ; 
 
 You are much occupied these days, 
 I know it by your voice. 
 
 39
 
 VIOLET TO THE BEE 
 
 For when you lie on bosoms fair, 
 In blissful moments, you are dumb ; 
 
 Which proves to me your many loves, 
 Since you now seldom hum. 
 
 You're in your highest heaven just now, 
 In apple blossoms overhead ; 
 
 And your sweet sting it is will make 
 Those blossoms apples red. 
 
 Ah ! I care not how soon Death comes, 
 To bury me on this steep bank ; 
 
 This flower of Life in other hand 
 Than Love's Oh, it smells rank ! 
 
 40
 
 IN JUNE 
 
 FLL enter into June's cool house, 
 
 Where leaves shade over her spring's 
 run ; 
 
 Sure, but one thing that breathes, the lark, 
 Dare now have dealings with the sun ; 
 
 Embolden'd with such sparkling dews, 
 
 He'll do in heaven as he choose. 
 
 There is a wood, with leafy boughs, 
 Not too far down the hawthorn lane ; 
 
 When I am in the sun can knock 
 Its roof or side, and knock in vain ; 
 
 Autumn will bring him by-and-by 
 
 Some leafless woods wherein to lie. 
 
 The little brook beside the road. 
 Though running oft from shade to shade, 
 
 Is warming still ; but if I sleep, 
 
 Perchance, when in that shaded glade, 
 
 The faith is mine that June can keep 
 
 Out sun or shower, till ends my sleep.
 
 WONDERING BROWN 
 
 THERE came a man to sell his shirt, 
 A drunken man, in life low down ; 
 
 When Riley, who was sitting near, 
 
 Made use of these strange words to 
 Brown. 
 
 " Yon fallen man, that's just gone past, 
 I knew in better days than these ; 
 
 Three shillings he could make a day, 
 As an adept at picking peas." 
 
 " God help us all ! I never heard 
 'Tis scarce believable," said Brown ; 
 
 " To think that man was what you say, 
 And now to be so low and down ! 
 
 " Now, Riley. had another told me, 
 What you have just remarked," said 
 
 Brown, 
 
 " I would have doubted help us, Heaven ! 
 That 'tis as you have said " cried 
 Brown. 
 
 42
 
 WONDERING BROWN 
 
 " You'd scarcely credit it, I knew 
 
 A man in this same house, low down, 
 
 Who owns a fish-shop now believe 
 Me, or believe me not," said Brown. 
 
 " He was a civil sort of cove, 
 
 But did queer things, for one low down : 
 Oft have I watched him clean his teeth 
 
 As true as Heaven's above ! " cried 
 Brown. 
 
 43
 
 MUSIC 
 
 LET Fortune gift on gift bestow, 
 
 When Music plays it bringeth woe 
 
 For something dearer Time hath ta'en, 
 
 Which never can be ours again. 
 
 The aged beggar-man hath heard, 
 
 And tear-drops trickle down his beard 
 
 For loss of kinder looks and home, 
 
 And days that never more can come. 
 
 Here in this smoky capital, 
 
 With scarce aught seen but grimy wall 
 
 And human faces bring to me, 
 
 Music, the things of old : the bee 
 
 Humming as Summer's months were three, 
 
 Winter had nine ; bring birds and flowers, 
 
 And the green earth of childhood's hours, 
 
 With sparkling dews at early morn ; 
 
 The murmuring streams ; and show the 
 
 corn : 
 
 And break its golden roof to show 
 Poppies and blueflowers where they grow. 
 O happy days of childhood, when 
 We taught shy Echo in the glen 
 Words she had never used before 
 Ere Age lost heart to summon her. 
 
 44
 
 MUSIC 
 
 Life's river, with its early rush, 
 
 Falls into a mysterious hush 
 
 When nearing the eternal sea : 
 
 Yet we would not forgetful be, 
 
 In these deep, silent days so wise, 
 
 Of shallows making mighty noise 
 
 When we were young, when we were gay, 
 
 And never thought Death lived that day. 
 
 45
 
 FACTS 
 
 ONE night poor Jim had not a sou, 
 Mike had enough for his own bed ; 
 
 " Take it : I'll walk the streets to-night," 
 Said Mike, " and you lie down instead." 
 
 So Mike walked out, but ne'er came back ; 
 
 We know not whether he is drowned, 
 Or used his hands unlawfully ; 
 
 Is sick, or in some prison bound. 
 
