Songs of love and empire

THE VAIN SPELL

The house sleeps dark and the moon wakes white,The fields are alight with dew;“Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night?I have waited the whole night through,For I knew,O Heart of my heart, I knew by my heart,That the night of all nights is this,When elm shall crack and lead shall part,When moulds shall sunder and shot bolts startTo let you through to my kiss.”So spake she alone in the lonely house.She had wrapped her round with the spell,She called the call, she vowed the vow,And the heart she had pledged knew wellThat this was the night, the only night,When the moulds might be wrenched apart,When the living and dead, in the dead of the night,Might clasp once more, in the grave’s despite,For the price of a living heart.But out in the grave the corpse lay whiteAnd the grave clothes were wet with dew;“Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night,I have waited the whole night through,For I knewThat I dared not leave my grave for an hourSince the hour of all hours is near,When you shall come to the hollow bower,In a cast of the wind, in a waft of the Power,To the heart that to-night beats here!”The moon grows pale and the house sleeps still;Ah, God! do the dead forget?The grave is white and the bed is chill,But a guest may be coming yet.But the hour has come and the hour has goneThat never will come again;Love’s only chance is over and done,And the quick and the dead are twain, not one,And the price has been paid in vain.

THE ADVENTURER

The land of gold was far away,The sea a challenge roared between;I left my throne, my crown, my queen,And sailed out of the quiet bay.I met the challenge of the wave,The curses of the winds I mocked:The conquered wave my galley rocked,The wind became my envious slave.I brought much treasure from afar,Spices, and shells, and rich attire;Red rubies, fed with living fire,To lie where all my longings are.Heavy with spoil my keel ploughed lowAs slow we sailed into the bay,And long ago seemed yesterdayAnd yesterday looked long ago.I came in triumph from the sea;Bent was my crown, my courts grown mean,And on my throne a faded queenRaised alien eyes, and looked at me.“My queen! These rubies let me layUpon thy heart, as once my head …”She smiled pale scorn: “My heart!” she said,And turned her weary eyes away.

IN THE ENCHANTED TOWER

The waves in thunderous menace breakUpon the rocks below my tower,And none will dare the Sea-king’s powerAnd venture shipwreck for my sake.Yet once, – my lamp a path of lightAcross the darkling sea had cast —I saw a sail; at last, at last,It came towards me through the night.My lamp had been the beacon setTo lead the ship through mist and foam,The ship that came to take me home,To that far land I half forget.But since my tower is built so high,And surf-robed rocks curl hid below,I quenched my lamp – and, weeping lowI saw my ship go safely by!

FAITH

Through the long night, the deathlong night,Along the dark and haunted way,I knew your hidden face was bright —More bright than any day.And when the faint, insistent moanRose from some weed-grown wayside grave,I said, “I do not walk alone;’Tis easy to be brave.”I never turned to speak with you,For all the way was dark and long,But all the shadows’ menace throughYour silence was my song.I never sought to take your hand,For all the way was long and rough;I taught my soul to understandThat love was strength enough.Then, suddenly, the ghosts drew near,A ghastly, gliding, tomb-white band;I called aloud for you to hear,My hand besought your hand.No voice, no touch – the thin ghosts glideWhere in my dream I dreamed you were —Night, night, you are not by my side,You never have been there!

THE REFUSAL

Mine is a palace fair to see,All hung with gold and silver things,It is more glorious than a king’s,And crownèd queens might envy me.Ah, no, I will not let you in!Stay rather at the gates and weepFor all the splendour that I keep,The treasures that you cannot win.While you desire and I refuse,For both the palace still is here —Its turrets gold, its silver gearAre yours to wish for – mine to use.But if I let you in, I knowThe spell would break, the palace fade,And we stand, trembling and afraid,Lost in the dark where chill winds blow.

PRELUDE

Out of the west when the sun was dyingClouds of white wings came flying, flying,Wheeling and whirling they swept awayInto the heart of the eastern gray;But one white dove came straight to my breastOut of the west.Into the west when the dawn was pearlyClouds of white wings went, dewy-early,Straight from the world of the waning stars;O beating pinions! O prison bars!My dove flies free no more with the restInto the west.

AT THE SOUND OF THE DRUM

Are you going for a soldier with your curly yellow hair,And a scarlet coat instead of the smock you used to wear?Are you going to drive the foe as you used to drive the plough?Are you going for a soldier now?I am going for a soldier, and my tunic is of redAnd I’m tired of woman’s chatter, and I’ll hear the drum instead;I will break the fighting line as you broke your plighted vow,For I’m going for a soldier now.For a soldier, for a soldier are you sure that you will go,To hear the drums a-beating and to hear the bugles blow?I’ll make you sweeter music, for I’ll swear another vow —Are you going for a soldier now?I am going for a soldier if you’d twenty vows to make;You must get another sweetheart, with another heart to break,For I’m sick of lies and women and the harrow and the plough,And I’m going for a soldier now!

