2J^J^> 
 
 University of California • Berkeley 
 
 I 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mrs. Edwin Grabhom 
 
^ — 
 
PRELUDES 1921— 1922 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 POEMS— 
 
 POEMS. 1908-1914 
 
 SWORDS AND PI.OUGHSHARES. 19 15 
 
 OI,TON POOI^. 19 16 
 
 TIDES. 1917 
 
 I,OYAI.TIES. 1919 
 
 SEEDS OF TIME. 1921 
 
 PLA YS— 
 
 REBEI.I.ION. 1914 
 
 PAWNS AND COPHETUA. 1911-1917 
 
 ABRAHAM WNCOI^N. 19 18 
 
 MARY STUART. 1921 
 
 OI,IVER CROMWEI<I<. 1921 
 
 PROSE STUDIES— 
 WII,I,IAM MORRIS. 1913 
 SWINBURNE. 1913 
 THE I,YRIC. 1915 
 PROSE PAPERS. 191 7 
 
Preludes 1 921-1922 
 
 by John Drinkwater 
 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
 Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
 
 All are but ministers of love. 
 And feed his sacred flame. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 London : Sidgwick & Jackson, Ltd 
 3 Adam Street, Adelphi mcmxxij 
 
First published in 1922 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
FOR 
 
 DAVID 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 fAOB 
 
 I. Prelude 9 
 
 II. David and Jonathan . . . .10 
 
 III. The Maid of Naaman's Wife . . 25 
 
 IV. Lake Winter 33 
 
 V. Gold 5© 
 
 VI. Burning Bush 53 
 
 VII. To My Son 59 
 
 VIII. Interlude 6a 
 
 Note. — ^This book is really one poem, and is a 
 development of my sonnet sequence, Persuasion. 
 
PRELUDES 1921—1922 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 Though black the night, I know upon the sky, 
 
 A little paler now, if clouds were none. 
 
 The stars would be. Husht now the thickets 
 
 lie. 
 And now the birds are moving one by one, — 
 A note — and now from bush to bush it goes — 
 A prelude — now victorious light along 
 The west will come till every bramble glows 
 With wash of sunlit dew shaken in song. 
 Shaken in song ; O heart, be ready now. 
 Cold in your night, be ready now to sing. 
 Dawn as it wakes the sleeping bird on bough 
 Shall summon you to instant reckoning, — 
 She is your dawn, O heart, — sing, till the night 
 Of death shall come, the gospel of her light. 
 
DAVID AND JONATHAN 
 
 And Jonathan too had honour in his heart, 
 Jonathan who with an armour-bearer went 
 Alone by Michmash to the Philistines, 
 And met a spray of swords because of courage 
 That made him single greater than a host. 
 Jonathan too had known his battles, dared 
 At any hour the coming of death, because 
 In twilight silence he had walked with God, 
 Read Him in blossoms and the mountain brooks, 
 And learnt that death, well known, can alter 
 
 nothing. 
 He was a brown man, burnt with love of summer. 
 His young beard curled, and russet as the eyes 
 That looked on life, and feared it, yet were 
 
 master. 
 Because they knew the tyranny they feared, 
 Measured it, learnt it, gazed it into nothing. 
 
 And now he watched the boy, the son of Jesse, 
 David with hair like maples in October, 
 And skin that women loving coveted, 
 David with eyes that often by the sheepfolds 
 Had looked through leaves up to the folds of 
 
 heaven. 
 And seeing them crammed with golden fleece 
 
 of stars. 
 Had known how the blood can run because of 
 
 beauty. 
 Jonathan watched him take the armour off 
 
 10 
 
Given by Saul, and choose the bright smooth 
 
 pebbles, 
 And walk out from the Israelitish throng 
 Into the field against the Philistine giant. 
 Watching, he snatched his sword and cried to 
 
 Saul, 
 " Bid him come back. This murder must not 
 
 be." 
 And as he spoke, he knew the words were 
 
 treason. 
 His heart alone in all the world was sure 
 That David was the Lord's appointed arm. 
 To meet this bulk of dirt, this giant fear 
 Brandishing out of the loathly camps of evil. 
 And before Saul could answer, he put down 
 The sword, and said, " I love him. Let him go." 
 
 But the words, I love him, were not for his 
 
 father Saul, 
 Hardly Jonathan knowing he spake them out. 
 But as he looked on David love was there, 
 Waking from that in David that he himself 
 A little was, and always greatly shaping 
 Himself towards, so that his name was spoken 
 Famously in Saul's kingdom. It was courage. 
 The clean heart, undivided in its doing. 
 The purpose that, being bodied in the brain, 
 Thenceforth knew every trickling argument 
 That fell from tongues of persuading circum- 
 stance, 
 As lures of evil ever threatening life, 
 II 
 
That Jonathan loved above all enterprise. 
 He knew, or the rarer man within him knew, 
 That once your yea in holy meditation 
 Had shaped itself in the perfect syllable, 
 Thenceforth no nay from any other tongue 
 Or wise or passionate or masterful. 
 Could be listened to without the shame of sin 
 Corrupting all your constancy for ever. 
 He knew the curse of good betraying good. 
 Till both in bleak irresolution fall. 
 And all his years was Jonathan's anguish only 
 To keep this tillage of his wisdom clean. 
 
 Since boyhood he had known Philistia 
 For the black thing it was, a plague opposed 
 Always against the loveliness of Israel, 
 And when his father Saul was anointed king 
 By Samuel in Ramah, then Jonathan knew 
 How all the lessons of his youth had been 
 To fit him for the striking of the men 
 Who profaned beauty and let the soul be blind. 
 And he was diligent in bronze and arms, 
 And kept his body supple, and his eye 
 Keen, and the coming of his hooves was thun- 
 der. 
 Wherever battle fell. He bore a flame. 
 Zealous and pure, in the heavens of his mind. 
 To serve and to instruct. Aye, to instruct — 
 There was the biting blemish, as we shall see. 
 
 Philistia was foul, and Jonathan knew, 
 
 12 
 
And the voice of God within him was plain and 
 
 constant 
 To strike and strike unwearying to the end. 
 And then the poor, precise, infirmity 
 That loads good minds with ever seeming virtue, 
 Until they cast their treasure to the dust. 
 Crept on him, wound about the gleaming truth 
 That was his one foundation. Day by day 
 He was resolved, and then the grain of doubt 
 Would come to hurt the riding of his thought. 
 And break the level balance that it had. 
 Was then the Philistine mere black ? That day 
 Jonathan's arm half paused upon the blow. 
 And evil went a little scatheless off. 
 Surely the worst even of adversaries 
 Had somewhere beams that pointed to salvation, 
 And hasty judgment might not be the will 
 Of an all-seeing Lord ? Then would the ven- 
 geance 
 Falter, and stay, and Jonathan's battle failed. 
 And always then was bitterness and reproach 
 In the night watches when upon his couch 
 He looked on the stars studding his little win- 
 dow 
 Before sleep came. Then he would speak again 
 The word that single was his valiance. 
 His only truth, his warrant as a man. 
 And once again Philistia was doomed. 
 Then for a season clean the stroke and sure 
 That Jonathan drove, and black was known for 
 black, 
 
 13 
 
Till slowly as before would mount and mount 
 Scruple on scruple, as was not he himself 
 A little black sometimes, or plainly wicked ? 
 And should the wicked man not be redeemed ? 
 Merely destruction surely was no answer. 
 Since yet the wickedness must wander some- 
 where ? 
 How should he say, I, Jonathan of Israel 
 Am good, and you the Philistine are cursed. 
 Since in that face was something that had been 
 Learnt from the buds and corn and frozen hills 
 That he himself had known for seals of God ? 
 And would not his power on Israel increase, 
 Take on a loftier authority. 
 If to his famous arms he could add a tale 
 Of counsel working in the hearts of men. 
 Moving them to a finer charity, 
 A little pity for offence ? And so 
 Instruction like a worm was at his roots, 
 And pride of virtue made Jonathan forget. 
 Then sometimes as he knew himself betrayed 
 He would cry upon his spirit in the night — 
 
 I, Jonathan, who know 
 
 The processes of God 
 
 Moving within me. 
 