 Now Jim was dying fast, and he 
 
 Took to the workhouse his old bones ; 
 
 To earn some water, bread, and sleep, 
 They made that dying man break stones. 
 
 He swooned upon his heavy task : 
 They carried him to a black coach, 
 
 And tearless strangers took him out 
 A corpse ! at the infirmary's porch. 
 
 Since Jesus came with mercy and love, 
 'Tis nineteen hundred years and five : 
 
 They made that dying man break stones, 
 In faith that Christ is still alive. 
 
 46
 
 NEW-COMERS 
 
 So many birds have come along, 
 
 The nightingale brings her sweet song, 
 
 With lease to charm, by her own self, 
 
 The nights of this best month in twelve. 
 
 To sit up all a night in June 
 
 With that sweet bird and a full moon 
 
 The moon with all Heav'n for her worth, 
 
 The nightingale to have this earth, 
 
 And there we are for joy we three. 
 
 And here's the swallow, wild and free, 
 
 Prince flyer of the air by day ; 
 
 For doth he not, in human way, 
 
 Dive, float and use side strokes, like men 
 
 Swimming in some clear lake ? And then, 
 
 See how he skates the iceless pond ! 
 
 And lo ! the lark springs from the land ; 
 
 He sees a ladder to Heaven's gate, 
 
 And, step by step, without abate, 
 
 He mounts it singing, back and forth ; 
 
 Till twenty steps or more from earth, 
 
 On his return, then without sound 
 
 He jumps, and stone-like drops to ground. 
 
 47
 
 NEW-COMERS 
 
 And here are butterflies ; poor things 
 Amazed with new-created wings ; 
 They in the air- waves roll distrest 
 Like ships at sea ; and when they rest 
 They cannot help but ope and close 
 Their wings, as babies with their toes. 
 Since these new things have come along, 
 Robin I did forget, whose song 
 Cheered me in winter ; till I heard 
 The angry voice of that proud bird. 
 If Robin hath a fiery show, 
 The bold brown sparrows well do know 
 That he hath too a fiery heart 
 And they know how to take their part. 
 When Robin guards his young, I'd be 
 Not twice his size upon his tree. 
 
 48
 
 PARTED 
 
 ALACK for life ! 
 
 Worn to a stalk since yesterday 
 
 Is the flower with whom the bee did stay, 
 
 And he was but one night away. 
 
 Alack for life, I say. 
 
 Alack for life ! 
 
 A flower put on her fine array, 
 
 In hopes a bee would come her way, 
 
 Who's dying in his hive this day. 
 
 Alack for life, I say. 
 
 Alack for life ! 
 
 If Death like Love would throw his dart 
 And pierce at once a double heart, 
 And not to strike away one part 
 Alack for life, who'd say ? 
 
 49
 
 THE END OF SUMMER. 
 
 THE Dandelion sails away, 
 
 Some other port for him next spring ; 
 Since they have seen the harvest home, 
 
 Sweet birds have little more to sing. 
 
 Since from her side the corn is ta'en, 
 The Poppy thought to win some praise ; 
 
 But birds sang ne'er a welcome note, 
 So she blushed scarlet all her days. 
 
 The children strip the blackberry bush, 
 And search the hedge for bitter sloe ; 
 
 They bite the sloes, now sweet as plums 
 After Jack Frost had bit them so. 
 
 Twas this Jack Frost, one week ago, 
 Made watchdogs whine with fear and 
 cold ; 
 
 But all he did was make fruits smell, 
 And make their coats to shine like gold.
 
 THE END OF SUMMER 
 
 No scattering force is in the wind, 
 
 Though strong to shake the leaf from 
 
 stem ; 
 
 The leaves get in the rill's sweet throat, 
 His voice is scarcely heard through 
 them. 
 
 The darkest woods let in the light, 
 And thin and frail are looking now ; 
 
 And yet their weight is more than June's, 
 Since nuts bend down each hazel 
 bough.
 
 THE JOLLY TRAMP. 
 
