eft 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 Fifth Edition, enlarged. Royal \6tno. u. net 
 
 Thysia 
 
 AN ELEGY IN FORTY-FIVE SONNETS 
 
 MR. FREDERIC HARRISON, in The Nineteenth 
 Century: "A tiny volume of sonnets, which I hold 
 to be of exquisite quality. . . . There is in these daily 
 devotions a poignant ring, a vivid reality, an intense 
 realism, which mark them off from all literary elegies 
 of any kind. . . . They have that pathos inscribed on 
 marble in the best Greek epitaphs. ... To my ear 
 their language has a melody and a purity such as no 
 living poet can surpass." 
 
 Times'. "A series of inmemoriam sonnets. . . which 
 claim respect by the genuineness of their feeling and 
 the polished simplicity of their diction." 
 
 The Nation: "So unerringly does he achieve that 
 pinnacle of poetic art, simplicity. ... we may almost 
 say of them, that their sorrow has made ' sorrow more 
 beautiful than beauty's self . . . Such pure, unaffected 
 music . . . will surely not be 'alms for oblivion."' 
 
 LONDON: G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.
 
 Threnodies, Sketches 
 
 and Other Poems
 
 Threnodies, Sketches 
 
 and Other Poems 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 "THYSIA" 
 
 LONDON 
 
 G. BELL AND SONS, LTD. 
 1910
 
 CHISWICK PRESS : CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 " I "HE author wishes to state that the four 
 A dates printed in Thysia were dates of in- 
 cident, inserted for the guidance of friends, and 
 had no reference to the composition of the 
 poems, which came considerably later. 
 
 VII
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART I. THRENODIES 
 SERIES I. SORROW 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. THE FIRST VIOLET . ^ . . . . 3 
 
 II. ANNIVERSARY .'' . 5 
 
 III. OUR HAUNTS . . . . l 6 
 
 IV. OUR HOME . ; . * . . . 8 
 V. THE NIGHTINGALE ....... 10 
 
 VI. THE SWALLOW . . . . . . 12 
 
 VII. REMEMBRANCE . . . . -14 
 
 VIII. AUTUMN . . . . . . 15 
 
 IX. MONTREUX . . . .......... 17 
 
 X. THE ROBIN . .. . .. . . . 19 
 
 SERIES II. HOPE 
 
 I. OUR SEASONS . . . ". .21 
 
 II. HUMAN AND DIVINE . . . . . 23 
 
 III. EARTHLY AND HEAVENLY ."*' . '' * 24 
 
 IV. CONFLICT (i) HESPER . . .' ' . 27 
 V. CONFLICT (ii) PHOSPHOR . . ''.' . 28 
 
 VI. EPILOGUE (FINITE AND INFINITE) ^- r 29 
 
 ix
 
 PART II. SKETCHES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. THE RIVER STORT 33 
 
 II. DUNKELD 34 
 
 III. ON THE LINCOLNSHIRE COAST 35 
 
 IV. TRENGWAINTON CARN 36 
 
 V. THE RIVER NENE 38 
 
 VI. RAIN 40 
 
 VII. A TIDAL RIVER 42 
 
 VIII. A HEDGE 44 
 
 IX. A DITCH 46 
 
 X. A VILLAGE 48 
 
 XI. A FROST . . . ... -50 
 
 XII. A FOG 51 
 
 PART III. OTHER POEMS 
 
 A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART (To A FRIEND. 
 ALLEGORICAL) : 
 
 I. To THE FRIEND 55 
 
 II. FIRST SONG: IN A PARK 57 
 
 III. SECOND SONG: THREE WOMEN ... 58 
 
 IV. THIRD SONG: A LOVE STORY .... 60 
 V. FOURTH SONG: To A FRIEND . . . .61 
 
 MEMORIES. I. 62 
 
 MEMORIES. II 63 
 
 SCENES FROM A LOVE DRAMA (MORE OR LESS ALLE- 
 GORICAL) : 
 
 I. A MAY MEETING 64 
 
 II. A REFLECTION . ... . . .66 
 
 x
 
 PAGE 
 
 III. A PARABLE . . . . * . -67 
 
 IV. A MEMORY . . . . . . .68 
 
 V. RENUNCIATION 69 
 
 VI. NEPENTHE t . * . . 71 
 
 VII. A TRUCE . . . > . , . -72 
 
 VIII. A JUNE MEETING . . . . . -73 
 
 IX. THE MOON TO THE SEA .... 74 
 
 X. THE BROOK TO THE STAR . . . -75 
 
 XI. URANIAN VENUS 76 
 
 XII. EARTH AND LOVE ..... 77 
 
 XIII. AN AUTUMN MEETING 78 
 
 XIV. AN AUTUMN PARTING 79 
 
 XV. EPILOGUE (i). Sic TRANSIT. A PREAMBLE . 80 
 
 XVI. EPILOGUE (ii). INFINITY . v . . .81 
 A SONG ABOUT A SONG. To . 82 
 
 XI
 
 PART I 
 
 THRENODIES 
 
 B
 
 SERIES I. SORROW 
 
 i 
 
 THE FIRST VIOLET 
 
 YOU firstling of the beauteous year, 
 You, darling of the April glade, 
 Sweet violet, to me more dear 
 
 Than any song by poet made ; 
 And if I set you here in rhyme, 
 
 In weak sad rhyme, the world shall see 
 I loved you in your dewy prime, 
 A lifelong bond, a mystery. 
 
 How often when a boy I stood 
 
 By banks where early sunlight slept, 
 And saw the leafing elderwood, 
 
 While at my foot wild parsley crept ; 
 I knew them both, and hail'd the sign, 
 
 And when I found you hidden, coy, 
 And your blue eye look'd into mine, 
 
 I met it with a rapturous joy. 
 3
 
 And oh that morn of youthful spring 
 
 When sang the bird and flash'd the light, 
 She stood beside our fairy-ring, 
 
 My first, last love, so sweet, so bright ; 
 I touch'd her lips with one shy kiss, 
 
 She blush'd, but held a violet 
 " First of the year, I give you this" 
 
 And on my heart I wear it yet. 
 
 And oh, the happy years that fled, 
 
 And ah, the spring-time and that morn 
 I placed you near her pillow'd head, 
 
 My first, last love, my love forlorn ; 
 " First of the year " (her lips I press'd) 
 
 " I give you this; " she smiled and sigh'd, 
 Then softly laid you in her breast, 
 
 And you were with her when she died.
 
 II 
 
 ANNIVERSARY 
 
 DEAD is the sullen year that brought me death; 
 But sorrow lives, tho' the dull nerves decay ; 
 My life is like this dying gale's last breath, 
 
 Or night, that kills this brief November day. 
 Once more I watch within your silent room ; 
 
 Without, the rain falls chill, drips the dead leaf; 
 Your little shoes, your glove, lie in the gloom ; 
 
 Nothing is changed, nor changed in aught my grief. 
 "Grief is your idol, and not love," they cry, 
 
 " To God and her and heaven uplift your prayer; " 
 Nay, let me grieve ; grief is my Rosemary, 
 
 My Love-in-Absence, tended with due care: 
 Nay, let me weep, and thro' the barren years 
 Feed my poor flower of love with passionate tears.
 
 Ill 
 
 OUR HAUNTS 
 
 OUR haunt sweet meadows musical 
 With trill of lark and bleat of lamb, 
 Or where we gather'd in the dale 
 
 Rare orchis and wild marjoram, 
 Or grassy walks with many a rill 
 And many a diamond waterfall, 
 And far fair scenes of sky and hill, 
 And you the fairest of them all. 
 
