The Rainbow and the Rose

IV

"OUT OF THE FULNESS OF THE HEART THE MOUTH SPEAKETH."

  In answer to those who have said that English Poets give no personal love to their country.

  ENGLAND, my country, austere in the clamorous council of nations,  Set in the seat of the mighty, wielding the sword of the strong,  Have we but sung of your glory, firm in eternal foundations?  Are not your woods and your meadows the core of our heart and our song?  O dear fields of my country, grass growing green, glowing golden,  Green in the patience of winter, gold in the pageant of spring,  Oaks and young larches awaking, wind-flowers and violets blowing,  What, if God sets us to singing, what save you shall we sing?  Who but our England is fair through the veil of her poets' praises,  What but the pastoral face, the fruitful, beautiful breast?  Are not your poets' meadows starred with the English daisies?  Were not the wings of their song-birds fledged in an English nest?  Songs of the leaves in the sunlight, songs of the fern-brake in shadow,  Songs of the world of the woods and songs of the marsh and the mere,  Are they not English woods, dear English marshland and meadow?  Have not your poets loved you? England, are you not dear?  Shoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom,  Living amber of wheat, and copper of new-ploughed loam,  Downs where the white sheep wander, little gardens in blossom,  Roads that wind through the twilight up to the lights of home.  Lanes that are white with hawthorn, dykes where the sedges shiver,  Hollows where caged winds slumber, moorlands where winds wake free,  Sowing and reaping and gleaning, spring and torrent and river,  Are they not more, by worlds, than the whole of the world can be?  Is there a corner of land, a furze-fringed rag of a by-way,  Coign of your foam-white cliffs or swirl of your grass-green waves,  Leaf of your peaceful copse, or dust of your strenuous highway,  But in our hearts is sacred, dear as our cradles, our graves?  Is not each bough in your orchards, each cloud in the skies above you,  Is not each byre or homestead, furrow or farm or fold,  Dear as the last dear drops of the blood in the hearts that love you,  Filling those hearts till the love is more than the heart can hold?  Therefore the song breaks forth from the depths of the hidden fountain  Singing your least frail flower, your raiment of seas and skies,  Singing your pasture and cornfield, fen and valley and mountain,  England, desire of my heart, England, delight of mine eyes!  Take my song too, my country: many a son and debtor  Pays you in praise and homage out of your gifts' full store;  Life of my life, my England, many will praise you better,  None, by the God that made you, ever can love you more!SUMMER SONG  THERE are white moon daisies in the mist of the meadow  Where the flowered grass scatters its seeds like spray,  There are purple orchis by the wood-ways' shadow,  There are pale dog-roses by the white highway;  And the grass, the grass is tall, the grass is up for hay,  With daisies white like silver and buttercups like gold,  And it's oh! for once to play thro' the long, the lovely day,  To laugh before the year grows old!  There is silver moonlight on the breast of the river  Where the willows tremble to the kiss of night,  Where the nine tall aspens in the meadow shiver,  Shiver in the night wind that turns them white.  And the lamps, the lamps are lit, the lamps are glow-worms light,  Between the silver aspens and the west's last gold.  And it's oh! to drink delight in the lovely lonely night,  To be young before the heart grows old!THE LOWER ROOM  How soft the lamplight falls  On pictures, books,  And pleasant coloured walls  And curtains drawn!  How happily one looks  On glowing flame and ember;  Ah, why should one remember  Dew and dawn!  Here age and wisdom sit  Calm and discreet,  Life and the fruit of it  Are here in truth,  Whose gathering once was sweet—  Wisdom and age! Well met!  Yet neither can forget  Folly and youth!SONG  THE summer down the garden walks  Swept in her garments bright;  She touched the pale still lily stalks  And crowned them with delight;  She breathed upon the rose's head  And filled its heart with fire,  And with a golden carpet spread  The path of my desire.  The larkspurs stood like sentinels  To greet her as she came,  Soft rang the Canterbury bells  The music of her name.  She passed across the happy land  Where all dear dreams flower free;  She took my true love by the hand  And led her out to me.MAY SONG  BIRDS in the green of my garden  Blackbirds and throstle and wren,  Wet your dear wings in the tears that are Spring's  And so to your singing again!  Birds in my blossoming orchard,  Chaffinch and goldfinch and lark,  Preen your bright wings, little happy live things;  The May trees grow white in the park!  Birds in the leafy wet woodlands,  Cuckoo and nightingale brown,  Sing to the sound of the rain on green ground—  The rain on green leaves dripping down!  Fresh with the rain of the May-time,  Rich with the promise of June,  Deep in her heart, where the little leaves part,  Love, like a bird, sings in tune!