 I AM a jolly tramp : I whine to you, 
 Then whistles till I meet another fool. 
 I call the labourer sir, the boy young man, 
 The maid young lady, and the mother I 
 Will flatter through the youngest child 
 
 that walks. 
 In sooth, there's no joy in a poor man's 
 
 house, 
 
 Save when the little baby walks or swears ; 
 Still do they pity my pretended grief. 
 When, like that fallen oak stripped of its 
 
 bark, 
 
 Showing the naked muscles of its limbs 
 Flat on the ground I lie with my coat off, 
 Hidden in deep green grass that's high 
 
 enough 
 
 To miss a baby in, I pity half the world. 
 If it be summer time, then what care I 
 For naked feet, and flesh through tattered 
 
 garb ? 
 
 O foolish Pride, discomfort is thy due ; 
 That made a savage take an axe to chop 
 His feet that were too large to fit small shoes. 
 What though I read few books, I can read 
 
 men,
 
 THE JOLLY TRAMP 
 
 And weigh a face for what the heart is 
 
 worth, 
 Far better than the fools who think they 
 
 know. 
 So that the sun shines bright, I like to 
 
 rest 
 
 All day, to let the body lie in sloth, 
 And make imagination do the work ; 
 Such work is sweet, and brings no sweat 
 
 or ache. 
 Their questions and their pity make me 
 
 laugh, 
 
 But idle men can always find excuse. 
 Alas ! I do not always laugh : for see 
 How fine was yester morn ; the heavens 
 
 clear ; 
 Then came a golden cloud with three dark 
 
 ones 
 
 Three pirates following a peaceful barque ; 
 The heavy rain tugged with its might for 
 
 hours, 
 And almost pulled the heavens down to 
 
 earth ; 
 And then came torrents, and no jolly 
 
 tramp 
 Was I, but whined in truth most pitiful. 
 
 53
 
 ONE WE LOVE 
 
 THOU miser, Time, who gave to me 
 
 Some vigour, grace, and youth more 
 
 dear 
 They were not gifts, but debts and loans, 
 
 Which I repay thee year by year ; 
 E'en thou, false Time, were not reproved, 
 Did I grow old with one I loved. 
 Go, Fame, whose voice is from high hills 
 
 'Tis death to climb and much heart- 
 burn ; 
 Not worldly wealth, nor temporal power, 
 
 Nor future hopes shall serve my turn 
 Not me again shall either move, 
 So I grow old with one I love. 
 In ocean's depths, how rude is life, 
 
 They murder there and make no sound ! 
 Wild beasts are dying off the land, 
 
 And now 'tis man gives man his wound: 
 But there's one joy none can disprove 
 Tis to grow old with one we love. 
 
 54
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE SLUMS 
 
 WHY do I stare at faces, why, 
 
 Nor watch the happy children more ? 
 
 Since Age he hath a blackened eye, 
 And that grey hair is stained with gore. 
 
 For an old woman passed, and she 
 
 Would hide her face when I did stare ; 
 
 But when she turns that face from me, 
 There's clotted blood in her grey hair. 
 
 Aye, here was hell last night to play, 
 The scream of children, murder cries ; 
 
 When I came forth at early day, 
 I saw old Age with blackened eyes. 
 
 Why do I stare at people so, 
 
 Nor watch the little children more, 
 
 If one such brutal passions show, 
 And joy is all the other's store ? 
 
 O for the shot in some fierce land, 
 A sword or dagger firmly held : 
 
 No brutal kick, no mauling hand, 
 No horrors of the partly killed. 
 
 55
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE SLUMS 
 
 There is the man with brutal brow, 
 The child with hunger's face of care : 
 
 The woman it is something now 
 If she lose pride to dress her hair. 
 
 I will give children my best hours, 
 And of their simple ways will sing : 
 
 Just as a bird heeds less old flowers 
 And sings his best to buds in spring.
 
 THE TOOTHACHE 
 
 LAST night, though I had fifty souls, 
 I had been bankrupt before day ; 
 And all because this body slight 
 That ill maintained its spirit's light 
 Had made me swear my souls away ; 
 
 Had sent them humming into hell : 
 
 And all because an ivory mite 
 Was by a nerve-surge pounded, bent, 
 And by fierce lightnings blasted, rent, 
 
 That made the force of Nature slight. 
 
 I never heard Love's voice sound harsh, 
 Until it sought to soothe this evil ; 
 
 And when it said " Pray, do not fret : 
 Be patient and sure cure forget," 
 I could not help cry out " The Devil ! " 
 
 57
 
 APRIL 
 
 WHAT happy shouts the children make, 
 Since April brought them his warm 
 rains ! 
 