 Turn aside to my idols of desire. 
 
 He has taught me the ways 
 
 Of Philistine cruelty. He 
 
 Shows me the bad man toiling to the 
 ruin 
 
 Of beauty and the free spirit on earth, 
 14 
 
And has equipped me for the establish- 
 ment 
 
 Of His will in this battle, and I fail. 
 
 I am a leaf spinning about the wind, 
 
 Who have been shown the ways of sted- 
 fastness. 
 
 O Israel, I have heard 
 
 My dedication made 
 
 To your sweet service by the voice of 
 Him, 
 
 And I betray 
 
 That wisdom, that great simpleness of 
 wisdom, 
 
 Inventing in my brain 
 
 Fantastic argument 
 
 As though God's mind 
 
 Had missed the brighter pools 
 
 That I alone could visit and gaze into. 
 
 He tells me, and I hear 
 
 Voices not His. 
 
 Knowing, I question. And I am ashamed. 
 So Jonathan saw walking at his side 
 Always a shadow that was his own denial. 
 
 And now was April mirrored in the plumes 
 Of ravens and the green of the young wheat. 
 And dusky ewes with white lambs in the sun 
 Lay in the valley plain between the hosts 
 Of Israel and Philistia. And on this day 
 Jonathan learnt utter reproach, and love. 
 There on the plain Goliath stood alone, 
 15 
 
Poised in his mighty bulk, with black locks 
 
 flowing, 
 A handsbreadth taller even than Saul the king 
 Who shouldered it above the men of Israel, 
 And beat his words of sure defiance out. 
 Ringing across the windless noon. And all 
 Israel heard, and fear was on them, knowing. 
 If thus the issue, how it should prevail. 
 And Jonathan in the tent of Saul his father. 
 Watched, and his blood was quick, and in his 
 
 mind 
 He strove against the last of doubt. And then 
 The young man David stood before them, bidden 
 By Saul, who heard one say, " There is a boy 
 New come from tending sheep in Bethlehem, 
 And seeks the king." And David stood before 
 
 them, 
 And asked no leave, but said, " There was a 
 
 cause. 
 It bade me come, and I will fight with him." 
 And Saul denied, but David did not hear 
 Denial, saying, " the wild beasts of the field 
 I with my hand have slain at the fold's gate. 
 And this is mine to do." And David stood. 
 Greater than argument while Saul armed him 
 
 there. 
 And Jonathan saw the purpose that he was not. 
 Glowing and bodied, and his love was bom. 
 
 Then David flung the armour off, and said, 
 " I am David, and I know not these strange aims, 
 i6 
 
I must go out as I have always been, 
 Not girt with new occasion. It is I, 
 David the shepherd that am David still, 
 And I know nothing of your spears and plate. 
 A sheepskin have I worn, and in my hand 
 A sling, and pebbles taken from the brook. 
 Now shall I go, content that God has watched 
 
 me 
 So habited and armed through all my youth. 
 Should I pretend another David now, 
 I should meet this man with neither honour nor 
 
 hope. 
 If I am sent against the Philistine 
 Out of God's anger, and I know it is so. 
 It is not one the chosen of Saul's hosts. 
 But I, David of Bethlehem must go, 
 The son of Jesse, and keeper of his flocks." 
 
 Almost the tears were seen in Jonathan's eyes. 
 Because of David's words, of which he knew 
 The poor ghosts hiding somewhere in his own 
 
 heart. 
 And then he spoke his fear, and then the words, 
 Resting his sword, " I love him. Let him go." 
 And David stept out of the emerald light 
 That played up from the grass floor of the tent. 
 Into the full flood of the April noon. 
 And walked a little way, and those two stood 
 Parted a hundred paces, the man of terror. 
 Hewn massy and with shock of builded limbs, 
 And David moulded like a sea boy risen 
 
 B 17 
 
From caves of music where the water spins 
 Wet sand into the shapes of flowing flowers ; 
 David with limbs all bright with the sun's tones, 
 And ruddy locks curling with youth and light, 
 His body all alert on steady loins. 
 Clean spun of flesh that knew the winter snows, 
 And mellow pools of summer, and the dews 
 Dropping among the crocuses of dawn. 
 His sandle-straps bound ankles as a girl's. 
 And fluttering to his knees the sheepskin hung, 
 Cloaking one shoulder, while the other gleamed. 
 And there he paused, the sling in his right hand, 
 His left hand fingering the pouch of pebbles. 
 While Israel fearing murmured, and the hosts 
 Of Philistine derision rocked the noon. 
 Then did Goliath cry, " Am I a dog, 
 For a boy's whipping ? Have you not a man. 
 That you would send a cleaner up of crumbs 
 From the queen's table ? Come then, and be 
 
 broken. 
 For birds to find you and the dogs at night." 
 And Jonathan heard Philistia shout again. 
 And David, like a flame unwinded, stood 
 Quivering at the cry, and laid a stone 
 In the sling's fold, and cast his staff, and ran, 
 Fleet as the king bird gliding under leaves. 
 Towards Goliath. And a giant spear 
 Swung from the Philistine hand, and forty paces 
 Sang in the air and]brushed the flying sheepskin, 
 And sudden David's feet were planted firm. 
 Locked on the earth, and circling in the sun 
 i8 
 
The tight thong flashed and loosened, and the 
 
 stone 
 Smote the Philistine wrath above the eyes, 
 And the day was clouded from him, and he fell. 
 
 Then Israel spared not. And, when night was 
 
 come, 
 Jonathan sent for David to his tent, 
 And those two sat while the yellow torches 
 
 burned. 
 And Jonathan spoke and said, " David, my 
 
 brother. 
 To-day you have made a story that shall be 
 For ever fruitful in the heart of man. 
 This day is David's. But of this day I too 
 Share, not in the honour, but in the harvesting. 
 Or the harvesting I think is wholly mine. 
 Shall I speak on ? " And David said, " Speak 
 
 on." 
 Then Jonathan — " This morning there was a 
 
 man, 
 And it was Jonathan, who many years 
 Had gone snared in a purpose not his own, 
 That is, not truly mine. Always I knew. 
 Walking by that self I said was honest, 
 Another self, the true self, in a shadow, 
 Or at an angle that my eyes refused. 
 I was a proud man, David, very virtuous. 
 Or, in fairness to myself, desiring virtue. 
 Truly desiring it, I may say that. 
 And yet even in that desire there moved 
 19 
 