 And sweet, how sweet, the glad spring grove 
 
 And all its budding harmonies, 
 When every bird told tales of love, 
 
 And love was lisp'd by each young breeze ; 
 And there would hum the twilight bee, 
 
 And there we heard the cuckoo call 
 To bluebell and anemone 
 
 And you, the fairest flower of all. 
 
 And sweeter yet to stray or stand 
 
 By the dear bank of this lone stream ; 
 6
 
 Here lip to lip or hand to hand 
 We saw our blended shadows gleam ; 
 
 'Tis vain, but I could almost pray 
 Under this heaven of star and dew 
 
 That I might quit the feverous clay 
 And in the wave find peace and you.
 
 IV 
 
 OUR HOME 
 
 THE spacious Down, the gleaming tide 
 Of Severn, and the far blue hills, 
 The hills of Wales ; the Avonside, 
 
 Its woods that hid rathe daffodils; 
 The high-suspended Bridge; below, 
 
 Tall ship, grey cliff and pasturing vale, 
 The giant elms in stately row, 
 
 The glades that heard the nightingale ; 
 
 In sight of these our home was set, 
 
 On scenes like these our hearts were fed ; 
 We roam'd, we found the violet, 
 
 Or shared the feast by summer spread ; 
 We trod the scented autumn leaf, 
 
 And when the world was dumb with snow 
 Together sang sweet lays of grief 
 
 Or love in ages long ago. 
 
 Fair scenes, beloved of her and me, 
 And dearer than all memory tells, 
 8
 
 My dust may linger by the sea, 
 But here my spirit ever dwells ; 
 
 And as I leave the sacred walls 
 To sojourn by that lonely shore, 
 
 Again the shadow on me falls 
 And she I love is lost once more.
 
 V 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE 
 
 O NIGHTINGALE, to you I sing, 
 And tremble in my human song; 
 A prelude of despair I bring, 
 
 And quaver thus, " Forgive the wrong; ' 
 For tho' my heart should fly to you, 
 Or yours within my breast prevail, 
 My voice would mar the music due, 
 O lord of song, sweet nightingale. 
 
 A careless boy I heard you first, 
 
 And then you sang the livelong day, 
 But best I loved the song that burst 
 
 At evening on my lonely way 
 Beside the river, where the leaf 
 
 Darken 'd above the waters pale 
 " O joy O joy, O grief O grief," 
 
 'Tvvas thus you sang, sweet nightingale. 
 
 Again I heard you when my love 
 Was with me, waiting for your tune ; 
 10
 
 'Twas midnight, near the Bridge; above, 
 Cloudless, the tender heaven of June; 
 
 There while we stood, your music rang 
 Far-pealing thro' the summer dale 
 
 'Twas " love love love," you sang you sang, 
 And "joy joy joy," sweet nightingale. 
 
 O nightingale, the summer land 
 
 Is sorrow, sorrow, day by day ; 
 'Tis by a little grave I stand 
 
 This midnight, listening to your lay; 
 For she is gone, and I ere long 
 
 Shall follow thro' the silent vale 
 Of Shadow, and to-night your song 
 
 Is only sad, sweet nightingale. 
 
 ii
 
 VI 
 THE SWALLOW 
 
 O SWALLOW, let me pipe to you 
 My soft sad lay of tenderness, 
 For you are fair and swift and true, 
 
 And she was fair, and swift to bless; 
 She saw you from her greening bower 
 
 When Heaven was bringing back the light 
 The cuckoo and the cuckoo-flower 
 And all sweet things of sound and sight. 
 
 We loved you, for you shared our home 
 
 And told your love beneath our eaves, 
 And oft at sunset we would roam 
 
 And watch you thro' the willow leaves 
 Dip on the wave with happy wing, 
 
 Then skim away, and turn, and pass 
 To sweep the myriad-blossoming 
 
 Moon-daisies in the summer grass. 
 
 'Tis autumn, and the year is dead 
 Or dying, and you soon must fly; 
 12
 
 Ah, swallow, for my love has fled 
 To seek, like you, a kinder sky ; 
 
 Blithe bird, and you will come again, 
 And all be spring-time as before, 
 
 But for my love I wait in vain, 
 And mourn, for she will come no more.
 
 VII 
 REMEMBRANCE 
 
 ONE comfort have I in despair 
 Beloved, for the ear, the eye 
 Yet gather from this earth and air 
 
 The sad relief of memory ; 
 Nor could that love-lorn nightingale 
 
 Fill my lone heart with tender pain 
 When by your grave or thro' the dale 
 Trembled a stiller, finer strain. 
 
 In all sweet sound your voice I hear, 
 
 In all fair sight your face I see; 
 The spring, the summer bloom is dear, 
 
 And brings your beauty back to me; 
 Your presence dwells where'er I pass, 
 
 And hill and stream and field and grove, 
 Those bright moon-daisies in the grass 
 
 All live your life and breathe your love.
 
 VIII 
 AUTUMN 
 
 AH me, the year is growing old, 
 And sick withal, and numb with grief; 
 Drear is the stubble ; from the wold 
 
 No song of bird ; the weary leaf 
 Falls thro' the stagnant air, and dies; 
 
 The dormouse finds his living tomb; 
 Only where one last sunbeam lies 
 The drone dreams on the ivy-bloom. 
 
 Ah me, the world is growing old; 
 
 Its flower of faith, its fruit of truth 
 (Again the autumn tale is told) 
 
 Faded and fallen ; its fires of youth 
 To dying ashes turn'd ; no more 
 
 Light leads us, or the joy of song 
 Or any joy ; 'tis dark before, 
 
 And cold, and winter comes ere long. 
 
 Ah me, that grave is growing old 
 As one by one the slow months pass, 
 15
 
 And o'er it sigh the breezes cold, 
 Or shiver in its autumn grass; 
 
 O love, who liest in that sad ground, 
 Ah listen to my autumn moan ; 
 
 Like those long grasses on thy mound 
 My grief, my yearlong grief, has grown. 
 
 Ah me, my life is growing old 
 
 And sere and sad and wearisome, 
 A fading legend once more told 
 
 Of strange days past, of death to come ; 
 Is there no trust that all ends well, 
 
 No faith in love, no hope of spring? 
 Come, Death, for you alone can tell 
 
 The secret of our sorrowing. 
 
 16
 
 IX 
 MONTREUX 
 
 THE vision, the voluptuous dream, 
 Montreux it dwells with me to-day ; 
 Sadly I take it for my theme, 
 For she I loved is far away ; 
 She was a part of all things there, 
 
 The beauty, pathos, majesty; 
 All things were fair, for she was fair, 
 And she, my love, is lost to me. 
 
 The glory of the terraced shore, 
 
 The bright lake's level loveliness, 
 The heights ablaze with flowers, no more 
 
 Have power to dazzle or to bless; 
 The music of the waterfall 
 
 It dies away in threnody, 
 As thro' the glen faint echoes call 
 
 " My love, my love is lost to me. 
 
 Only the gloom of silent glades 
 Attracts me, where my fancy ran 
 '7
 
 To wander with the quiet shades 
 Of Byron, Arnold, Obermann ; 
 
 These I recall, and muse and weep 
 For Rousseau's fateful memory, 
 
 Then murmur softly, as in sleep, 
 " My love, my life is lost to me." 
 
 18
 
 X 
 
 THE ROBIN 
 
 OMORE than bird, an honour'd guest, 
 Robin, I set you in my song; 
 The simplest note will serve you best, 
 
 Or I should do my fancy wrong; 
 How glad each year when cold winds came 
 
 We gave you welcome, she and I ; 
 We had no child to bear our name ; 
 You were our little family. 
 