 When this same April showers his hail 
 At their red cheeks behind glass panes, 
 
 They know he pelts without avail. 
 
 The blossoms drenched, leaves dripping wet, 
 'Tis for one moment dark as night ; 
 
 Then comes a rainbow in the sky, 
 And Nature laughs, as children might, 
 
 Who had a notion once to cry. 
 
 Now, over rocks and down ravines, 
 And venturing into mazy nooks, 
 
 The Rill doth find his way about ; 
 And into many a cave he looks, 
 
 And laughs as he knew his way out. 
 
 Who can help laugh at April's ways ? 
 
 We laugh the more the more he tries 
 To mimic some old bogey's face 
 
 Under the sunshine of such eyes, 
 Wherein the thoughts give merry chase.
 
 APRIL 
 
 They would have fields without young 
 
 lambs, 
 
 Or amber clear of beauty stains ; 
 They would have seas without foam- 
 flowers, 
 
 Who would want April free from rains, 
 And cloudless his capricious hours. 
 
 He shows my lady's shoes in full, 
 
 And makes her form to sway with grace ; 
 
 Which makes her pout with some annoy, 
 But soon come dimples in her face, 
 
 And music in her voice of joy. 
 
 The laughing girls, half blind and choked, 
 Are smothered in their own wild hair ; 
 
 He took one maiden's yard of it, 
 When too close I was passing there, 
 
 And whipt my cheeks all red with it. 
 
 Now Violet is on the bank, 
 And Primrose is not far away ; 
 
 The Brook doth o'er his margents froth 
 The Wind doth drive him sore this day, 
 
 And pucks his face with childish wrath. 
 
 59
 
 APRIL 
 
 We all must sing when April's here, 
 Must sing his shine, and sing his shower ; 
 
 The lark, the throstle, blackbird sing, 
 Nor shall their throats improve this hour 
 
 In many days of practising. 
 
 To smell Primrose's honey-well, 
 
 I would go mad as any bee, 
 But vain for me come flowers in Spring, 
 
 The Violet, Daffodil to see, 
 With birds that best in April sing. 
 
 60
 
 WHISKEY 
 
 WHISKEY, thou blessed heaven in the 
 brain, 
 
 O that the belly should revolt, 
 To make a hell of afterpain, 
 
 And prove thy virtue was a fault ! 
 
 Did ever poet seek his bed 
 
 With a sweet phrase upon his lips 
 
 Smiling as I laid down my head, 
 Pleased after sundry whiskey sips ? 
 
 I pitied all the world : alas 
 That no poor nobodies came near, 
 
 To give to them my shirt and shoes, 
 And bid them be of goodly cheer. 
 
 A blessed heaven was in the brain ; 
 
 But ere came morn the belly turned 
 And kicked up hell's delight in pain 
 
 This tongue went dry, this throat it 
 burned. 
 
 Oh dear ! Oh dear 1 to think last night 
 The merriest man on earth was I, 
 
 And that I should awake this morn, 
 
 To cough and groan, to heave and sigh !
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 THE drinking man maybe hath gold, and then 
 Ofttimes he vomits food before starved men : 
 But one I met had seedy clothes which shone, 
 So many suns had poured their fires upon. 
 
 Man ! king of that strange world where none 
 
 bend knee, 
 
 Whose subjects pay mock reverence to thee 
 The Shadows, Coloured Imps, Fantastic Crews 
 Swarming a hulk condemned that rolls in 
 
 boose : 
 
 Enchanter Drink ! the world's half, small and 
 
 great, 
 
 Mock Death by lying fearless in Death's state ; 
 They pawn their finest tools : they know not 
 
 what 
 In life there is to make, why they should not. 
 
 Thou leering Imp, create of flame and fume, 
 Who quenched such hopes as did yon mind 
 
 illume, 
 
 Now, like a babe, he is near blind again, 
 And sees but from one corner of his brain.
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 The light of Love, though it from heaven 
 
 came, 
 
 It cannot now outburn Lust's fiercer flame ; 
 This man would do a shameful deed at once, 
 Were he not saved from it by blessed Chance. 
 
 Now, as the cuckoo, where he holds no 
 
 right, 
 
 Attempts to put the lawful young to flight, 
 So I with my own reason would essay 
 That mind, to scatter its own thoughts away. 
 