A lie, for I knew the virtue of my desire 
 Was something tainted. No — I knew it not, 
 But that other self walking beside me knew it, 
 And whispered, I knew, a thing that I would 
 
 not hear. 
 Always it whispered, as I stood alone, 
 I said, in subtle thought among all Israel. 
 God had spoken to me, David, that the Philis- 
 tine 
 Was evil, evil, that was all God said. 
 And bade me strike as a man by God assured. 
 But the man to whom God spoke I put aside. 
 The still self walking, whispering, in the shadow. 
 And I, the Jonathan of daily light, 
 Tempered the word of God, I tempered it — 
 I who should be God's outcast doing so. 
 I counted evil twenty different ways, 
 And none of them plain evil. I diced with God, 
 And the dice fell as often to my hand, 
 It seemed, as His, but falling so the whisper 
 Was ever shadowed at my ear, unheard. 
 And ever as this new intelligence. 
 This pride of thought, crept over me and filled 
 My dawn and noon and sleep, a hunger grew, 
 A dreadful hunger for that self denied. 
 And every word I spoke for righteousness 
 Turned bitter on my lips, because I knew 
 That every word was righteousness undone. 
 Such was the man this morning when you came, 
 Who from the king's tent watched you, David. 
 Then 
 
 20 
 
Change and completion and I know not what 
 Of heavenly fulfilment fell upon me. 
 Not from myself, nor of my own devising, 
 But marvellously spoken in a space 
 Of golden light that glowed about the form 
 Of a boy standing in my father's tent. 
 Quite suddenly the thing I lacked was there, 
 The shadow whispering at my side had gone 
 And stood there bodied in you, David, brother, 
 
 dear young shepherd from your sheepfolds 
 
 called — 
 Nay Jonathan myself it was there standing, 
 Or barren branches of myself in flower. 
 My jailored thought flooded with light of song. 
 And in that moment nothing was between 
 Your soul and mine, and knowing you, I loved. 
 Since love is understanding, and must come 
 When mind looks on the presence of very mind. 
 
 1 loved you, David, and I love, and ever — 
 Because my mind, even in one day's passing. 
 Has learnt you as no years could better learn — 
 My love is fixed upon you. And, moreover, 
 Since from this hour I must for ever know 
 Some element of me lodged sole in you. 
 Some certainty in you alone to be 
 
 Among my weeds the patient husbandman, 
 I must in your love prosper or not at all. 
 Now therefore, David, let a covenant be 
 Between us from this day, for the heart knows." 
 
 David and Jonathan under the long torches 
 
 21 
 
Were silent then. And David's eyes were fixed 
 Long upon Jonathan, as eyes may sometimes 
 
 look 
 On eyes, and see no face, looking beyond 
 Into unimaged life, into the brain 
 Moving behind the circumstance of flesh. 
 Eyes that to-morrow passing might hardly 
 
 know 
 The mere face that to-night they gaze upon. 
 And Jonathan having spoken, waited there 
 While David searched him slowly with still eyes. 
 Then David rose, and drew the tent-fold back. 
 And looked upon the stars of Palestine 
 Long, and a mallow moon ; and Jonathan 
 
 waited. 
 Then David came again, and spoke, " I too. 
 Standing this morning in your father's tent, 
 Knew that a life unwonted was near me there. 
 And now you have spoken, and the love you say, 
 I know, and as your will is so is mine. 
 Something I am for you that none can be. 
 Let it be so, but all is not then said. 
 This morning when I smote the Philistine, 
 I was God's purpose, that I must believe. 
 But purpose only is not all of God, 
 Hearing you now, I know it is not all. 
 When first I saw you I did not know it then — 
 Only, facing the Philistine, something new 
 A moment marked me, and unnoted went, 
 No touch of it upon my will. But now 
 I have heard you speak, and what it was I know, 
 
 22 
 
You loved me, Jonathan, seeing, as I stood, 
 That shadowy self of you of which you tell mc 
 Suddenly living fearless in the sun. 
 That is your reaping of my field, and I 
 Glory to give it you. But were that all, 
 Proud to be loved, I should not love again. 
 But now I know for me is too a reaping. 
 Your shadow to my living purpose leaps. 
 And that is wonderful. But as you spoke 
 Some David hidden from the man that slew 
 Goliath listened also, and is now 
 With us for ever. And he that wrought this life 
 Is you, Jonathan of doubts and speculation. 
 The man who sits there plainly now, the mere 
 Jonathan when the shadow is forgotten. 
 Now do I know my purpose magnified. 
 Sure as of old, but learning in its flight, 
 Of pity and the sad heart of man from you, 
 And how the jealous and unmerciful. 
 Being stricken down, are but poor sorrows too. 
 So, Jonathan my brother, as you take. 
 So do you give, and in us now shall be 
 The perfect whole of purpose and compassion. 
 And resolution without pride of heart. 
 Now therefore will I make the covenant. 
 Knowing that never more can you or I 
 Without this love be better than a tale 
 Of corrupting seed and fallow-lands unsown." 
 
 Now Jonathan rose and put the torches out. 
 And a grey beam of dawn was on those two. 
 23 
 
And Jonathan took his outer garment off, 
 Which was the king's son's, and robed David 
 
 there, 
 And he took the sword that Saul had given him. 
 Belted in gold and cased in figured steel. 
 And it hung on David's loins. And Jonathan 
 
 said, 
 " Who fails in this, that is the last betrayal, 
 The quenching of the holy spirit of God." 
 And David said, "So be it." And they em- 
 braced. 
 And kissed. And David went into the dawn. 
 And Jonathan watched until the day was full. 
 
 24 
 
THE MAID OF NAAMAN'S WIFE 
 
 That was the proud woman, Naaman's wife, 
 Basking at noon under the Syrian fans, 
 While Naaman, the leprous mighty captain. 
 Proud glowing flesh now silver-skinned and 
 
 tainted, 
 Walked in contagion here and there, apart. 
 His wife, the unblemished Naaman in her mind, 
 The man who, coming with the spoils and 
 
 shouts. 
 Had made a hundred triumphs hers, when all 
 The Syrian women courted her for that. 
 Now saw in the pestilent limbs shame and re- 
 proach, 
 Some treachery that made her, who was mate 
 Of Syria's pride, bondwoman of a leper. 
 She must nurse her blame, since he was Naaman 
 
 still, 
 With an old honour paid by stedfastness. 
 The mark of Syria's compassion. Black 
 Thoughts were her only payment for betrayal. 
 But in secret she could play them without 
 
 pity,— 
 Let the fans beat, they could not beguile her 
 from that. 
 
 And Naaman had loved her, but not now. 
 Knowing the uses that his love had been, 
 How given for her to squander it in pride. 
 
 25 
 
Syria out of Israel had brought 
 Captives, and among them one, a maid, 
 A little maid, just troubled with the touch 
 Of womanhood upon her body and thought, 
 And she served Naaman's wife, a lonely girl, 
 To answer bidding, and covet little tones 
 Of kindness that she heard go to and fro. 
 But not for her. She trembled as she stood 
 At the proud woman's couch, because a fault 
 In orders done meant scolding and even rods. 
 And she had but two joys. One, to remember 
 A Galilean town, and the blue waters 
 That washed the pebbles that she knew so well. 
 Yellow in sunlight, or frozen in the moon, 
 A little curve of beach, where she would walk 
 At any hour with an old silver man, 
 Her father's father, her sole companion. 
 Who told her tales of Moses and the prophets 
 That lived in the old days. And of that time 
 She had but now poor treasuries of the mind. 
 Little seclusions when, the day's work done. 
 She made thought into prayer before she slept ; 
 These, and a faded gown that she had brought 
 Into captivity, patterned with sprigs of thyme, 
 And blades of wheat, and little curling shells. 
 And signs of heaven figured out in stars, 
 Made by a weaver that her grandsire knew, 
 A gift on some thanksgiving. She might not 
 
 wear it. 
 Being suited as became a slave, but often 
 At night she would spread it in her loneliness, 
 26 
 
And think how finely she too might be drest, 
 As finely as any proud woman of them all, 
 If the God of Israel had not visited her 
 Surely for sin, though she could not remember. 
 Thus one joy was. And then the Lord Naaman, 
 This wonder soiled, this pitiful great captain 
 Forbidden all that he had so proudly been — 
 To worship him, that was her other joy. 
 When the dusk came, and the city fell to silence, 
 And out of his poor banishment he would walk. 
 She followed him, knowing the very hour, 
 And all her heart was flooded through with 
 
 pity. 
 Because she knew the leprosy left still 
 A Naaman untainted and lovely. 
 Then in her mind was the proud woman a 
 
 loathing. 
 Who dared to waste a marvel such as this. 
 The right in the world's knowledge so to love. 
 O pitiful evil blasting so great a flesh. 
 Walling a spirit so governing itself 
 In spite of desolation. A maid's thought thus 
 Knew how the frames of mastery can suffer. 
 