 And you remember, on the seat 
 
 Near those high spires of chestnut-flower 
 Where we could see the waters meet, 
 
 You sang beside us many an hour 
 Fearless and gay and debonair; 
 
 Or later, 'neath a heaven of glass 
 You chirrupp'd, while she gather'd there 
 
 Pansy and fern and beaded grass. 
 ***** 
 The season withers ; to the ground 
 
 Falls sadly all the summer's pride ; 
 19
 
 I'll have no marble on that mound 
 To tell our name, and how we died ; 
 
 But if our loss your memory grieves 
 Come, trill your carol as before 
 
 Till hidden by the fallen leaves 
 Our dust shall sleep for evermore. 
 
 20
 
 SERIES II. HOPE 
 
 i 
 
 OUR SEASONS 
 
 WE had three seasons; I have one; 
 The three, the one, I softly sing, 
 And he should chide the heaven, the sun, 
 
 Who tires to hear of love and spring; 
 O spring, O love, O faith, O hope, 
 
 So warble, bird, and carol, bee, 
 And burst on every sunlit slope 
 Blossom, and leaf, and ecstasy. 
 
 Nor less thy rapture, summer sweet, 
 
 Could charm the eye or fill the breast ; 
 We felt amid the genial heat 
 
 The tranquil joy of joy possess'd; 
 Nor less we loved, where'er we came, 
 
 The scent, the song, the sheltering tree, 
 And every flower of tender name, 
 
 Red-robin, speedwell, rosemary. 
 
 21
 
 I cannot sing of autumn here; 
 
 I sing the autumn of our love; 
 She faded with the fading year, 
 
 The tuneless bird, the ruin'd grove; 
 Bare was the glebe, the rick-cloth furl'd ; 
 
 The swallow muster'd for his flight ; 
 Then cold mist filled the silent world, 
 
 And she was hidden from my sight. 
 
 Winter is mine, and mine alone 
 
 Thro' all the years of April bloom 
 And music and the summer sun, 
 
 By night, by day, a changeless gloom ; 
 And yet a secret spring-like bliss 
 
 Sleeps in my wintry heart; O death, 
 If God had given no hint of this 
 
 I would not draw one hopeless breath. 
 
 22
 
 II 
 
 HUMAN AND DIVINE 
 
 THE fairest bud in April shade 
 Or meadow where the cowslip blows, 
 The fairest hedgerow overlaid 
 
 With Mid-may's bloom or summer rose, 
 The fairest flower at summer's fall, 
 Frail harebell and sweet clematis, 
 
 love in Heaven, I'd give them all 
 For one brief moment of thy bliss. 
 
 1 cannot think of thee as sad, 
 
 I know thou art forever fair, 
 And I shall see with vision glad 
 
 Thy human eyes and lips and hair; 
 And yet a Spirit, thou, that bends 
 
 In love to watch me where I weep, 
 A god-like love which comprehends 
 
 The highest height, the deepest deep.
 
 Ill 
 
 EARTHLY AND HEAVENLY 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 WITH trembling lips, O world, I sing 
 Our ways and words of love, and tell 
 The sweetness of the earthly spring, 
 
 The deep truth of the heavenly well ; 
 Either is good, but one is high 
 
 As deep ; I hold that doctrine small 
 Which says we only breathe to die, 
 That this is life, that life is all. 
 
 That man will cling to hope and trust, 
 
 O love, your life should teach me this; 
 That man is something more than dust, 
 
 O love, I learnt it from your kiss ; 
 What proof? ah ye, the wise who see 
 
 In earth our being and our bond, 
 Naught's proved nor disproved ; Choice is free ; 
 
 Leave me my right to look beyond. 
 24
 
 EARTHLY AND HEAVENLY 
 
 Our way of love a-twain to lie 
 
 In those rich grasses near the stream ; 
 There, guarded from the fervent sky 
 
 By waving aspen boughs, to dream, 
 Or lay the noontide hour to rest, 
 
 Or whisper passion swift and low, 
 Till lip to lip, and breast to breast 
 
 Our hearts met in their overflow, 
 
 Then beat as one. O loved and lost, 
 
 Even thro' these tears I see you there, 
 The gold the waving aspen tost 
 
 Upon us, radiant in your hair; 
 Nor fairer grew the river flowers 
 
 Beside you in sweet rivalry, 
 The blossom'd rush, the woodbine bowers, 
 
 Iris and deep-vein'd bryony. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Our way of love as one to roam 
 
 The quiet grove, the balmy leas, 
 All silent, till they drew us home, 
 
 That twilight world, those walks of peace; 
 Then breath'd we in the ear of heaven 
 
 " Beloved, when this path is trod, 
 Life, great and God-like, shall be given 
 
 Our souls, whose universe is God." 
 25
 
 Our way of love, it was to sit 
 
 Beside the midnight hearth, and hear 
 The storm, and watch the storm-cloud flit 
 
 The deep mysterious hemisphere ; 
 Then turn'd we each to each: " Dear heart 
 
 Take comfort ; neither heights above 
 Nor depths beneath shall pine or part 
 
 Our souls, whose universe is love." 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 Some find in mother earth the soul's full scope, 
 And some thro' all eternity would rove ; 
 
 The one thing hopeful is our trick of hope, 
 The one thing proven our desire to prove. 
 
 26
 
 IV 
 CONFLICT 
 
 I. HESPER 
 
 A SONG, my friend? Nay, 'tis a funeral dirge; 
 I sing of wither'd hopes, of wasted years, 
 The threescore years that tremble on death's verge ; 
 
 I sing her loss, my loss, the loss of tears; 
 I sing the faded flower, the failing light, 
 
 These autumn leaves falling and sick and brown ; 
 I sing the happy birds that take their flight, 
 
 And leave me here, chain'd, baffled, beaten down ; 
 I sing of days misused, of strength misspent, 
 
 The wrong that triumph'd, the good deeds undone, 
 I sing of foes that came, and friends that went, 
 
 This ebbtide ocean and the setting sun ; 
 I sing my panting heart, my shorten'd breath ; 
 
 I sing the end anguish, despair, and death. 
 
 27
 
 V 
 CONFLICT 
 
 II. PHOSPHOR 
 
 A SONG, my friend? ay, surely; turn the page; 
 It shames me to have moan'd a dirge like this; 
 I sing why not? the blessedness of age, 
 
 Its memories of her, and love, and bliss; 
 I sing the folded flower, the quiet leaf, 
 
 That sleep awhile upon their mother's breast ; 
 My song of autumn is of calm, not grief, 
 
 Nature, like me, is lying down to rest. 
 I sing the past, its losses or its gain, 
 
 For all is balanced in the Infinite Sum; 
 I sing, why not? a world of mingled pain, 
 
 Which shaped my being for the worlds to come ; 
 I sing the God in whom I live and move, 
 
 I sing of endless life and endless love. 
 
 28
 
 VI 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 FINITE AND INFINITE 
 
 ONCE more a birthday dawns on my sad pain ; 
 Lonely I rise to greet the summer sun, 
 And call the flowers, and gather yet again 
 
 A chaplet for the grave of her that 's gone. 
 Gone whither? O thou God of life, not death, 
 
 God, not of things that seem, but things that are, 
 Flash my dull thought beyond the haze of breath, 
 
 The mist of time, the mirage of the star! 
 O Spirit-Love, who dwell'st with the Most High, 
 
 Be with me as I kneel beside thy flowers, 
 Here on the mound where thy cold ashes lie 
 
 And wait my coming thro' the silent hours, 
 When I shall love thee with a love divine 
 Tho' the dim ages mix my dust with thine. 
 