V

TO IRIS  IF I might build a palace, fair  With every joy of soul and sense,  And set my heart as sentry there  To guard your happy innocence—  If I might plant a hedge so strong  No creeping sorrow could writhe through,  And find my whole life not too long  To give, to make your hedge for you—  If I could teach the wandering air  To bring no sounds that were not sweet,  Could teach the earth that only fair  Untrodden flower deserved your feet:  Would I not tear the secret scroll  Where all your griefs lie closely curled,  And give your little hand control  Of all the joys of all the world?  But ah! I have no skill to raise  The palace, teach the hedge to grow;  The common airs blow through your days,  By common ways your dear feet go.  And you must twine of common flowers  The wreath that happy women wear,  And bear in desolate darkened hours  The common griefs that all men bear.  The pinions of my love I fold  Your little shoulders close about:  Ah—could my love keep out the cold  And shut the creeping sorrows out!  Rough paths will tire your darling feet,  Gray skies will weep your tears above,  While round you still, in torment, beat  The impotent wings of mother-love.TO A CHILD(Rosamund.)  The fairies have been busy while you slept;  They have been laughing where the sad rain wept,  They have taught Beauty to the ignorant flowers,  Set tasks of hope to weary wind-torn bowers,  And heard the lessons learned in school-rooms cold  By seedling snapdragon and marigold.  At dawn, while still you slept, I grew aware  How good the fairies are, how many and fair.  The fairy whose delightful gown is red  Across a corner of our garden sped,  And, where her flying raiment fluttered past,  Its roseate reflection still is cast:  Red poppies by the rhododendron's side,  Paeonies gorgeous in their summer pride,  And red may-bushes by the old red wall  Shower down their crimson petals over all.  Then she whose gown is gold, and gold her hair,  Swept down the golden steep straight sunbeam-stair,  She lit the tulip-lamps, she lit the torch  Of hollyhock beside the cottage porch.  She dressed the honeysuckle in fringe of gold,  She gave the king-cups fairy wealth to hold,  She kissed St. John's wort till it opened wide,  She set the yarrow by the river side.  Then came the lady all whose robes are white:  She made the pale buds blossom in delight,  Set silver stars upon the jasmine's hair,  And gave the stream white lily-buds to wear.  She painted lilies white, and pearl-white phlox,  White poppies, passion-flowers and gray-leaved stocks.  Her pure kind touch redeemed the most forlorn,  And even the vile petunia smiled, new-born.  The dearest fairy of all—green is her gown—  She kissed the plane-trees in the tiresome town,  She smoothed the pastures and the lawn's pale sheen,  She decked the boughs with hangings fresh and green,  She showed each flower the one and only way  Its beauty of shape and colour to display;  She taught the world to be a Paradise  Of changing leaf and blade, for tired eyes.  Then, one and all, they came where you were laid  In your strait bed, my little lovely maid;  The red-robed fairy kissed your lips, your face,  The white-robed made your heart her dwelling-place.  Into your eyes the green robed fairy smiled;  The golden fairy touched your dreams, my child,  And one, not named, but mightiest, made my Dear  The innermost rose of the re-flowered year.  May, 1898.BIRTHDAY TALK FOR A CHILD. (IRIS.)  DADDY dear, I'm only four  And I'd rather not be more:  Four's the nicest age to be—  Two and two, or one and three.  All I love is two and two,  Mother, Fabian, Paul and you;  All you love is one and three,  Mother, Fabian, Paul and me.  Give your little girl a kiss  Because she learned and told you this.TO ROSAMUND  AND it is fair and very fair  This maze of blossom and sweet air,  This drift of orchard snows,  This royal promise of the rose  Wherein your young eyes see  Such buds of scented joys to be.  A gay green garden, softly fanned  By the blythe breeze that blows  To speed your ship of dreams to the enchanted land.  But I—beyond the budding screen  Of green and red and white and green,  Behind the radiant show  Of things that cling and grow and glow  I see the plains where lie  The hopes of days gone by:  Gray breadths of melancholy, crossed  By winds that coldly blow  From that cold sea wherein my argosy is lost.FROM THE TUSCAN  WHEN in the west the red sun sank in glory,  The cypress trees stood up like gold, fine gold;  The mother told her little child the story  Of the gold trees the heavenly gardens hold.  In golden dreams the child sees golden rivers,  Gold trees, gold blossoms, golden boughs and leaves,  Without, the cypress in the night wind shivers,  Weeps with the rain and with the darkness grieves.MOTHER SONG