 Sometimes at night when not even lepers walked. 
 
 Solitary in the Syrian meadows she 
 
 Would wander in the old perplexity 
 
 That the moon makes of love. Never, she 
 
 knew. 
 Could any adoration that she brought 
 Touch even the Lord Naaman 's banishment, 
 27 
 
The Naaman fallen from the time when even 
 Great ladies dare not speak the thing they felt. 
 She was nothing, or the world could never know 
 If she was more than nothing ; a maid to bind 
 Tresses for beauty that was not her own. 
 And yet she knew that she had beauty too, 
 A little hermit beauty that might spend 
 Royally if it dare and a man would speak, — 
 Royally, Naaman, but he could not hear. 
 But still for all the silence of her lips, 
 And heart with promise nothing known, she 
 
 loved — 
 Loved the sad leper walking in the dusk, 
 Loved the great lord, loved even his leprosy. 
 Since by it he came a little down to her. 
 Loved him, and knew that her love was the simi 
 Of all that loving, and must be. But even so, 
 She knew her love an honester thing than any 
 That the proud woman had. O moon, she 
 
 thought. 
 Could you not make me truly tell this love. 
 This love pulsing along my blood and brain, 
 As midnight surges going through the sky ? 
 And long she pondered how she best might 
 
 serve. 
 
 Then one day when the fans moved, and she 
 
 stood 
 Ministering with her perfumes at the couch, 
 Her mistress, with eyes that meant the thought 
 
 was nothing, 
 
 28 
 
Said, "Is it not grievous that my lord goes 
 
 thus ? " 
 And the maid felt the colour at her throat 
 Flow round her neck and flood up to her temples, 
 But knowing, feared not, or put her fear aside. 
 And said " Would God my lord were in Samaria, 
 To seek Elisha there, a prophet, lady. 
 Whom God hath taught to cure whom he will 
 
 cure." 
 She spoke, and the bright bowl trembled in her 
 
 hands. 
 And fear because of her words made the tongue 
 
 dry 
 As the woman looked with still cold eyes upon 
 
 her. 
 But the word passed from lip to lip, and the 
 
 king 
 Heard it, and sent for Naaman and said, 
 " A girl among the slaves that you brought in 
 From Israel has spoken a strange thing. 
 Of one Elisha, a prophet whom they obey. 
 Saying that he could bid the blemish off 
 That is cheating Syria of her proudest man. 
 Now therefore journey to him, and I will send 
 Word to Israel's king, that he shall bless 
 Favours from us in whom his fortune lies, 
 Bidding him call this prophet to your cause. 
 Go, and the love of Syria go with you." 
 
 Then Naaman with his servants went at dawn. 
 
 And Naaman 's wife saw how again might come 
 
 29 
 
Her mastery among the women of Syria. 
 Yet was the little maid her hatred now. 
 Lest of her word should come this resurrection. 
 And Naaman went, and Israel's king was glad, 
 Because of Syria's favour, and sent down 
 The hill to where Elisha lived among 
 Farmers of flax and goatherds and a few 
 Unhappy men who brought their sorrow to 
 
 God, 
 Asking his mercy on the Syrian lord. 
 And Naaman stood before the prophet of Israel, 
 And told his grief. And Elisha looked upon 
 
 him, 
 Measured his faith, and bade him bathe his 
 
 body 
 Seven times in the river of Jordan, and be 
 Whole. And Naaman questioned, and was 
 
 wrath. 
 As was not any river of Damascus 
 Purer than Jordan, and in more virtue flowing ? 
 But, little, his servants said, was this to do. 
 And, as persuasion led him, he went down 
 And seven times let Jordan cover him. 
 And came with a clean body as of old, 
 A strong man with the tides of blood before 
 
 him. 
 With equal limbs for all the spirit could dare, 
 And into Syria he sang upon his riding. 
 
 And tidings came to the Syrian king of this, 
 Heralding a Naaman mightier than ever, 
 30 
 
With clean flesh and a wisdom all matured. 
 And all the city rang upon his coming, 
 The king and his estate, people and priests. 
 And soldiers glad of their old captain again. 
 And matrons with their girls, and the rich mer- 
 chants. 
 All shouted Naaman, Naaman, through the 
 
 streets. 
 And Naaman 's wife stood at the king's right 
 
 hand, 
 Her slave-borne canopy coloured and spangled. 
 While the great fans beat upon her pride again. 
 And Naaman in plumes and plate and mail 
 Again was master of the Syrian hosts. 
 
 Afar, beyond the barriers of the streets. 
 Pressing among the crowd for a moment's 
 
 seeing, 
 The Israelitish maid, between her duties. 
 Watched with a proud flush beating down her 
 
 limbs. 
 And shyly she had on a faded gown. 
 Patterned with sprigs of thyme and blades of 
 
 wheat. 
 And paling stars and little curling shells. 
 And as the shouting rose, she watched in 
 
 silence. 
 With trembling lips, and Naaman passed by her, 
 And her hands moved towards him, and fell 
 
 down, 
 Then stole upon her bosom, as they would ease 
 31 
 
The aching beauty of her loneliness. 
 
 And there unnoted as he passed she stood, 
 
 With not a thought from all that world upon 
 
 her. 
 Only, when service came again, she saw 
 A glowing hatred in the proud woman's eyes. 
 And in the night she thought of it, and wept, 
 But not for any hatred were her tears. 
 
 32 
 
LAKE WINTER 
 
 Full summer dusk was round him as he stood 
 On the hill-top, over the calling sheep 
 Drifting along the pastured downs. The moon 
 Far off was rising from the Sussex sea. 
 Above him, building up into the sky, 
 Black, and with pointing sails now skeletoned, 
 A windmill gathered strays of evening wind 
 Whispering through the splitting timbers. Still 
 The setting sun washed with a fuller gold 
 The golden sheaves patterned upon a cone 
 Of downland by him farther from the sea. 
 So still, he seemed a thing woven of earth, 
 A life rooted and fixed as were the oaks 
 Locked in the soil, their bases webbed with 
 
 fleece 
 Of sheltering ewes, he watched across the valley. 
 And the hour passed, and the black mill grew 
 
 and grew, 
 And then a light came in a far window 
 Of a grey farm cresting the hill beyond, 
 And sudden tides beat on him as he saw 
 A white dress moving in the distant pines. 
 