 And so began : " Canst thou, O man, find 
 
 naught 
 Above in Heaven or under worth thy 
 
 thought ? 
 Why waste Life's flower, and leave behind 
 
 no seed, 
 When such sweet joy is in pure thought 
 
 and deed ? 
 
 Thou canst not know life as a pleasant thing, 
 Though much to practise sham manoeuvring ; 
 Or know of Nature with her glint and peep 
 Of flowers and dewy fields, and brooks that 
 leap.
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 Thou canst escape these slums in half a mile 
 For works of Art, and Music to beguile : 
 See hoary buildings with Time's frosted 
 
 towers, 
 Midst spaces green and young in summer 
 
 hours. 
 
 There's beauty in our streets, and beauty seen 
 From river's banks that are no longer green ; 
 Barges half sunk with bales of golden hay, 
 Or coals that sparkle more in sunny ray. 
 
 I passed a carved porch in yonder street, 
 To hear a woman's voice half-timid, sweet ; 
 Then heard a wondrous chorus burst to end, 
 When, confident in numbers, many blend. 
 
 There's music in the leaves, the shaken tree ; 
 Aye, in the ocean, cruel though it be 
 That will not leave the poor drowned boy 
 
 unmoved, 
 But cuts with rocks that face his mother loved. 
 
 The waves that splash the sides of iron ships, 
 When the lone watch at night with whistling 
 
 lips 
 
 Paces the deck in tune ; and in the tones 
 Of rills, for ever polishing their stones. 
 
 64
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 To hear the larks when higher than yon cloud, 
 A gale of music's blowing in heaven loud ; 
 Or hear the mavis when the bees' time come 
 At eve to carry their bags of honey home. 
 
 Tis Music takes from toiler's sweat the burn, 
 Carries the labourer's load ; there's music 
 
 stern 
 When clouds do thunder in the mountain's 
 
 caves 
 Sounds heard by trembling vales below, and 
 
 waves. 
 
 Hear how the axes make melodious ring 
 In winter, and the woodmen stir in spring, 
 When cracks the ice so loud, and flood-time 
 
 floats 
 Vast forests down to fill the deep-sea boats. 
 
 As light is first to take the infant's eyes, 
 So Music brings his ears their first surprise, 
 Who then in sport will toss his toes and 
 
 bounce, 
 And would outleap the mother's arms at 
 
 once.
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 Nay, why say more ? with all these charms 
 
 around, 
 Scenes for thine eyes, and for thine ears such 
 
 sounds ; 
 Yet dost thou blind those precious orbs from 
 
 choice, 
 And into gibberish turn that human voice. 
 
 I know thy fall : those sins we grow to love 
 Were only done at first that Youth might 
 
 prove 
 
 Courage to follow Age ; which now at last 
 Are sinful habits that have bound him fast. 
 
 So came thy sins at first, and made thee 
 
 bound, 
 
 Till Death shall surely find thee as he found 
 The clammy thing that hid its life away, 
 Hutched in a hollowed rock from day to day. 
 
 A bite of food, a pot of ale or stout, 
 A murder every day to talk about 
 And though the sun with crimson fills the sky 
 Thou wilt not raise thine eyes to him on 
 high " 
 
 66
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 Said he : " Are they more wise who sigh 
 
 and weep, 
 To hear the drunkard laugh, and see him 
 
 sleep ? 
 
 Drink frees a mortal from the Future's dread, 
 And lays the Past of all its ghostly dead. 
 
 There live some spirits made so fine and frail, 
 Who strive for joy and all their efforts fail, 
 Must steep their minds in some dark deaden- 
 ing stain, 
 Be mad awhile, or else till Death insane. 
 
 Give to the child a faded flower to be 
 From home to school its only company, 
 'Tis well content though once or twice is 
 
 heard 
 That simple voice cry wonder to a bird. 
 
 The urchin in his fancy slays galore 
 
 To keep his mouth in sweetmeats every 
 
 hour : 
 And such is Childhood, that clear well to 
 
 drink, 
 Ere Wisdom's toad hath chanced upon its 
 
 brink, 
 
 67
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 When Age complains the year is weeping 
 
 leaves, 
 They're tossed to give him sport a child 
 
 believes ; 
 
 Who sees a sparkle warm on ice and snow, 
 And thinks Jack Frost the merriest wight 
 
 to know. 
 
 Youth comes with all his hopes ; the loss 
 
 of few 
 
 Makes others left more spirited to do : 
 As one at war sees comrades stricken down, 
 And feels their spirits work to help his own. 
 