 29
 
 PART II 
 
 SKETCHES
 
 I 
 
 THE RIVER STORT 
 
 A ROOF of sky, torrid ; on either hand 
 Banks dry, yet dripping dust, and steep at first, 
 Then curving to the gutter where I tread 
 A trench last left by the forgetful stream, 
 Or furrow'd by the summer rain ; half dry 
 This, clutching at my step with treacherous loam, 
 Sun-baked at top, and odorous with death. 
 On each side death ; plashy forget-me-nots 
 Glued petal downward to stark naked roots 
 Of willows, parch'd themselves, and shrunk; near 
 
 these 
 
 The shrivell'd iris or dishevell'd rush 
 Or bruised and pithy reed ; beside my feet 
 Part clammy and part stiff, the river moss 
 Huddled in heaps. Nor even the water rat 
 Peers from his crumbling adit, but a crake 
 Lies dead where the long-banish'd minnow poised, 
 And watch'd the chary sunbeam of the spring 
 Play on the other bank till all was dark. 
 
 33
 
 II 
 
 DUNKELD 
 
 WHEN from the Rumbling Bridge I turn'd, 
 On Birnam Hill the sunset burn'd, 
 On Craig-y-Barns its fire was seen, 
 It caught the crest of Craig-Vinean ; 
 But the deep Strath in shadow lay 
 Where swept the torrent on its way, 
 Or fell in thunder and in rage 
 By Ossian's lonely Hermitage. 
 The distant pinewood darker grew, 
 A crimson flush'd the eastern blue, 
 And far beneath me I beheld 
 The twilight fall on fair Dunkeld. 
 
 In dreams the charmed city lay, 
 In dreaming silver flow'd the Tay; 
 Dreamlike, the holy Minster nigh 
 Rose in its silent symmetry ; 
 I stay'd my footsteps on the heath, 
 I linger'd o'er the scene beneath, 
 And gazed till life itself might seem 
 A dream within that lovelier dream. 
 
 34
 
 Ill 
 
 ON THE LINCOLNSHIRE COAST 
 
 AFLAT monotony of weariness, 
 A shore without beginning, nay, nor end, 
 WaiPd over by the sea-fowl and the duck. 
 
 You pass from stubble, paste and stoneless, won 
 Not long ago from that same muddy brink, 
 Fenced with a mud-built dyke, on the sea side 
 Mud-mounded, and the water black as night; 
 The scene would look well, doubtless, in the dark. 
 Next you have isle and isthmus and a creek 
 Of sea-salt ooze, not water ; rankest grass, 
 I grant it, where no grass should ever grow, 
 Ay, and the sheep thereon, curiously at fault 
 In the landscape if it be landscape; but the sheep 
 Drive inland, as the coming salt impels. 
 And here beyond stretches a league of dim 
 Uncertain flatness, whether sea or shore.
 
 IV 
 TRENGWAINTON CARN 
 
 WE left behind the holy door, 
 The mound, the carved stone, 
 And from the churchway and the moor 
 Silent we wander'd on. 
 
 And still by bracken, crag and tarn 
 
 We wander'd, you and I, 
 Till on the tall brow of the Carn 
 
 We paused in ecstasy. 
 
 The unplumb'd cloudless heaven of blue 
 Dipp'd to the wave's gold floor, 
 
 Woodland and lawn, beneath our view 
 Swept to a silver shore. 
 
 Like glittering fane of fairy-land 
 
 Or fabric of a dream 
 We saw the sea-girt Mountain stand 
 
 Crown'd with the last sunbeam. 
 36
 
 The winds upon the ocean's breast 
 Slumber'd in soft surcease, 
 
 'Twas summer calm and sabbath rest, 
 And dreamy evening peace. 
 
 37
 
 V 
 THE RIVER NENE 
 
 A WILDERNESS of water, the main stream 
 Mark'd out by willows standing half-trunk deep 
 Or more, if more aslant, their draggled locks 
 Tugg'd by the current. Otherwise you note 
 The river where the turgid eddy whirls 
 Waifs from the farmstead ; 'tis a dreary world, 
 A world submerged. My point of view the gate 
 Which bars a railway crossing near the Coot; 
 This an old race-course, long disown'd, but dear 
 To her and me, who often used to meet 
 In summer ('tis now March) and spoke our troth 
 By a lone fairy-ring at yonder bend ; 
 There the Coot hedgerows, barren and nigh drown'd, 
 Begin their double race to this dry gate, 
 Glad to escape the flood, as I this morn. 
 'Twas two hours since, and I at Lilford farm 
 Where it stands westward, not a mile away, 
 And near it the five hayricks, half afloat 
 By this. Our narrow bridge was broken down ; 
 I took the field-way, swiftly wading thro' 
 
 38
 
 The rising water to seek boat or punt, 
 
 And miss'd the path ; I soused in trench and dyke, 
 
 Swam out of ponds, fell over fences, cotes, 
 
 Ploughs, harrows, wattles, mangolds, feeding-troughs 
 
 And burst thro' twenty hedges, keeping clear 
 
 Of willows, and the deadly swirl beneath. 
 
 39
 
 I SIT within a garden by the sea 
 Which sparkles in the sunlight at my feet; 
 On the bright shore the happy children play ; 
 A shallop poises on the windless blue 
 Under the tender blue dome of the sky; 
 Around me all is May and loveliness; 
 Sweet is the air, for every bird sings sweet, 
 And every flower breathes incense. But a change 
 Is whisper'd thro' the beauteous world ; a cloud 
 Steals like a foe on the unguarded west, 
 And draws the sea-line shoreward ; the blue deep 
 Listens and trembles as a frighten'd child, 
 Then shudders to a silver-grey ; the gull 
 Flies inland screaming; on a distant road 
 The dust is whirling; here, above my head, 
 A shiver in the summer leaf foretells 
 Storm, and the ruin of all beauty. Down 
 Patter the drops distant and large at first, 
 Plashing ; soon, with the rising wind, they drive 
 In horizontal streams that beat and drench 
 
 40
 
 The bloom, and soak the pallid upturn 'd leaf, 
 And drown the music of the hidden bird. 
 And down there on the shore disconsolate, 
 Like cattle on the waste, the children stand 
 Huddled, and every happy sound has died; 
 And all life dies or droops or vanishes 
 In misery; and sky and sea and shore 
 Commingle in the same distressful gloom.
 
 VII 
 A TIDAL RIVER 
 
 YOUR boat is moor'd within the central town, 
 Not far from where the leat mourns as it yields 
 A fresh young tribute to the ebbing salt. 
 'Tis well to take the river at ebb-tide 
 With some ten miles between you and the port 
 You make for, on this summer evening, 
 A well-known trip, and worthy of its fame. 
 Your boat-house an old cellar, the hind wall 
 Knock'd in, I fancy is a gruesome place, 
 Mud-coated, gloomy, clammy, odorous, 
 The gates mud-spatter'd everything is mud 
 Or muddy till you reach the little wharf 
 Outside the town. And there? now wait and see, 
 There 's mud enough to get thro' first ; your rope, 
 Painter, to wit, is coated ; all the backs 
 Oozed over, outlet, basement, grating, sluice, 
 The piers of the two bridges, stair-ways, traps, 
 The hanging chain, clamp, staple, mooring-ring 
 Are basted with sad leavings of the tide. 
 Thro' this you punt, or scull with wavering oar, 
 
 42
 
 Then hug the jetty. Decent this, at top, 
 But under, down where you are, who shall say? 
 As to the other bank paint that? one line 
 Piled faggots, smeared and baked, or dropping silt- 
 Not a word more or less ; and so you leave 
 The jetty, and its loathsome opposite, 
 Merrily in mid-stream of hurrying mire. 
 You breathe a little, but before your time ; 
 The channel widens, and the Virgin Mud 
 (Save for the furrow of some former keel) 
 Low shoal, or isle, or statelier promontory 
 Shutting the world out, lures you to your doom. 
 You know the bearings? fairly? so did I, 
 And suffer'd. Look! too late! your bow is fast! 
 You probe three treacherous feet with a rash oar, 
 Withdraw it; the mud gurgles, and your boat 
 Is firmly bedded without sight of coast ; 
 And there you wait for the incoming tide. 
 But the dews fall, the summer stars look down 
 Twinkling with wonderment; and you you sleep 
 And dream the distant glory of the day. 
 