 Lake Winter, a five hundred acre man. 
 Was English, bred far back, a part of England, 
 With South and North and Midland in his blood. 
 And somewhere Devon, somewhere Suffolk too. 
 He had been born of love. They had been 
 
 lovers, 
 
 c 33 
 
Who made him, and no more, but they were 
 
 lovers. 
 She of a proud house, proud to make it prouder 
 With wit and beauty, and a young brain glow- 
 ing, 
 And a swift body fearless and pitiful ; 
 And he a Cotswold yeoman, thrift and power. 
 And mastery of earth and herds and flocks. 
 And knowledge of all seasons and their fruits. 
 And a heart of meditation, all his birthright ; 
 Ten generations deep from Gloucester stone. 
 And those two met, and loved, and of their love 
 Came a new purity of blood and limb. 
 As of a purpose slowly moulding them. 
 And long they waited, and then one summer 
 
 noon, 
 He, coming northward from his Cotswold home. 
 Found her by Rydal as she had bidden him. 
 And proudly stride to stride they took the road. 
 Sure youth by youth, and to Helvellyn's foot 
 They came, and climbed up to the brighter air, 
 And into the wind's ardour still went on. 
 Until upon the mountain top they stood. 
 And lake by lake was fading in the dusk. 
 Out of the plains they saw the moon move up 
 And over them the deeper blue came on. 
 The faint stars glowing into mastery. 
 And in that splendour of a summer hill. 
 Amid the mellow-breathing night, where yet 
 The poppies of the valley could not come. 
 There was conceived a boy. . . . 
 34 
 
And sorrow came 
 Upon their love. Before the moon again 
 Was full upon Helvellyn, the Cotswold lover 
 With a great elm was blasted in a storm. 
 And lay, a burnt thing, in a Cotswold grave. 
 And she went out, took her inheritance. 
 And lived apart, and the man-child was bom. 
 She called him Lake, for those fading lakes of 
 
 dusk, 
 And gave him her own name. And twenty years 
 She tended him, and died ; and from her sub- 
 stance 
 Lake Winter now for fifteen years had kept 
 His Sussex acres in fertility. 
 Such was the man, so born, so passionately made, 
 So knit of English earth and generations, 
 Who now upon the summer evening watched — 
 His manhood full upon his middle years — 
 A white dress moving in the distant pines. 
 
 Down to the valley from their hills they came, 
 Lake Winter and the woman that he loved. 
 He waited by a long brown garden wall. 
 Mottled with moss and lichen, where in the dusk 
 Like a great moth a late flycatcher wove. 
 And watched her coming down a rutted path. 
 Towards him. And the flowing of her body. 
 Sure step through fugitive cadences of limb. 
 Up to the little golden arch of hair, 
 Was lovely as a known yet wanted tale. 
 
 35 
 
Zell Dane, the wife of Martin Dane, who held 
 Tollington Manor farm, was ten years wed. 
 Dane was an honest man by groom and horse, 
 Paid pew-rent and his losing wagers, thought 
 The British Empire lived at Westminster, 
 Stood by the State and rights of property. 
 Drank well, and knew the barmaids of a county. 
 He married Zell, and neither could have said 
 Why it was done. Ten years had gone since 
 
 then. 
 And he was now a half forgotten habit. 
 She, some queer porcelain stuff beyond his 
 
 knowing. 
 
 Lake Winter came and went at Tollington, 
 As other neighbours, a little in Dane's mind 
 Suspect for certain rumours of his birth, 
 But known for a straight rider and plain 
 
 speaker. 
 Who meant his words and had words for his 
 
 meaning. 
 And Lake and Zell, between the jests at table. 
 Where they could match the best wits of the 
 
 room. 
 Would talk of things that Dane and the rest 
 
 counted 
 As pointing ways not good for level minds. 
 Why pose about Beethoven, and Debussy, 
 Or these French fellows Degas and Picasso, 
 When there were Marcus Stone, and A Long, 
 
 Long Trail, 
 
 36 
 
And A Little Grey Home in the West, that 
 
 common folk 
 Could understand ? And, however the truth 
 
 might be, 
 It wasn't decent openly to say 
 That William Wordsworth was a better poet — 
 Though more or less in a poet was no matter — 
 Because it seemed that once in his flaming youth 
 He had loved gloriously in France. . . . 
 
 Dane heard and saw, 
 And was a little troubled that clear heads 
 Should cloud and squander thus, a little scornful. 
 Still if it gave them pleasure, and it but meant 
 Mind with mind idling together so. 
 Winter could come and go for all he cared. 
 He wouldn't grudge . . . and then the doubt 
 
 began, 
 A thought that somewhere under all this play 
 And nimbleness was crouching the true thing. 
 Lust, plain lust. There was between man and 
 
 woman, 
 So Dane had learnt, two several conditions, 
 A compact to keep smooth the day's affairs. 
 That, and plain lust. This mind play was a 
 
 sham. . . . 
 Winter and Zell were lusting, that was all . . . 
 Then let them . . . damn it, let the matter be . . . 
 Time would show all, and there were crops and 
 
 hounds. 
 
 37 
 
They stood together by the dusky wall. 
 
 And long their lips met, in a hushed world 
 
 fading, 
 A night of beauty fading in their own. 
 And then " I made a rhyme for you to-day, 
 When the last sheaves were binding I made it, 
 
 thus " 
 
 / have no strange or subtle thought, 
 
 And the old things are best, 
 In curious tongues I am untaught. 
 
 Yet I know rest, 
 
 I know the sifting oakleaves still 
 
 Upon a twilit sky, 
 I hear the fernowl on the hill 
 
 Go wheeling by. 
 
 I know my flocks and how they keep 
 Their tunes of field and fold, 
 
 My scholarship can sow and reap, 
 From green to gold. 
 
 The circled stars from down to sea 
 
 I reckon as my gains, 
 The swallows are as dear to me 
 
 As loaded wains. 
 
 Yet these were ghosts and fugitive, 
 Until upon your step they came 
 
 By revelation's lips to live 
 In your dear name. 
 
 38 
 
/ saw you walking as dusk fell, 
 
 And leaves and wains and heaven and birds 
 Were miracles my blood may tell, 
 
 And not my words. 
 
 " And yet I would not lose the tidings come 
 On so dear words, though the blood knows it all, 
 As the song says." She spoke ; and from the 
 
 valley 
 Slowly towards the mill, by ghostly flocks 
 That stole about the meadows of the moonrise, 
 They walked, and made this argument of love. 
 
 Lake. How shall they stand for wisdom, who 
 
 forbid 
 The body's love, which is so small a thing, 
 Yet let the souls, or minds, or what you will 
 Be mated, as though spirit were the drudge. 
 For no-one's heed, and limbs alone to be. 
 As though clay were the gold, inviolate ? 
 If I could grudge love coming anywhere. 
 Falling even on whom I loved in all, 
 I think the body at least should have no share 
 Of jealousy from me, which should be spent 
 Rather on minds meeting above my own, 
 Myself an exile from their understanding. 
 Beloved, in the mating of our minds 
 I am all peace to walk thus in your presence, 
 And in that peace your body of my desire. 
 And all my earth, as passionate as any. 
 Seem snares to tempt us to the loss of all, 
 39 
 
Since by them the world threatens this our 
 
 peace. 
 Which else we may so gather, undenied. 
 Then is not flesh merely the trouble of love, 
 When love goes thus, as love between us now ? 
 
 Zell took his hand, and her life was in his veins, 
 And his words beat back upon him as she spoke. 
 