From the Portuguese.

  HEAVY my heart is, heavy to carry,  Full of soft foldings, of downy enwrapments—  And the outer fold of all is love,  And the next soft fold is love,  And the next, finer and softer, is love again;  And were they unwound before the eyes  More folds and more folds and more folds would unroll  Of love—always love,  And, quite at the last,  Deep in the nest, in the soft-packed nest,  One last fold, turned back, would disclose  You, little heart of my heart,  Laid there so warm, so soft, so soft,  Not knowing where you lie, nor how softly,  Nor why your nest is so soft,  Nor how your nest is so warm.  You, little heart of my heart,  You lie in my heart,  Warm, safe and soft as this body of yours,  This dear kissed body of yours that lies  Here in my arms and sucks the strength from my breast,  The strength you will break my heart with one of these days.

VI

THE ISLAND  DOES the wind sing in your ears at night, in the town,  Rattling the windows and doors of the cheap-built place?  Do you hear its song as it flies over marsh and down?  Do you feel the kiss that the wind leaves here on my face?  Or, wrapt in a lamplit quiet, do you restrain  Thoughts that would take the wind's way hither to me,  And bid them rest safe-anchored, nor tempt again  The tumult, and torment, and passion that live in the sea?  I, for my part, when the wind sings loud in its might,  I bid it hush—nor awaken again the storm  That swept my heart out to sea on a moonless night,  And dashed it ashore on an island wondrous and warm  Where all things fair and forbidden for ever flower,  Where the worst of life is a dream, and the best comes true,  When the harvest of years was reaped in a single hour  And the gods, for once, were honest with me and you.  I will not hear when the wind and the sea cry out,  I will not trust again to the hurrying wind,  I will not swim again in a sea of doubt,  And reach that shore with the world left well behind;  But you,—I would have you listen to every call  Of the changing wind, as it blows over marsh and main,  And heap life's joys in your hands, and offer them all,  If only your feet might touch that island again!POSSESSION  THE child was yours and none of mine,  And yet you gave it me to keep,  And bade me sew it raiment fine,  And wrap my kisses round its sleep.  I carried it upon my breast,  I fed it in a world apart,  I wrapped my kisses round its rest,  I rocked its cradle with my heart.  When in mad nights of rain and storm  You turned us homeless from your door,  I wrapped it close, I kept it warm,  And brought it safe to you once more.  But the last time you drove us forth,  The snow was wrapped about its head,  That night the wind blew from the North,  And on my heart the child was dead.  The child is mine and none of yours,  My life was his while he had breath,  What of your claim to him endures,  Who only gave him birth and death?ACCESSION  ONCE I loved, and my heart bowed down,  Subject and slave, for Love was a King;  He sat above with sceptre and crown,  Turning his eyes from my sorrowing.  The laugh of a god on his lips lay light—  His lips victorious that mocked my pain,  And I mourned in the cold and the outer night,  And my tears and my prayers were vain.  Now the old spell is over and done,  Myself I wear the ermine and gold,  My brows are crowned, I ascend the throne,  I have taken the sceptre and orb to hold.  I smile victorious, set far above  The music of voices that moan and pray,  My feet are wet with the tears of love,  And I turn my eyes away.THE DESTROYER  ACROSS the quiet pastures of my soul  The invading army marched in splendid might  My few poor forces fled beyond control,  Scattered, defeated, hidden in the night.  