 43
 
 VIII 
 A HEDGE 
 
 HERE is the living picture of a hedge, 
 If you will come with me some twenty yards 
 Along this common treasure of our land. 
 
 At foot a shallow trench ; a bank breast high ; 
 Above, a maze of blossom, thorn and sloe ; 
 At back, a covert ; to the front a field 
 And the due south. The shallow trench is dry, 
 But here all growth is thicker; king-cups gay, 
 Lush beds of the wild parsley and tall dock, 
 Quaint arum, honey'd cowslip, celandine, 
 And the first cuckoo-flower. Now the bank; 
 A scantier growth of herbage, plant, and bloom, 
 And yet a wildering paradise of sweet 
 And beauty and delight, found only thus 
 On our dear English hedgerows; violets 
 Late, but still welcome; primrose pale, but fair, 
 The shining crane's-bill, the bright adder's-meat, 
 Sorrel and speedwell and anemone, 
 The graceful bluebell and the orchis rare, 
 And earliest bud of woodbine. Now we reach 
 
 44
 
 The upper thicket, wonderful with white 
 Of the full-blowing hawthorn ; the whole land 
 Seems garmented in light, and all the air 
 Is fragrance. But the hedge is still my task; 
 Here is the home of myriad tender things 
 That creep or run or fly; the nightingale 
 Sings to his nesting mate; the rabbit here 
 Burrows beneath the roots of an old elm ; 
 Look, on the trunk, plying unbrokenly, 
 A double line of ants goes up and down 
 To forage high above ; and while I watch, 
 Two starlings, with a brood in that snug hole 
 Watch me ; the mother bird dares not approach, 
 But flutters in distressful doubt ; at last 
 She bills her dainty to the waiting sire; 
 He, bolder, bears it to his clamorous young. 
 
 45
 
 IX 
 A DITCH 
 
 SOME yards of pathway daisy-sprinkled; then 
 A stile to the next meadow, opening thro' 
 A hedge of maple, haw, and bramble-rose. 
 Looking beyond the stile, twelve miles away, 
 The winding silver of a stream, a spire 
 Of gold, the golden sunset, this you see, 
 And all is glorious. But beneath the stile 
 There runs lies rather, and along the hedge, 
 Dark water (so it seems) not three feet wide, 
 Wondrous, perhaps as glorious, and my theme. 
 Wondrous ay, surely ; from a boy I loved 
 The lure of water, mostly the still pool 
 Where summer cloud floated in fathomless blue, 
 A nearer heaven ; so in this dyke I watch 
 The inverted firmament. Then moving down 
 From where I sit, I take a closer view, 
 Peer at the worldlings in their narrow world, 
 Tadpole, the larva of the dragon-fly, 
 The sailing gnat, the diving beetle, shapes 
 Of minute water life, innumerable, 
 Not to be pencill'd here ; I sketch at large, 
 The detail you supply ; where I precede 
 
 46
 
 (If haply I may win you with my sketch) 
 You follow, come, and look, and see, and love. 
 You love the tiny rounded leaf afloat 
 Beneath the brink the verdurous brink, itself 
 "Tis now near hay-time lost in its own wealth, 
 Tall meadow grass and fern and profuse flower, 
 A living book, a summer homily. 
 You love the water life, the water bloom, 
 The mimic grove waving with light and shade, 
 Dark alleys flitted thro' by elfin forms ; 
 You love each plant of moisten'd stem, the flag, 
 Crowfoot, forget-me-not, and marigold ; 
 You love the clustering cress, the wading sedge, 
 The long and languorous mosses where they sway 
 Soft as a dream ; all this you love ; but more 
 More always, if you linger for an hour; 
 To-night a chafer, Shakespeare's shard-borne beetle, 
 Blunders against a bramble near my head, 
 And in my ditch drops dazed; I fish him out; 
 " There 's something wrong, my friend," thus I begin; 
 " Imperfectly adjusted, sir, as yet, 
 To my surroundings; you remember, sir, 
 1 Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum ' 
 A line of Collins, I believe." " Let be 
 The poets," I laugh'd, "and look to your wet shard; 
 Study environment, and mend your ways ; 
 You won't have me to fish you out again." 
 But now the dusk had fallen, and it fill'd 
 With dark the regions of my water-world. 
 
 47
 
 X 
 
 A VILLAGE 
 
 I PAINT it as I knew it, hardly less, 
 Or more, this village; paint it in the spring; 
 In winter it is desolation's home, 
 And death's; tho' even here, as I admit, 
 The sun can warm the blood, and set the world 
 Ablaze with glory. Well, 'tis early spring, 
 A week or two before the swallow comes, 
 Or the prime hawthorn breaks its bud ; not so, 
 One bush I now remember, near the pond, 
 Shelter'd from east, and sucking at the mud, 
 Shows its first leaf to the first celandine, 
 And blossoms with the blackthorn. In a wood 
 Nigh this, wind-swept and thin, the daffodil 
 Is nodding at the primrose shuddering 
 Perhaps ; the trees are rare, the wind is chill. 
 In this near wood, too slender for the name 
 (Oasis in a desert 'twas to me 
 With miles of level ploughland on my brain) 
 You find perhaps the arum ; not as yet 
 The pearly sorrel or anemone 
 No, nor the violet. For, strange to say, 
 That flower is scanty here as happiness ; 
 
 48
 
 Such dearth of either have I never known 
 
 In hamlet; you would seek it 'tis the flower 
 
 I mean, the blue one, not the pink, nor white, 
 
 In the top hedgerow of a clover field ; 
 
 The field slopes south, and barren as the road 
 
 Just now, tho' barely half as rough ; our roads 
 
 Four inches of snow, stone or dust or mud, 
 
 So, with the season. But the clover field; 
 
 You pass along that hedgerow in July, 
 
 Believe me, you will nearly faint with sweet 
 
 Of the warm wind breathing across full bloom 
 
 Of twenty acres. Now I turn to man, 
 
 And his contrivances, chiefly of ill. 
 
 The church, you say? a useful edifice 
 
 If you could fill it full of worshippers ; 
 
 But all I saw and that was twice a week 
 
 A cold two dozen gaping half their time, 
 
 Spite of a surpliced choir in hob-nail boots. 
 
 The church, its how or why, heaven may know, 
 
 I don't. You seat a thousand, and the hamlet 
 
 Is just a few poor roofs, mostly of thatch, 
 
 And mostly weed-grown, a fat rectory, 
 
 A shop, a beer-house, farm-house, and a mill. 
 
 I rented one thatch'd roof; five shillings per week, 
 
 Small room; yet in the next, its counterpart, 
 
 Seven souls, one mad, were miserably housed. 
 
 I used to fly the place, and find my life 
 
 Again, at week ends, in a London fog. 
 