 Zell. Dear, you are wise of all your books, and 
 
 speech 
 Of windy downs, and polities of men, 
 And the old passions weaving history. 
 And strong and gentle things of sea and earth, 
 And the poor passing of the life of man, 
 But not in this. You have your great-heart 
 
 courage 
 For all such ardours as might make you seem 
 Some fabled hero standing against fate, 
 But not in this. In sifting vanity 
 From the right honour, and building from am- 
 bition. 
 You have a vision constant as the tides. 
 But not in this. They may look Sussex over 
 For any man who found a crooked word 
 Ever upon your lips, and vainly look, 
 Because, dear, truth is an old habit in you, 
 But not in this. Here in the night enchanted, 
 With not an ear to catch the whispered truth, 
 Let nothing but the truth between us be — 
 I love you. Lake ; I love the fair mind moving 
 40 
 
In equal joy among men's praise or censure ; 
 
 I love the courage of its lonely flight, 
 
 Here in a land of light convenience. 
 
 I love you for the years that you have given 
 
 To Sussex plough and pasture till they are 
 
 grown 
 Surer and richer in your wit than any. 
 I love you for the love in which you gather 
 My mind that from youth on has gone unmated, 
 And then I love you for the bearing kept 
 In you when slight occasions something royal 
 Take on because you silently are there, 
 I know you, Lake, for a man worthy honour. 
 And well to honour is well to delight. 
 But, dear, with all this giving of my love. 
 Great and unmeasured giving, sending back 
 In joy the worship that you bring to me, 
 I love your glowing body, and you love mine. 
 No words, or thrift of philosophic thought. 
 Can put that love out of the love we are. 
 At night, alone, when the dark covers me, 
 I ache for you, body for body I ache. 
 And then I know that over you as well 
 The dear, forlorn, resistless pain is full. 
 We may persuade, virtuously persuade. 
 That this is but an accident of love. 
 Not of love's very being, a thing to bind 
 In brave captivity at the world's bidding. 
 But I know, as you know it, that persuasion 
 So made is outcast in the house of truth. 
 I love you, and the thing I love is made 
 41 
 
All wonderful of flesh and spirit both, 
 
 Body and mind inseparably one, 
 
 And I must spend my love on all or nothing. 
 
 Should I but love those limbs so rightly planned 
 
 By ancestry so wise of English earth, 
 
 It were a simple harlotry in me. 
 
 But, Lake, to love the life and not the house. 
 
 The living house so admirably built 
 
 Of tissue flawless as the material stars, 
 
 Wherein the life I love is manifest. 
 
 Were harlotry no less I know than that. 
 
 You, the dear Lake of my idolatry. 
 
 For I am something near it, as you are. 
 
 Are one life, whereto pilgrim thought conspires 
 
 With all the cunning moulding of the flesh. 
 
 And of my brain and body is my love. 
 
 Dream to your dream, desire to your desire. 
 
 If you should die, my memory of you 
 
 Would be no tale of the mere mind conceiving. 
 
 Of contemplation thriving thus or thus. 
 
 In trance of spaces where not even wings nor 
 
 breath 
 Recall the moving of substantial things. 
 Rather in me for ever should be glowing 
 The imaging mind mated in equal limbs. 
 Thought visible in lines of the athlete. 
 Wisdom persuading in the lover's clasp. 
 And how should thought know thought until 
 
 the whole 
 Of body's beauty is by body learnt ? 
 Until the trial of that most dear seclusion 
 42 
 
Is past, and all the dangers of mere lust 
 Disproved, when in possession is no stale 
 Regret and disillusion, how should be known 
 That the still hours of thought with thought are 
 
 stable 
 Against the wearing of dissolving time ? 
 Dear, we must love by all the tokens of love, 
 Before the presence of love beyond dispute 
 Is between us and for ever fixed. 
 
 Lake heard, and knew that answer could be 
 
 none, 
 Then by the sheep-tracks on the silver downs 
 Silent they walked, and midnight came apace, 
 And by the bases of the mill they went. 
 Close moving, arm by arm, and down again 
 Towards the valley, where again they stood. 
 And let their lives beat out upon the night. 
 And as they waited on farewell, a form 
 Came up before them, and Martin Dane stood 
 
 there. 
 And " by your leave," he murmured, and went 
 
 on. 
 Then Zell, *' To-morrow, when the moon is 
 
 full, 
 Meet me beside the mill mound. Martin goes 
 To Farnham for the otter hunting." Lake 
 Took her and kissed, and with no word they 
 
 parted 
 Where the light still looked from the hillside 
 
 farm 
 
 43 
 
Over the valley to his home. And he 
 
 As dreaming passed again by the mill to sleep. 
 
 Firmer the mould, surer the flight of boughs. 
 Familiar move the bright plains of the air. 
 And newly stedfast the gospel he had known 
 Year by year written on his Sussex life. 
 Now seemed to Lake this day. Among his men, 
 All day he drew and pegged the rickyard straw. 
 And piled the barn from floor to the swallows' 
 
 beam. 
 Brown throated and brown armed, the golden 
 
 rose 
 Of summer wind glowing upon his face. 
 And all the phrasing of his body good. 
 And twilight fell on the full harvest home. 
 And the barn doors were closed, and painted 
 
 wagons 
 Stood empty by the ricks, with sunken wheels 
 Smeared with the fallen husks, and voice was 
 
 none. 
 And silence with the moon was over all. 
 
 Lake through the eve walked his familiar paths. 
 Counting the labour of his years ; the shed 
 Where morn and night the cattle came to stall, 
 Empty and still now but for the timbering rats ; 
 The low smooth paven dairy, where the moon 
 Now sent a shaft on one full yellow bowl ; 
 The barn so happily at teeming time again. 
 The rickyard stacked with hurdles by the fence, 
 44 
 
The long loft over plough and wagon teams. 
 Among the heavy apple trees he passed, 
 By ledgy sheep track, over the new stubble, 
 Across the valley, and in the shadow kept 
 Of Martin Dane's home hop-yard, and again 
 Back to his own hillside. And in the south, 
 Beyond the moon, over the midnight sea. 
 Came up a cloud all heavy with black wind. 
 
 Zell by the mill was standing when he came. 
 Now darkly gowned so that she seemed a shadow. 
 Black by the black mill, save for the white face. 
 And gold hair and white hands that caught the 
 
 moonlight. 
 Together the wide wooden steps they climbed, 
 By broken treads and splitting rail, and he 
 Lifted the rusted latch, and there within 
 Were folded sacks perished along the seam. 
 Forgotten with the dust, and the bare walls, 
 Now weather-broken. Above them a dim light 
 Showed them a laddered way still up. They 
 
 came 
 Into the high roof chamber, and a rent 
 In the top timbers let the moonlight in. 
 Half moulding to their vision spars and beams, 
 The mill's old ghostly life, and sail-cloth piled 
 From the use of generations. A window space 
 Just from their towery refuge let them look 
 Over familiar earth now tranced. And Lake 
 Saw yet again his roofs and acres loved. 
 Tenderly, as though interpreters 
 45 
 
Of his long care and their good yielding hours 
 Freshly upon his senses ministered ; Zell 
 Across the valley saw a lone slumbering light, 
 While from the south the mounting darkness 
 
 crept, 
 And the wind gathered, moaning upon the mill, 
 Filling its frame with a low pulsing breath. 
 
 And over love the heavenly figures went 
 In their unchanging change. No longer now 
 The moonlight shafted through the torn roof- 
 timbers. 
 And star by star crossed the small field of sky. 
 And in those hours of peace that only comes 
 With passion mated and of passion born, 
 Lake knew within him stirring that far beauty 
 Of an old starry still Helvellyn night. 
 And Zell made all the wisdom of her words 
 Wisdom of life, so simple and unclouded. 
 Leaving no fume of trouble in the dark. 
 Ending for ever the brain's captivity. 
 