My fields were green, their hedges white with May,  With gold of buttercups made bright and fair,  The careless conquerors did not even stay  To gather one of all the blossoms there.  Only when they had passed, the fields were brown,  The grass and blossoms trampled in the mud:  The flowering hedges withered and torn down,  And no one richer by a single bud.THE EGOISTS  TWO strangers, from opposing poles,  Meet in the torrid zone of Love:  And their desire seems set above  The limitation of their souls.  This is the trap; this is the snare,  This is the false, enchanting light,  And when it smoulders into night,  How can each know the other is there?  They own no bond of common speech;  Each, from far shores by wild winds brought,  Gropes for some cord of common thought  To draw the other within reach.  Each when the dark tide drowns their star,  Cries out, "Thou art not one with me:  One flesh we seemed when eyes could see,  But now, how far thou art! How far!"  Each calling, "Come! be mine! be wise!"  Stands obstinately in his place,  How can these two come face to face,  Till light spring from their meeting eyes?  Could both but once cry, "Far thou art,  But I am coming!" How the beat  Of waves that part them would retreat,  Resurge and find them, heart to heart!THE WAY OF LOVE  THE butterfly loves the rose,  He flutters around her bed,  Till the soft curled leaves unclose,  And she raises her darling head.  He whispers of dawn and of dew,  Of love, and the heart of love,  Of worship, timid and true,  And she takes no joy thereof.  But when, through the noon's blind heat,  The arrogant bee flaunts by,  She yields him her heart's hid sweet,  And he leaves her alone, to die.  The depth of her dying bliss  Her grief-white butterfly knows:  And the bee laughs low in the kiss  Of another, a redder rose.TO ONE WHO PLEADED FOR CANDOUR IN LOVE  HERE is the dim enchanted wood  Your face, a mystery divine,  But half revealed, half understood,  Appears the counterpart of mine.  Beyond the wood the daylight lies;  Cruel and hard, it lies in wait  To steal the magic from your eyes  And from your lips the thrill of fate.  Ah, stay with me a little while  Here, where the magic shadows rest,  Where all my world is in your smile  And all my heaven on your breast.  Ah no!—cling close, what need to move,  What need to advance or explore?  We came here blindly, led by love,  Who will not lead us any more.  Thank God that here we two have stood,  Thank God this shade was ours to win;  Time with his axe has marked our wood  And he will let the daylight in.THE ENCHANTED GARDEN  OH, what a garden it was, living gold, living green,  Full of enchantments like spices embalming the air,  There, where you fled and I followed—you ever unseen,  Yet each glad pulse of me cried to my heart, "She is there!"  Roses and lilies and lilies and roses again,  Tangle of leaves and white magic of blossoming trees,  Sunlight that lay where, last moment, your footstep had lain—  Was not the garden enchanted that proffered me these?  Ah, what a garden it is since I caught you at last—  Scattered the magic and shattered the spell with a kiss:  Wintry and dreary and cold with the wind of the past,  Ah that a garden enchanted should wither to this!THE POOR MAN'S GUEST  ONE came to me in royal guise  With banners flying fair and free  But many griefs had made me wise  And I refused to bow the knee.  Then one drew near who bore the flower  Of all the flowers of June and May;  But many griefs had lent me power  And I was strong to turn away.  Then came a beggar to my gate  With shoulders bowed to sorrow's pack,  So weary and so desolate  I had no heart to turn him back.  