THE GOOSE-GIRL

I wandered lonely by the sea,As is my daily use,I saw her drive across the leaThe gander and the goose.The gander and the gray, gray goose,She drove them all together;Her cheeks were rose, her gold hair loose,All in the wild gray weather.“O dainty maid who drive the geeseAcross the common wide,Turn, turn your pretty back on theseAnd come and be my bride.I am a poet from the town,And, ’mid the ladies there,There is not one would wear a crownWith half your charming air!”She laughed, she shook her pretty head.“I want no poet’s hand;Go read your fairy-books,” she said,“For this is fairy-land.My Prince comes riding o’er the leas;He fitly comes to woo,For I’m a Princess, and my geeseWere poets, once, like you!”

THE PEDLAR

Fly, fly, my pretty pigeon, fly!And see if you can find him;He has blue eyes – you’ll know him by, —He wears a pack behind him.He’s gone away – ah! many a mileBecause he could not please me,And, oh! ’twill be a weary whileEre next he comes to tease me.He carries wares of every kind,Fine ribbons, silks, and laces,Bargains to rhyme with every mind,And hues to suit all faces.He has gold rings and pretty thingsThat other maids will throng for,Ah, pigeon! spread your pretty wings,And fly to him I long for.Tell him to turn and come again,For once I sent him packing;He offered me a bargain then,But wit and price were lacking.I have the price he asked of me,The wit that will not weigh it;Ah! bid him come again and seeHow gladly I will pay it.A heart of gold he offered meAs ’twere a penny fairing,And only asked a worthless fee,This heavy heart I’m wearing.I would not then – now long and drearThe white way winds behind him;Ah! seek him, seek him, Pigeon dear,But you will never find him!

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL

When my good-nights and prayers are saidAnd I am safe tucked up in bed,I know my guardian angel standsAnd holds my soul between his hands.I cannot see his wings of lightBecause I keep my eyes shut tight,For, if I open them, I knowMy pretty angel has to go.But through the darkness I can hearHis white wings rustling very near;I know it is his darling wings,Not Mother folding up my things!

III

“SHEPHERDS ALL AND MAIDENS FAIR”

Pipe, shepherds, pipe, the summer’s ripe;So wreathe your crooks with flowers;The world’s in tune to Love and June,The days are rich in hours,In rosy hours, in golden hours —Love’s crown and fortune fair,So gather gold for Love to hold,And flowers for Love to wear!Sing, maidens, sing! A dancing ringOf pleasures speed your way;Too harsh and dry is fierce July,Too maiden-meek was May;But Love and June their old sweet tuneAre singing at your ear:So learn the song and troop alongTo meet your shepherds dear!Oh, Chloris fair, a rose to wear,And gold to spend have I —When all are gay on this June dayYou would not bid me sigh?You would not scorn a swain forlorn —Each shepherd far and nearHastes to his sweet, with flying feet,As I towards my dear.No maids there be in ArcadyBut have their shepherds true;Must you alone despise the oneWho only pipes for you?You have no ear my pipe to hearThough all for you it be;And I no eyes for her who sighsAnd only sings for me!

A PORTRAIT

Like the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawnIs her dainty way;Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawnAre her eyes of gray;Like the clouds in their moving whiteIs her breast’s soft stir;And white as the moon and brightIs the soul of her.Like murmur of woods in spring ere the leaves be green,Like the voice of a birdThat sings by a stream that sings through the night unseen,So her voice is heard.And the secret her eyes withholdIn my soul abides,For white as the moon and coldIs the heart she hides.

THE OFFERING

What will you give me for this heart of mine,No heart of gold – and yet my dearest treasure?It has its graces – it can ache and pine,And beat true time to your sweet voice’s measure;It bears your name, it lives but for your pleasure:What will you give me for this heart I bring,That holds my life, my joy, my everything?How can I ask a price, when all my prayerIs that, without return, you will but take it —Feed it with hope, or starve it to despair,Keep it to play with, mock it, crush it, break it,And, if your will lies there, at last forsake it?Its epitaph shall voice its deathless pride:“She held me in her hands until I died.”

ENTREATY

O love, let us part now!Ours is the tremulous, low-spoken vow,Ours is the spell of meeting hands and eyes.The first, involuntary, sacred kissStill on our lips in benediction lies.O Love, be wise!Love at its best is worth no more than this —Let us part now!O Love, let us part now!Ere yet the roses wither on my brow,Ere yet the lilies wither in your breast,Ere the implacable hour shall flower to bearThe seeds of deathless anguish and unrest.To part is best.Between us still the drawn sword flameth fair —Let us part now!