 The hopeful youth believes to rap until 
 He'll make the world give answer to his will : 
 As Woodpecker makes the oak's heart to fear, 
 And cry aloud for all the woods to hear. 
 
 Now count those small mechanics where they 
 
 toil 
 
 To show above the sea their coral isle : 
 As well count them as count youth's many 
 
 schemes 
 Tojihwart Old Age, who frowns on his young 
 
 dreams. 
 
 68
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 When our young days are o'er, Life's sad 
 
 in sooth : 
 To change his place with that poor homeless 
 
 youth 
 
 Whose chattering teeth can sing away the cold, 
 The grey-haired millionaire would give his 
 
 gold. 
 
 Those days are gone : think of those winters 
 
 told, 
 When Youth's warm blood did ne'er complain 
 
 of cold ; 
 And dost thou make new friends the present 
 
 day, 
 'Tis but to talk of old friends passed away. 
 
 Had I not hopes to feed one fond Desire, 
 Till Dark Despair gave me a torch of fire 
 Intoxication bade me burn my brain 
 And body up, for joy to kill my pain ? 
 
 I heard the voice of Fame, and I did come 
 To these loud parts, where ever is her home ; 
 And day and night sought those sweet 
 
 favours she 
 Conferred on ones less worthy, scorning me. 
 
 69
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 For one drop's sake to scent Time's robe, I 
 
 sought : 
 Distilled a hundred flowers and one of 
 
 Thought ; 
 
 And still to fail, though they who set the word 
 In hopes a thought would venture in were 
 
 heard. 
 
 Life, like that berg from Polar seas, doth 
 
 show 
 
 A smiling top, with horrors hid below ; 
 A virgin soil to mine, and it appears 
 Fools find the gold and wise men stones for 
 
 tears. 
 
 A thing of beauty shall created be, 
 Methought, and I will then sit quietly, 
 And in old age enjoy its sound : of course, 
 Necessity prevents that deed by force. 
 
 And still I struggled, struggled still to fail, 
 Deep thinking night and day without avail ; 
 Until I came to herd with hopeless men, 
 To drink with them through lost ambition 
 then. 
 
 70
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 And oft when Inspiration came from Heaven 
 
 free, 
 
 I let the sacred fire die out of me, 
 Since dribbling drunkards came and hemmed 
 
 me in, 
 And sober men as bad who laughed at sin. 
 
 And then my soul with wonder ceased to burn, 
 Nor sweet surprises startled me each turn : 
 Age early found me ; Fancy hid her stores ; 
 Self dared my Thoughts to venture out of 
 doors. 
 
 I have gone past my hunger now for joy, 
 The pleasantries of other men annoy ; 
 I envy them the shining of their lives, 
 And mope in darkness as a bird that grieves. 
 
 As that vexed Owl, on top of his dark tree, 
 Seeing the moon above, looks down to see 
 The Hunter dares to burn night fires will 
 
 shout 
 Till morn, and hoot till both their fires are out. 
 
 Here in these slums to sleep and wake again, 
 Fretted at night by brutal cries of pain, 
 Year after year : I who alone had hours 
 With Nature to share woods and fields of 
 flowers.
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 In this strange world of little spaces, where 
 The millions starve, and die for want of air ; 
 Yet mighty wastes that have for ages lain 
 Silent to hear the step of man in vain. 
 
 Here in these crowded marts where reeks the 
 
 stain 
 
 On bloody stalls of creatures newly slain ; 
 On those red lumps the starvers stare with 
 
 might, 
 And well-fed people wish no fairer sight. 
 
 Hear how the brook will cease to shout and 
 
 rave, 
 
 Passing the willow's deep and teary grave ; 
 Who soon forgets to make his little moans, 
 To find more shallows wait with heaps of 
 
 stones. 
 
 But all Life's play and game is left behind, 
 I out of this sad pool no way can find ; 
 Though Hunger doth not make a man his 
 
 prey, 
 Foul air will never leave him night or day. 
 
 72
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 Sweet Nature hath her slums, where crowds 
 
 of flowers 
 Can thrive, and not make short each other's 
 
 hours ; 
 Where swarmed birds can for their young 
 
 provide, 
 And no life pales, save pallor be its pride. 
 
 Whilst wooing Fame in this her native town, 
 Death stripped my home, and struck my dear 
 
 ones down : 
 
 Death hath his duty, and it would not fail 
 Though all the infants in the world did wail. 
 