I let him share my board, my bed,  I warmed him in my shrinking breast,  I gave him all I had, and said:  "You, only you, have been my guest.  "Love passed in many a fair disguise  But never could an entrance win,  But you came in such piteous wise,  Poor friend, I could but let you in."  Low laughed my guest: "Kind friend!" said he,  And dropped the rags he was weary of;  And I, betrayed, saw over me  The terrible face of outraged Love.IN THE SHALLOWS  AMONG the shallows where the sand  Is golden and the waves are small,  I love to lie, and to my hand  How many little treasures fall!  What shells and seaweed grace the shore,  What happy birds on happy wings,  And for companions, what a store  Of humble, happy, living things!  Yet the sea's depths are also mine,  And in the old days I used to dive  Into the caves, where corals shine  And where the shimmering mer-folk live.  I am the master of the sea  In deeps where fairy flowers uncurl;  That treasure-house belongs to me,  Those amber halls, those stairs of pearl.  But now thereto I go no more,  Because of all the argosies,  Deep sunk upon the ocean floor,  Where all the world's lost treasure lies.  Where loveless laughter curls the lips  Of wild sea creatures at their sport  About the bones of noble ships,  My ships, that never came to port."AND THE RAINS DESCENDED AND THE FLOODS CAME."  NOW the far waves roll nearer and more near,  The wind's awake, the pitiless wind's awake,  It shrieks the menace that I dare not hear,  Soon at my feet the angry waves will break  In desolating wrath—and here I stand  Helpless my house is built upon the sand.  O you, whose house upon a rock is set,  Laugh, safe and sure, at threatening wave and wind.  You chose the better part and yet—and yet,  There was no other ground that I could find,  And I was weary and I longed to raise  A house to guard my shivering nights and days.  And it was pleasant in the house I made,  While still the floods and winds were held asleep.  I blessed it at the dawn, at night I prayed  As though its dear foundations had been deep  Sunk in the rock. I whispered in surmise,  "What if winds never wake, floods never rise?"  And now the waves are near and very near,  And here I wait and wonder which may be  The wave in which my house will disappear,  My little house that loved and sheltered me,  Where joy still sings, her garland in her hand,  Built on the sand, oh God, built on the sand!THE STAR  I HAD a star to sing by, a beautiful star that led,  But when I sang of its splendour the world in its wisdom said:  "Sweet are your songs, yet the singer sings but in madness when  He hymns but stars unbeholden of us his fellows of men;  Glow-worms we see and marshlights; sing us sweet songs of those  For the guerdons we have to give you, laurel and gold and rose;  Or if you must sing of stars, unseen of your brother man,  Go, starve with your eyes on your vision; your star may save if it can!"  So I said, "If I starve and die I never again shall see  The glory, the high white radiance that hallows the world for me;  I will sing their songs, if it must be, and when I have golden store,  I will turn from the marsh and the glow-worms, and sing of my star once more."  So I walked in the warm wet by-ways, not daring to lift my eyes  Lest love should drive me to singing my star supreme in the skies,  And the world cried out, "We will crown him, he sings of the lights that are,  Glories of marshlight and glow-worms, not visions vain of a star!"  I said, "Now my brows are laurelled, my hands filled full of their gold,  I will sing the starry songs that these earthworms bade withhold.  It is time to sing of my star!" for I dreamed that my star still shone,  Then I lifted my eyes in my triumph. Night! night! and my star was gone.