 49 E
 
 XI 
 A FROST 
 
 MISTY the morn at first, now fired with light 
 Of the new-risen sun a dazzling world, 
 For every tree or plant or smallest shoot 
 Or winter stalk, thick crusted with the rime, 
 Stands glorified, transfigured, wonderful, 
 A growth of brilliants and alabaster. 
 This nearest pine-branch, tuft or tiny spike 
 Sparkles with diamond and amethyst, 
 Ruby and beryl ; the long avenue, 
 A hall of splendour, is ablaze with gems, 
 Pillar'd with crystal, garlanded with pearl ; 
 The roof, a miracle of tracery, 
 Woven of coral white and radiant 
 Glitters, and all the interspaces fill'd 
 With heaven's intensest blue, or here and there 
 Flash'd thro* with gold, or pendent with festoons 
 Of gleaming silver; 'tis a fairy world. 
 At every turn new wonder; jewel-laden 
 The crown of that tall elm ; jewel-besprent, 
 Dead grass or rankest weed, and the mere hedge 
 Has on its coverlet of marvellous sheen, 
 A beaded and embroider'd blazonry. 
 
 50
 
 XII 
 A FOG 
 
 WESTWARD the flush of sunset, tho' the sun 
 Sank when I left the hill-top, and the light 
 Is fading from the valley at my feet. 
 Nightfall in autumn ; yet the air is warm, 
 And heavy with the scent of marjoram, 
 And down there by the stream made heavier still 
 With the strong breathing of the water-mint 
 And spices of the mallow and the rush. 
 Nightfall in autumn ; soon the air is chill ; 
 No bird, nor bleat of lamb, nor evening breeze; 
 The dark metallic silver of the stream 
 Sleeps with the mirror'd alder, and my soul 
 Will paint itself into the sombre world. 
 
 Nightfall and autumn and the dying year; 
 All by the line of alders, and long sedge 
 Stretches a thin blue haze, nor hides as yet 
 The willow, barren stem and leafless bole, 
 Nor the still gleaming fungus at its root, 
 Nor the rank grasses of the fairy-ring. 
 But night draws nearer, and the thin blue haze 
 Is whitening into vapour; gradual,
 
 Mysterious, it grows and folds and creeps. 
 
 And first it steals upon the stream, and lies 
 
 Level with either bank, then overflows 
 
 Far on the distant meadow. Now it curls 
 
 Backward upon itself, and filtering thro' 
 
 A bed of osier, covers with a flood 
 
 Of billowing white, the nearer bank, the mead 
 
 Fungus and fairy-ring. Now bolder grown 
 
 And loftier, spectral, gaunt, it stands or glides 
 
 Among high trees, or stalks from bush to bush ; 
 
 The alders vanish, then the willow boles ; 
 
 And broadening now and heightening with a slow 
 
 And silent sweep it buries all beneath, 
 
 And damp and cold and deathlike as a shroud 
 
 It clambers grimly up to where I watch 
 
 In sadness, touches, clings, then wraps me round 
 
 Not all unwilling, and thick night has come.
 
 PART III 
 
 OTHER POEMS
 
 TO A FRIEND 
 
 (ALLEGORICAL) 
 
 I 
 A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART 
 
 THREE songs there are, but the fourth who 
 knows ? 
 
 I have loved it, the first of the three ; 
 'Tis the song that the nightingale sang to the rose, 
 Of summer and ecstasy. 
 
 Three songs there are, but the fourth is one, 
 
 Tho' the second was my desire ; 
 'Tis the song of the breeze to the morning sun, 
 
 Of splendour and fragrance and fire. 
 
 Three songs there are, but the fourth is afar 
 
 And the third was my heart's refrain ; 
 'Tis the song of the brook to the evening star, 
 
 Of loneliness, beauty, and pain. 
 
 55
 
 They faint, they die; but the fourth's from above, 
 
 I would sing it to you, my friend ; 
 'Tis the song of the broken heart and its love 
 
 That faints not and fears no end.
 
 II. FIRST SONG 
 IN A PARK 
 
 HAVE you sat by this lake in a sweet June hour, 
 When the lily was kiss'd by the bee, 
 And the butterfly poised on that passion-flower 
 Then you know my love and me. 
 
 Have you heard the throstle's rapturous strain 
 
 In the heart of that Ilex tree 
 To the one year mate he will meet not again 
 
 Then you know my love and me. 
 
 And there you can breathe it, that pine-wood's scent, 
 
 For it lies on you wearily, 
 Did you feel the breeze as it came and went 
 
 Then you know my love and me. 
 
 And there in the lake is a Venus of stone, 
 
 And I stare at it dreamily, 
 For here by the bank I am standing alone, 
 
 And you know my love and me. 
 
 57
 
 III. SECOND SONG 
 THREE WOMEN 
 
 NOW softly let the song be sung 
 Of three fair women I have met; 
 The first is spring-like, modest, young, 
 
 In all her ways a violet; 
 She must be sought, she loves the shade, 
 
 She must be won by honest worth, 
 And he that wins this perfect maid 
 
 Shall have the sweetest flower on earth. 
 
 The second is a rose, and free 
 
 And fair and fragrant and divine ; 
 All love, all beauty ; to the bee 
 
 She bares her bosom ; she is mine. 
 But not for ever. Let them seem 
 
 Sweet, those dear lips and hair and eyes- 
 And they are sweet; a passionate dream, 
 
 A fleeting dream of summer skies. 
 
 The third, they say, is also fair; 
 She sits beneath an autumn bower 
 58
 
 Of nightshade, and her eyes and hair 
 Are lovely like the blue-gold flower. 
 
 And deadly. If she catch your heart, 
 She kills it with her blossoming wile 
 
 And poison ; if not, you depart 
 Between a shudder and a smile. 
 
 59
 
 IV. THIRD SONG 
 A LOVE STORY 
 
 OH light was the flight and merry the lay 
 Of the linnet his mate pursuing, 
 And the sunbeam danced with the squirrel at play 
 
 Where the ring-dove sat a-cooing; 
 'Twas song and blossom by night, by day, 
 When my love and I were wooing. 
 
 And sweet was the heat the twilight spread 
 
 In that beautiful still June weather, 
 And soft our pillow and bonny our bed 
 
 Of peat-moss, bracken, and heather, 
 And the slender harebell bow'd her head 
 
 When my love and I were together. 
 
 But the harebell dropt a tender tear 
 As the fawn from the dews upstarted, 
 
 And I kiss'd her brow, my love, my dear, 
 And then we twain were parted, 
 
 And one is dead this many a year, 
 And one is broken-hearted. 
 
 60
 
 V. FOURTH SONG 
 TO A FRIEND 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 'nr^HE song of the brook to the star 
 
 J- You have heard, and will hear it again; 
 
 Wliere love and death and beauty are, 
 
 It sigheth its sad refrain; 
 Yet surely as sweet or sweeter far 
 Is tJie deep calm of pain. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Mysterious friend, unseen as yet, unheard, 
 
 Known thro' the finer sense of soul to soul, 
 My thought flies out to reach thee as a bird 
 
 Wings his true way to some far distant goal. 
 To-night I think of her and love and thee, 
 
 And as I marvel by this silent shore 
 A sacred whisper steals across the sea 
 
 From ages when the sea shall be no more ; 
 And as I watch the last light in the west 
 
 Fade, while the holy stars bring benison, 
 I think of her and thee and love and rest 
 
 In that new world where there is no more sun, 
 Where sigh shall not be heard, nor tear shall fall, 
 Where God Himself shall be our sun, our all. 
 
 61
 
 MEMORIES 
 I 
 
 WE sat where cottage flowers grew wild 
 Beneath the summer tree ; 
 Two angels on my sadness smiled, 
 My heart beat charmedly. 
 