 When young thou dost delay returning home, 
 Thinking the greater joy at last to come ; 
 But never more will come those moments 
 
 dear 
 Of kinder eyes and voices sweet to hear. 
 
 The farther Life goes on more clear his eye 
 To probe the past and glean Time's mystery: 
 But Time will never tell what Death hath 
 
 done 
 We can but guess with thy beloved one. 
 
 73
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 When she who gave thee birth lies cold and 
 
 dead, 
 And thou hast found no hand or voice 
 
 instead 
 
 No hand to lay that gentle spirit down, 
 No voice to answer for thy cheerless own : 
 
 Old age brings then no twilight hour for thee, 
 
 Remembrances as stars to Memory ; 
 
 And now thou knowest where Death's sting 
 
 can be, 
 And how the grave hath made its victory. 
 
 'Tis true great spirits are by Sorrow taught, 
 With intervals to make their feelings thought; 
 The world, indifferent to the man, would 
 
 know 
 So true that happy spirits feign such woe. 
 
 What time the vine's roots reached the 
 
 sewer's drains, 
 There grew more grapes than grew in former 
 
 reigns ; 
 The flower that lives most in the shade, and 
 
 leaf 
 Grow large, as doth a human mind in grief. 
 
 74
 
 HOPE ABANDONED 
 
 But rain without a break succeeding rain, 
 Will wash the buried seed out, rot the grain, 
 Make genius blind, whose mind is with the 
 
 lark 
 To see the dawn while others are in dark. 
 
 The man doth choose his star, and if he fail 
 Inhabit that, what shall to him avail 
 A thousand others that would give him home ? 
 Give him his star, or let the darkness come !" 
 
 He ceased : he who had fallen in the strife, 
 And might have sucked some honey out of 
 
 life 
 
 And lodged it in the world's hive to its joy 
 But failed, since none would give his brain 
 
 employ. 
 
 THE KND
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON LTD. 
 ST. JOHN'S HOUSE, CLHRKENWKLL, B.C.
 
 BY THE SAME WRITER 
 
 THE SOUL'S DESTROYER 
 
 Some press notices 
 
 "Force, sincerity, and poetry." Athcnceum. 
 
 " A genuine grip on fact and feeling, a real power 
 of expression. Something of the grim directness, 
 the grotesque humour, the pungent realism, of the 
 best work of James Thomson. Yet it is individual, 
 in no sense an imitation." ARTHUR SYMONS in The 
 Outlook. 
 
 " Will Mr. Davies ever be a Classic like Blake or 
 Wordsworth ? We believe that, if he has wit and 
 opportunity to perfect his skill, it is not impossible. 
 Mr. Davies has the one thing essential : all the 
 others may be added unto him if, as we have said, he 
 is given his chance and will take it. A poet of the 
 air and sunshine, sinewy, adventurous, sincere." 
 NEWMAN HOWARD in Tht Academy. 
 
 ' ' A goodly proportion of real poetry. The best 
 lines in the book might well have appeared over a 
 much-honoured name." Standard. 
 
 " He has travelled : he knows Wales, London, 
 America, and Hell. These things and many more 
 his poems tell us ; and to see him is to see a man 
 from whom unskilled labour in America, work in
 
 SOME PRESS OPINIONS 
 
 Atlantic cattle boats, and a dire London life, have not 
 taken away the earnestness, the tenderness, or the 
 accent of a typical Monmouthshire man. His great- 
 ness rests upon a wide humanity, a fresh and 
 unbiassed observation, and a noble use of the 
 English tongue. His humanity is so wide that, 
 though he writes much about himself, he is less 
 egoistic than another man who writes of fair 
 Rosamond or Medea. He can write commonplace 
 and inaccurate English ; but it is also natural to him 
 to write, much as Wordsworth wrote, with the clear- 
 ness, compactness, and facility which make a man 
 think with shame how unworthily, through natural 
 stupidity or uncertainty, he manages his native 
 tongue. In subtlety he abounds." EDWARD 
 THOMAS in The Daily Chronicle.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped bslow. 
 
 10M-1 1-50(2555) 470 
 
 RENINSTON RAND - ZO
 
 S R L F 
 SEE SPINE FOR BARCODE NUMBER 
 
 PR 
 6007 
 D28A17 
 1907