VII

THE PRODIGAL SON  COME home, come home, for your eyes are sore  With the glare of the noonday sun,  And nothing looks as it did before,  And the best of the day is done.  You have played your match, and ridden your race,  You have fought in your fight—and lost;  And life has set its claws in your face,  And you know what the scratches cost.  Out there the world is cruel and loud,  It strikes at the beaten man;  Come out of the press of the stranger crowd  To the place where your life began.  The best robe lies in the cedar chest,  And your father's ring is here;  You have known the worst, come home to the best—  You will pay for it, never fear!  In every kiss of your sister's mouth,  In each tear from your mother's eyes,  You will pay the price of the days in the South  Where the far-off country lies.DESPAIR  SMILE on me, mouth of red—so much too red,  Shine on me, eyes which darkened lashes shade,  Turn, turn my way, oh glorious golden head,  My soul is lost, then let the price be paid!  Amid rich flowers your rosy lamplight gleams,  Amid rich hangings pass your scented hours,  And woods and fields are green but in my dreams,  And only in my dreams grow meadow-flowers.  I have forgotten everything but you—  The apple orchard where the whitethroat sings,  The quiet fields, the moonlight, and the dew,  The virgin's bower that in wet hedgerow clings.  I have forgotten how the cool grass waves  Where clean winds blow, and where good women pray  For happy, honest men, safe in their graves;  And—oh, my God! I would I were as they!THE TEMPTATION  YOU bring your love too late, dear, I have no love to buy it,  I spent my love on worthless toys, at fairs you do not know;  I am a bankrupt trader—dear eyes, do not deny it,  I could have bought your love, dear, but that was long ago.  My soul has left me widowed, my heart has made me orphan,  Leave me—all good things, dear, have left me—leave me too!  For here is ice no tears of yours, no smiles of yours can soften:  Leave me, leave me, leave me, I have no love for you!  I have no flowers to give you, they grow not in my garden;  I have no songs to sing you, my songs have all been sung;  I have no hope of heaven, no faith in any pardon,  I might have loved you once, dear, when I was good and young.  I will not steal, nor cheat you; take back the heart you lent me.  O God, whom I have outraged, now teach me how to pray,  That love come never again so near me to torment me,  Lest I be found less faithful than, by Thy grace, to-day.SECOND NATURE  WHEN I was young how fair the skies,  Such folly of cloud, such blue depths wise,  Such dews of morn, such calms of eve,  So many the lure and the reprieve—  Life seemed a toy to break and mend  And make a charm of in the end.  Then slowly all the dew dried up  And only dust lay in the cup;  And since, to slake his thirst, man must,  I sought a cup that had no dust,  And found it at the Goat and Vine—  Mingled of brandy, beer and wine.  The goat-cup, straight, drew down the skies  And lit them in lunatick wise:  What had been rose went scarlet red,  And the pearl tints grew like the dead.  And the fresh primrose of the morn  Was the wet red of rain-spoiled corn.  Now, with a head that aches and nods  I hold weak hands out to the gods;  And oh! forgiving gods and kind,  They give me healing to my mind,  And show me once again the lawn  Green and clear-gemmed with dews of dawn.  O gods, who look down from above  Upon our tangle of lust and love,  And, in your purity, perceive  The worth of what our follies leave:  Give us but this, and sink the rest—  To know that dew and dawn are best.DE PROFUNDIS  NOW I am cast into the serpent pit  And, catching difficult breath  From the writhing, loathsome, ceaseless stir of it,  The venomous whispers of curling, clasping Death,  I lift my soul out of the pit to Thee  And reaching with my soul to where Thou art  Look down, seeing with free heart  The beast God gave my soul for company  Lie with companions fit;  And bid, with a good will,  The serpent-fangs of ill  Take their foul fill  Of the foul fell it wore.  Though a thousand serpent heads were raised to slay,  A thousand twisting coils writhed where it lay,  There lies the beast, there let it lie for me  And agonize and rave;  For Thou has raised my soul, Thy soul, to Thee!  Thy soul, dear Lord, Thou hast been strong to save!