 They slept. And still the south wind gathered 
 
 up, 
 Gust upon gust to a full swelling tide. 
 And the great sail-timbers groaned, and black- 
 ness fell 
 Over the mill that trembled as in pain 
 Of age now nearly with all quarrels done. 
 Along the ridges of the downs it swept. 
 Beating the boughs of ash and elm, a flood 
 
 46 
 
Of storm exulting in deliverance. 
 And fury up and down the valleys played 
 And rose and spilt and sank upon the hills, 
 And to and fro the thunder bayed, till sudden 
 The world about the sleeping lovers shook 
 With sounding doom. And Zell, waking, cried 
 
 out, 
 And he beside her stood, and folded her 
 A moment as from fear, and kissed her, and 
 
 they turned 
 To go, when from the bases of the mill 
 A shrieking as of life being crushed and torn 
 Clanged out upon the beating elements. 
 And the hurt timbers, whipped and wTencht, 
 
 sent up 
 A last fierce wail, and for a moment swayed, 
 Then gave the life up of a hundred years. 
 And to the earth the mill plunged in defeat. 
 
 Sleepers along the hill-top in the night 
 Stirred as a ruin above the thunder broke. 
 And slept again. And dawn upon a world 
 Of leaves and downs and sheep washed into 
 
 brightness 
 Came on that Sussex out of a clear sky. 
 And on the sea the little ships went on 
 With sails just filled with a small virgin wind. 
 And slowly one by one the village came 
 To see the old mill that their sires had 
 
 known, 
 And sires beyond them, blasted in a world 
 47 
 
Where peace was lord as in immortal mood. 
 They stood and silence kept them until one 
 Saw suddenly upon the dawn breeze blown. 
 Out from a mound of split and twisted timber 
 A strand of golden hair. And strong arms 
 
 worked 
 Until upon the grass unheeding lay 
 Those two dear bodies locked in a love that 
 
 now 
 Was beyond malice and denial and fear. 
 
 And Martin Dane home from his hunting came, 
 And heard, and saw them lying side by side. 
 And wondered how could folly pay so much 
 For so unsound and gossipy an end. 
 Gave his instructions for a decent grave. 
 And found a tap-room topic to his mind. 
 
 That night the promise of the dawn was full, 
 And on the broken mill a clear moon shone. 
 Silvering all the ways the lovers knew. 
 And by the wreck a shadowy figure watched. 
 Half Lake, and half that old Helvellyn lover. 
 And on the night a whispered cadence fell — 
 
 Again in the world a story has been made, 
 
 These looked upon beauty unafraid, 
 
 these were lovely, these were the great ones, they 
 
 dared. 
 And denied not, but upon loves bidding fared, 
 
 48 
 
Pity them not ; they would scorn that as your hate, 
 They knew the voices, they knew the hours that 
 
 mate 
 With hours beyond all judgment of mankind, 
 These were the proud adventurers of the mind. 
 
 Kindled for ever because of them shall be 
 A wiser freedom. The long lanes of the sea, 
 The golden acres of Sussex shall holy keep 
 Their names, their love, their ending. Let them 
 sleep. 
 
 49 
 
Gold 
 
 There is a castle on a hill, 
 
 So far into the sky. 
 That birds that from the valley-beds 
 
 Up to the turrets fly, 
 Climbing towards the sun can feel 
 
 The clouds go tumbling by. 
 
 But always far above the clouds 
 The sun is shining there, 
 
 It shines for ever on those walls ; 
 And the great boughs that bear 
 
 Harvests of never fading fruit 
 Are golden everywhere. 
 
 Who journeys to that castled crest 
 Finds, with his journey done. 
 
 All ages and all colours in 
 Cascades of light that run 
 
 Over the broad weirs of the air 
 For ever from the sun. ' 
 
 Two things are silver : flower of plum 
 
 When April yet is cold ; 
 And willowed floods that of the moon 
 
 Quiet leases hold. 
 That castle in the sky alone 
 
 Of living things is gold. 
 50 
 
Between unfathomable blue 
 And the bright belts of green, 
 
 Midway the plains of heaven and earth, 
 Rock-borne it stands between 
 
 Woods and the sky, a golden world 
 Where only gold is seen. 
 
 Old carvers in the stone have cut 
 Forests and wraths and herds, 
 
 And these are gold : the dials tell 
 The sun in golden words ; 
 
 The very jackdaws, from the towers 
 Wheeling, are golden birds. 
 
 The minting of the sun is on 
 
 The gravel everywhere. 
 The yellow walls are fleeces washed 
 
 In pools of sunny air. 
 That coming to that castle place 
 
 All men are Jasons there. 
 
 Trancelike to stand upon that hill 
 When the deep summer sings. 
 
 Gold-clad, gold-hearted, and gold-voiced. 
 And sings and sings and sings. 
 
 Is as to wait a rising world 
 In flight of golden wings. 
 51 
 
And I have walked with love that way, 
 
 And on that golden crest 
 The sun was happy for my love. 
 
 For she is golden-tressed. 
 Red gold, that of all golden things 
 
 The great sun marks for best. 
 
 O golden castle of the sky 
 
 Hereafter gold can be 
 Only your image when the sun 
 
 Transfigured her for me. 
 Till she was golden-clouded Jove, 
 
 And I her Danae. 
 
 Hereafter in the chambered night 
 
 When linkdd love is told. 
 One thought shall spare to climb that hill 
 
 Into the sunbright fold. 
 For a great summer noon when love 
 
 Was gold, and gold, and gold. 
 
 52 
 
BURNING BUSH 
 
 From babyhood I have known the beauty of 
 
 earth — 
 I learnt it, I think, in the strange months before 
 
 birth, 
 I learnt it passing and passing by each moon 
 From the harvest month into my natal June. 
 My mother, the dear, the lovely I hardly knew. 
 Bearing me must have walked and wandered 
 
 through 
 Stubble of silver or gold, as moon or sun 
 Lit earth in the days when my body was begun. 
 And then October with leaves splendid and 
 
 blown 
 She watched with my little body a little grown, 
 And winter fell, and into our being passed 
 Firm frost and icy rivers and the blast 
 Of winds that on the iron clods of plough 
 Beat with an unseen charging. Then the bough 
 Of spring came green, and her glad body stirred 
 With a son's wombM leaping, and she heard 
 Songs of the air and woods and waterways. 
 And with them singing the coming of my days. 
 And nesting time drew on to summer flowers. 
 And me unborn she taught through patient 
 
 hours. 
 Then on that first June day, with spices blown 
 Of roses over clover crops unmown. 
 And grey wind-lifted leaves and blossom of 
 bean, 
 
 53 
 
She gave her dear white beauty to the keen 
 Anguish of women, and brought my body to 
 
 birth 
 Already skilled in the sculptures of the earth. 
 