 **** 
 
 Fair at our feet the landscape lies, 
 
 Fair is the sunset sky, 
 And fair the Holy Ruins rise 
 
 With dream-like tracery. 
 
 Wye softlier flows ; the moon-lit flower 
 Hangs tranced ; the moments flee ; 
 
 And priceless till my dying hour 
 Their memory to me. 
 
 62
 
 MEMORIES 
 II 
 
 WE sat once more, a mystic three, 
 Where woodland ways are sweet ; 
 Above our heads the autumn tree, 
 Fair Amesbury at our feet. 
 
 Once more as to a soul in pain, 
 
 Two angels softly press'd ; 
 My charmed heart, it beat again 
 
 In peace and perfect rest. 
 
 O life, long sickening unto death, 
 
 Smile at the weary way, 
 And breathe it with thy latest breath 
 
 The memory of that day.
 
 SCENES FROM A LOVE DRAMA 
 
 (MORE OR LESS ALLEGORICAL) 
 
 I 
 A MAY MEETING 
 
 OH spring-time is here, and my love is here, 
 And the turtle-doves are singing, 
 And my heart is full of the perfumed year 
 
 That the woodland breeze is bringing, 
 And carols the brook, for my love is near, 
 And it sets the blue-bells ringing. 
 
 And here we lie, my lady and I, 
 
 By the brook in the morning splendour, 
 
 But there 's not a glory in all the sky 
 That the fairest morn could lend her, 
 
 Tho' the sunbeams glance from her sweet blue eye 
 Ere they fall on the blue-bells tender. 
 
 64
 
 And here it is well my vows to tell 
 To her fresh young heart, my sweeting, 
 
 And I lead her home at the evening bell, 
 And never was such May meeting, 
 
 For the brook it babbles a soft farewell, 
 And the blue-bells wave their greeting.
 
 II 
 
 A REFLECTION 
 
 WHAT is the meaning of this mighty frame 
 Of earth and sky and sun and kindred star; 
 Why drove the day his chariot of gold flame, 
 
 Why guides the regent moon her silver car? 
 Surely to-night I read the truth anew; 
 One meaning of it all O love is you. 
 
 Why is the world so beautiful to-night, 
 
 The moon so tender, the deep heaven so blue, 
 
 Fairer the flower, and the balm-dew more light, 
 While softer than the flower and honey'd dew 
 
 Sweet peace lies on my soul? Dear, I divine 
 
 Once more the answer you; for you are mine. 
 
 66
 
 Ill 
 
 A PARABLE 
 
 AH see, Beloved, the image of our fate: 
 Like as twin flames from the dim hearth ascend, 
 Two sudden flames that leap and kiss and mate 
 
 Till their bright essences for ever blend; 
 Or as two breezes wander'd from the west, 
 
 Blowing thro' flowers at dawn, win their sweet way, 
 Each in the other's motion finding rest, 
 
 In song and flight and fragrance, one for aye; 
 Or as two mountain torrents flowing fast 
 
 Thro' the lone course in some cold peak begun, 
 Breathless, transfigured, and now join'd at last 
 
 Mingle glad waters in the morning sun, 
 Like these, Beloved, be my fate and thine, 
 So let thy deathless nature mix with mine.
 
 IV 
 A MEMORY 
 
 ON a fair flower rested a butterfly, 
 Rested as light as melody on air, 
 Tho' breathing amorous breath, and amorously 
 Touching the dew, the balsam mingled there, 
 Just sighing, trembling to a touch so rare. 
 
 Stay'd only for that quivering fantasy, 
 So swift, so fine, nor ever folded wing, 
 
 Nor near'd the inner temple, where the bee 
 Might come at eve with some gold offering, 
 And worship, and away sweet honey bring. 
 
 So then it sway'd its painted vans for flight, 
 Nothing it brought, nor took, that passing fly; 
 
 "Nay," said the flower, "you brought me love's 
 
 delight;" 
 
 " Nay," said the fly, "you gave love's ecstasy, 
 And now we live for each a memory." 
 
 * 
 68
 
 V 
 RENUNCIATION 
 
 SO then we came together, thou and I, 
 Suddenly, like two flames, subtle and bright, 
 Or like two breezes from a summer sky 
 
 To mingle among flowers their sweet and light, 
 Or like two mountain torrents tremulously 
 
 Blending at morn their beauty and their might, 
 Or like all tender things beneath the sun 
 That join their lives, and tremble into one. 
 
 Dear, hast thou sat beside a dying fire 
 That flicker'd from burnt letters of the dead, 
 
 Or heard the twilight's breath faint and expire 
 On the sea's heart anigh the sea-line red, 
 
 Or seen the river, when our thirst was dire, 
 A sicken'd dust within its summer bed 
 
 These thou hast heard and seen; ah, verily; 
 
 Or see them here; for such as these am I. 
 
 Friend of my weary soul, leave me, divide ; 
 Thou art too fair to mate with misery; 
 
 69
 
 I will not have an angel for a bride, 
 
 Not here, not here; I'll love a dream like thee 
 
 Until I shape thee ever by my side, 
 Yea, close as my thin shadow thou shalt be ; 
 
 And closer than the grossest things that seem ; 
 
 It is enough ; I thank thee for the dream. 
 
 Ah yet, when birds are glad, and star-like flowers 
 Sparkle from spring's earth-heaven, and fancies light 
 
 With swallow pinions chase the delicate hours, 
 I will come sometimes to thy rest at night, 
 
 And melt my phantom soul in true-love showers 
 Shall make thy dreams all wonder and delight; 
 
 Or come thou, moon-like, in that blissful May, 
 
 And make my night more beautiful than day. 
 
 70
 
 VI 
 NEPENTHE 
 
 nightingale sang to the rose 
 
 JL When autumn was nigh, 
 " Sweet sweet love, the brief summer goes, 
 
 And you fade, and I fly; 
 Kiss kiss kiss, with the day at its close, 
 
 And I'll warble good-bye." 
 
 Sigh'd the rose, ' ' Nay, leave me not sweet, 
 
 To-night, nor at morn, 
 Tho' the summer be pleasant and fleet, 
 
 And the autumn forlorn ; 
 Ah tarry ; why hasten to meet 
 
 The sorrow unborn?" 
 
 Said the bird, " Sweet sweet love, let me fly 
 
 Ere my soul fails to sing, 
 Ere you falter and droop, and we die 
 
 Of our own heart-breaking; 
 Who knows one last kiss, one good-bye 
 
 We shall meet in the spring." 
 7'
 
 VII 
 A TRUCE 
 
 SAID the lily to the sun 
 " I have loved you tenderly, 
 And since dreary night was done 
 Your fierce fire has fed on me ; 
 Dieth love when day is gone? 
 Meet me yet again at dawn." 
 
 Said my love unto my heart, 
 
 " Meet me by the lake to-morrow; 
 
 There again before we part 
 Let us tell our joy, our sorrow, 
 
 Yours of grief that sets you free, 
 
 Mine of love that prisons me." 
 
 72
 
 VIII 
 A JUNE MEETING 
 
 SO we sat by the lake one brief June hour, 
 Her lips to my lips replying, 
 And a sunbeam lay on a lily flower, 
 
 And the bee to the rose went sighing, 
 For round us the roses had twined a bower, 
 And the lake-lily near us was lying. 
 
 " Oh love," she sigh'd, " for your heart is free, 
 Will you love me, and leave me never? 
 
 O love, for the roses are kiss'd by the bee, 
 And sweet things sunder and sever; 
 
 O love, my love, will you love but me, 
 And will you love me for ever?" 
 
 So I held her there in that bower of bliss, 
 
 My lips her lips pursuing, 
 And I said, " I will love you like this, like this," 
 
 And never was such fair suing, 
 For the roses blush'd at every kiss, 
 
 And the lily witness'd our wooing. 
 
 73
 
 IX 
 THE MOON TO THE SEA 
 
 71 T OW list with me some balladry 
 * V Befits that brief June hour; 
 'Tis the song of the moon to the midnight sea 
 Of tenderness, beauty and power. 
 
 " O love I sway your living streams, 
 And nearer heaven I hold you, 
 
 O love, I come in golden gleams 
 Till all my joy is told you, 
 
 O love, I bathe you in my beams, 
 And with my ardours fold you. 
 
 O love, the days will come and go 
 
 Dividing and estranging, 
 And love will die where love should grow, 
 
 And heart from heart be ranging, 
 But love like ours no chance can know, 
 
 Thro' all its years unchanging." 
 
 74
 
 X 
 
 THE BROOK TO THE STAR 
 
 "y WO carols there are, so follow me far 
 ! Thro 1 the meadows, and listen again; 
 *Tis that song of the brook to the evening star 
 Of loneliness , beauty and pain. 
 
 " Fair star that shinest as to save, 
 
 Ah, take this love I render, 
 And on my breast and in my wave 
 
 Lay all thine evening splendour, 
 The while thy golden locks I lave 
 
 With love as true, as tender. 
 
 O evening star, thy love, thy beam 
 With my lone waters blending, 
 
 Shine in me now, a living gleam, 
 Love's gift, and not his lending, 
 
 And mix thy beauty with my stream 
 Thro' all the years unending." 
 
 75
 
 XI 
 URANIAN VENUS 
 
 O LISTEN, all fair things in earth and heaven, 
 This joy of morn that lasteth until even ; 
 
 O listen why it comes and whence it came 
 Ye winds, blow softly, if I breathe her name ; 
 
 From yonder god-built sky flutter'd a dove ; 
 
 Ye flowers, bloom sweetly, if I breathe her love ; 
 
 Peace-bringer, comforter, to breast, to brow 
 O stream, flow gently, as my life flows now; 
 
 An angel-woman with earth-heavenly ways 
 Attend, ye hills, if I shall sound her praise; 
 
 And thou, O man, speak out; how fares 't with thee? 
 " No; speech is pride; I worship silently." 
 
 76
 
 XII 
 EARTH AND LOVE 
 
 I HAVE gone forth beneath the sky at even, 
 Brushing thro' flowers the fairest of their year, 
 Breathing sweet dews that fell from infinite heaven, 
 While one thrush warbled, and one star rose clear. 
 
 I have gone softly where the noontide sea, 
 Lay in the arms of some majestic dream, 
 
 And bared my soul to God's Immensity, 
 
 And sunder'd things that are from things that seem. 
 
 All these and more of sweetness or of might 
 
 As man, methinks, should know them, I have known, 
 
 But dear, there is no beauty, no delight 
 
 Like thine, when thou and I have lain as one. 
 
 77
 
 XIII 
 AN AUTUMN MEETING 
 
 OH the bird sang blithe from that autumn tree, 
 For he sang of passion undying, 
 And my beautiful love she stood by me, 
 
 Her carol to his replying, 
 
 For 'twas " Love, love, love, and for ever to be, 
 And never a note of sighing." 
 
 And the sun shone bright from that autumn sky, 
 
 For of winter he had no heeding, 
 And my love, my beautiful love, stood by, 
 
 My light, my life, my leading, 
 " Forever O love," so I made reply 
 
 To her beauty, her song, and her pleading. 
 
 And the bloom was fair in that autumn bower, 
 For it dream'd not of summer departing, 
 
 And my love stood by in her beauty and power, 
 And never was such sweet-hearting, 
 
 For 'twas love, love, love beyond death's dark hour, 
 And passion that knows no parting. 
 
 78
 
 XIV 
 AN AUTUMN PARTING 
 
 OH the wind blows sore thro' that autumn tree, 
 With never an end of its sighing, 
 And the dead red leaves, they are whirl'd to me, 
 
 And leaves in the mire are lying, 
 And I hear the sob of the ebbing sea, 
 And the moan of sweet things dying. 
 
 And the wan stars weep from their autumn sky, 
 
 Between the storm-cloud sailing, 
 And I call in my anguish, " Ye stars on high, 
 
 Have ye any comfort availing? " 
 But they weep, they weep, without reply 
 
 To my love and its passionate wailing. 
 
 And the bloom lies dead in that autumn bower, 
 
 For by it the blast is sweeping, 
 And she lies folded, my love, my flower, 
 
 Where only the worm is creeping, 
 Where she sleeps alone at this midnight hour, 
 
 And the weary stars are weeping. 
 
 79
 
 XV 
 EPILOGUE (i) 
 
 Sic TRANSIT. A PREAMBLE. 
 
 SO runs my rhyme, "The Lily and the Bee " 
 So fadeth in the fading of a year 
 The dream of love, its mortal pageantry, 
 
 The stage-play of a smile, a touch, a tear ; 
 Now listen to some loftier balladry, 
 For no beginning and no end is here. 
 
 Yet here, in our low world of night and day, 
 With visions of delight how sweet to rest, 
 
 Fair dreams of shape or hue or heart's essay, 
 (And love and hope and woman are our best) ; 
 
 Alas! before they faint and fall away 
 
 I serve them with a rhyme, at love's behest. 
 
 One cadence clear shall end my minstrelsy, 
 
 " We hope, we rightly trust, we wrongly prove; " 
 
 Knowledge is fetter'd, but our faith is free, 
 Our kindliest faith God-ward for ever we move; 
 
 Thus hoping, let me hymn the eternity, 
 The loveliness, the Godliness of love. 
 
 80
 
 XVI 
 EPILOGUE (ii) 
 
 INFINITY 
 
 " r I ^HOU sure and firm-set earth " a poet's dream, 
 
 A A vanishing dream, unstable as the air; 
 Firm-set, alas, nor sure, the things that seem ; 
 
 They change and pass, and none their place declare. 
 Who shall divide his vision of the day 
 
 From death, and the still trances of the night, 
 Or clasp existence with an arm of clay? 
 
 Dead is the finite, life is infinite. 
 Vain quest to seek it in the circling sphere, 
 
 The starry height of heaven, the round of space ; 
 Farther than these it ranges, yet more near, 
 
 Boundless within thee, boundless its wide embrace; 
 For life is God-like, and God is love; and thou 
 Make thyself God's in His eternal Now. 
 
 81
 
 A SONG ABOUT A SONG 
 
 TO 
 
 WHY not one song, a swan-song at the close 
 There gathers sometime in the lurid west, 
 Long hushst, the threaten'd storm, and gleams and 
 grows 
 
 And tears the sudden thunder from its breast; 
 Or as beneath the storm, full-flooded ocean 
 
 Blanch'd with fell wrath and foam, blinds the low day 
 So spends in one wild hour its heart's commotion, 
 
 Then, like my life, ebbs silently away ; 
 Or as the western heaven, that dim day done, 
 
 Gives you the single splendour of its spell 
 And who will barter with a setting sun 
 
 Whose glory is the glory of farewell? 
 Nay, like the storm, the sunset, the full tide, 
 So came my lonely song, so lived, so died. 
 
 82
 
 CHISWICK PRESS : CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-20m-7,'61(C1437s4)444
 
 PR 
 
 602*3 T.nce - 
 
 L96?7th Threnodies 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL I 
 
 A 000 863 
 
 PR 
 
 6023 
 
 L96?7th