 Then in the days when her breasts nourished 
 
 me, 
 Daily she walked, that happy girl, to see 
 How summer prospered to bring the harvest on, 
 And how the gardens and how the orchards 
 
 shone 
 With scarlet and blue and yellow flowers and 
 
 fruit. 
 And hear with equal love the lonely flute 
 Of legendary satyrs in the wood, 
 Or the still voice of Christ in bachelorhood. 
 And she would come I know to me her son 
 With lovely secret gossip of journeys done 
 In fields where some day my own feet should go. 
 It was not gossip in words that I could not 
 
 know. 
 Mere ease and pleasure for her mother wit. 
 But such as I could feel the joy of it 
 Beating about my baby blood and sense. 
 Maternal tending of intelligence 
 In the unwhispered rites of bosom and lip, 
 Divinings worded in bodily fellowship. 
 And every shape and colour and scent she knew. 
 Were intimations winding, folding, through 
 My infancies of flesh and thought, each one 
 To find its unblemished record and copy done 
 54 
 
In little moods drawn from the suckling- 
 breast . . . 
 That now, in manhood, when I find the nest 
 Of the chaffinch moulded in the elder tree. 
 And looking on that lichen cup can see 
 The images of eternity and space 
 Lavished upon a small bird's dwelling-place : 
 Or when from some blue passage of the sky 
 I know that also colour can prophesy : 
 Or, ghosted on the brushing tides of wheat, 
 The gossip of a Galilean street. 
 So many Sabbaths gone, I hear again, 
 And his hands plucking that immortal grain : 
 Or when by spectral ancestries I pass 
 Again to Eden, as the orchard grass 
 Gives out the scent of mellow apples blown 
 From windy boughs — all these, I know, were 
 
 known 
 By that dear mother when the boy to come 
 Was the zeal and gospel of her martyrdom. 
 
 Then came the time when I could walk with her, 
 We pilgrims of the fields, with everywhere 
 Strange leaves, and spreading of earth, and 
 
 hedgerow themes. 
 And mossy walls, and bubbling of the streams, 
 And the way of clouds, and the full moon to 
 
 wane. 
 The bird-song in the lilacs after rain. 
 And month by month the coming of the flowers. 
 For me to learn in speech, as had been ours 
 55 
 
Knowledge unspoken while she fashioned me . . . 
 And then she died ; and I went on to be 
 Through lonely boyhood her disciple still, 
 A wanderer by many a Berkshire hill, 
 By water-meadows of the Oxford plain, 
 By the thick oaks of Avon, with the strain 
 Of an old yeoman wisdom dreaming on 
 New beauty ever following beauty gone, 
 Until I knew my earth and her raiment fair 
 In every difference of the seasons' wear. 
 Long years her scholar, with learning of her ways 
 To slip unleasht all singing into praise 
 Should learning yet by some enchantment be 
 Bidden to passion's better husbandry. 
 
 And the enchanted bidding fell. And you, 
 O Love, it was that spelt the earth anew. 
 
 O Love, you silent wayfarer, 
 
 How many years all unaware 
 
 By blackthorn hedge, and spinney green 
 
 With larch, I wandered, while unseen 
 
 You in my shadow walked, nor made 
 
 Even a whisper in the shade. 
 
 Love, on many an evening hill 
 
 1 watched the day go down, the still 
 Dark woods, the far great rivers wind. 
 Thin threads of light. And I was blind. 
 Or seeing knew not, for you were 
 Beside me still, yet hidden there. 
 
 56 
 
O Love, as year by year went on. 
 And budding primroses were gone, 
 And berries fell, and still the bright 
 Crocuses came in the night. 
 You left me to my task alone, 
 O Love, so near me and unknown. 
 
 O Love, though she who bore me set 
 Earth's love for ever on me, yet 
 Some word withheld still troubled me. 
 Some presence that I could not see. 
 Till you, dear alien, should come. 
 And doctrine be no longer dumb. 
 
 O Love, one April night I heard 
 The doctrine's everlasting word. 
 And you beneath that starry sky, 
 Unknown, were with me suddenly, 
 Yet there was no new meeting then. 
 But some old marriage come again. 
 
 O Love, and now is earth my friend, 
 Telling me all, until the end 
 When I shall in the earth be laid 
 With all my maps and fancies made, 
 And you, Love, were the secret earth 
 Of my blind following from birth. 
 57 
 
O Love, you happy wayfarer, 
 Be still my fond interpreter. 
 Of all the glory that can be 
 As once on starlit Winchelsea, 
 Finding upon my pilgrim way 
 A burning bush for every day. 
 
 58 
 
TO MY SON 
 (aged sixteen) 
 
 Dear boy unborn : the son but of my dream, 
 
 Promise of yet unrisen day, 
 Come, sit beside me ; let us talk, and seem 
 
 To take such cares and courage for your way. 
 
 As some year yet we may. 
 
 As some year yet, when you, my son to be, 
 Look out on life, and turn to go. 
 
 And I, grown grey, shall wish you well, and see 
 Myself imprinted as but she could know 
 To make amendment so. 
 
 I see you then, your sixteen years alight 
 With limbs all true and golden hair. 
 
 And you, unborn, I will, this April night. 
 Tell of the faith and honour you must wear 
 For love, whose light you bear. 
 
 Beauty you have ; as, mothered so, could face 
 
 Or limbs or hair be otherwise ? 
 Years gone, dear boy, there was a virgin grace 
 
 Worth Homer's laurel under western skies 
 
 To wander and devise. 
 
 Beauty you have. Cherish it as divine. 
 
 Wash it with dews of diligence. 
 Not vainly, but because it is the sign 
 
 Of inward light, the spirit's excellence 
 
 Made visible to sense. 
 59 
 
Athlete be you ; strong runner to the goal, 
 Glad though the game be lost or won : 
 
 Fleet limbs that chronicle a fleeter soul, 
 In every winter valiantly to run, 
 Till the last race be done. 
 
 Love wisdom that is suited in a rhyme, 
 And be in all your learning known 
 
 Old minstrels chanting out of faded time, 
 Since he who counts all years gone by alone 
 Makes any year his own. 
 
 And when one day you are a lover too, 
 Come back to her who bore you, dear. 
 
 Tell out your tale ; you shall the better woo 
 For every word that from her lips you hear. 
 For she made love most clear. 
 
 Most clear for him who sits beside you now ; 
 
 There was a certain frost that fell 
 Before its time upon a summer bough, — 
 
 And how at last that reckoning was well. 
 
 She for your love shall tell. 
 
 Labour to build your house, but ever keep 
 That greater garden fresh in mind, 
 
 That England with its bird-song buried deep 
 In cool great woods where chivalry can find 
 The province of its kind. 
 60 
 
Be great or little your inheritance, 
 Know there shall number in that dower 
 
 No treasure from the treasuries of chance 
 So rare as that you came the perfect flower 
 Of love's most perfect hour. 
 
 Go now, my son. Be all I might have been. 
 
 (Ask her. She knows, and none but she.) 
 Her beauty and her wisdom weathered clean 
 
 Some part of me in you, that you might be 
 
 Her own eternity. 
 
 6i 
 
INTERLUDE 
 
 What love is ; how I love ; how builders' clay 
 By love is lit into a golden spending ; 
 How love calls beautiful ghosts, back to the day ; 
 How life because of love shall have no ending — 
 These with the dawn I have begun to sing, 
 These with the million-budded noon that's 
 
 rising 
 Shall be a theme, with love's consent, to bring 
 My song to some imperishable devising. 
 And may the petals of this garland fall 
 On every quarrel, and in fragrance bless 
 Old friendship ; and a little comfort all 
 The weary loves that walk the wilderness, 
 While still my song I consecrate alone 
 To her who taking it shall take her own. 
 
 62 
 
This volume has been printed in a limited 
 edition of one hundred and twenty-five copies 
 by The Bookman's Journal. 
 
 triaUd im Grtai Britmin by HauU, Walson & Vtnsy, U^ 
 London and AyUsbury. 
 
Pre. 
 
 1921. 
 1922 
 
 By 
 John 
 Drink- 
 water 
 
 fa- 
 
 and 
 Ltd.