THE FOREST POOL

Lean down and see your little faceReflected in the forest pool,Tall foxgloves grow about the place,Forget-me-nots grow green and cool.Look deep and see the naiad riseTo meet the sunshine of your eyes.Lean down and see how you are fair,How gold your hair, your mouth how red;See the leaves dance about your hairThe wind has left unfilleted.What naiad of them can compareWith you for good and dear and fair?Ah! look no more – the water stirs,The naiad weeps your face to see,Your beauty is more rare than hers,And you are more beloved than she.Fly! fly, before she steals the charmsThe pool has trusted to her arms.

DISCRETION

Ah, turn your pretty eyes away!You would not have me love again?Love’s pleasure does not live a day,Immortal is Love’s pain,And I am tired of pain.I have loved once – aye, once or twice;The pleasure died, the pain lives here;I will not look in your sweet eyes,I will not love you, Dear,Lest you should grow too dear.For I am weary and afraid.Have I not seen why life was fair,And known how good a world God made,How sweet the blossoms were,How dear the green fields were?And I have found how life was gray,A mist-hung road, a quest in vain,Until once more Love smiled my wayAnd fooled me once again,And taught me grief again.Now I will gather no more grief;I only ask to see the sky,The budding flower, the budding leaf,And put old dreamings by,The dreams Love tortures by.For, being wise, I love no more;You, if you will, snare with those eyesSome fool who never loved before,And teach him to be wise!For why should you be wise?

SPRING SONG

Here’s the Spring-time, Sweet!Earth’s green gown is new,Lambs begin to bleat,Doves begin to coo,Birds begin to wooIn the wood and lane;Sweet, the tale is trueSpring is here again!I have been discreetAll the winter through;Now, before your feet,Blossoms let me strew.Flowers, as yet, are few;Will my lady deignTake this flower or two?Spring is here againMake the year complete,Give the Spring her due!All the flowers entreat,All the song-birds sue.’Twixt the green and blueLet Love wake and reign,Let me worship you —Spring is here again!

TOO LATE

When Love, sweet Love, was tangled in my snareI clipped his wings, and dressed his cage with flowers,Made him my little joy for little hours,And fed him when I had a song to spare.And then I saw how good life’s good things were,The kingdoms and the glories and the powers.Flowers grew in sheaves and stars were shed in showers,And, when the great things wearied, Love was there.But when, within his cage, one winter dayI found him lying still with folded wings,No longer fluttering, eager to be fed —Kingdoms and powers and glories passed away,And of life’s countless, precious, priceless thingsNothing was left but Love – and Love was dead!

BY FAITH WITH THANKSGIVING

Love is no bird that nests and flies,No rose that buds and blooms and dies,No star that shines and disappears,No fire whose ashes strew the years:Love is the god who lights the star,Makes music of the lark’s desire,Love tells the rose what perfumes are,And lights and feeds the deathless fire.Love is no joy that dies apaceWith the delight of dear embrace —Love is no feast of wine and bread,Red-vintaged and gold-harvested:Love is the god whose touch divineOn hands that clung and lips that kissed,Has turned life’s common bread and wineInto the Holy Eucharist.

THE APPEAL

All summer-time you said:“Love has no need of shelter nor of kindness,For all the flowers take pity on his blindness,And lead him to his scented rose-soft bed.”“He is a king,” you said.“That I bow not the knee will never grieve him,For all the summer-palaces receive him.”But now Love has not where to lay his head.“He is a god,” you said.“His altars are wherever roses blossom.”And summer made his altar of her bosom,But now the altar is ungarlanded.Take back the words you said:Out in the rain he shivers broken-hearted;Summer who bore him has with tears departed,And o’er her grave he weeps uncomforted.And you, for all you said,Would weep too, if when dawn stills the wind’s riot,You found him on your threshold, pale and quiet,Clasped him at last, and found the child was dead.

AUTUMN SONG

“Will you not walk the woods with me?The shafts of sunlight burnOn many a golden-crested treeAnd many a russet fern.The Summer’s robe is dyed anew,And Autumn’s veil of mistIs gemmed with little pearls of dewWhere first we met and kissed.”“I will not walk the woodlands brownWhere ghosts and mists are blown,But I will walk the lonely downAnd I will walk alone.Where Night spreads out her mighty wingAnd dead days keep their tryst,There will I weep the woods of SpringWhere first we met and kissed.”

THE LAST ACT

Never a ring or a lock of hairOr a letter stained with tears,No crown for the princely hour to wear,To be mocked of the rebel years.Not a spoken vow, not a written pageAnd never a rose or a rhymeTo tell to the wintry ear of ageThe tale of the summer time.Never a tear or a farewell kissWhen the time is come to part;For the kiss would burn and the tear would hissOn the smouldering fire in my heart.But let me creep to the kindly clay,And nothing be left to tellHow I played in your play a year and a day,And died when the curtain fell!

FAUTE DE MIEUX

When the corn is green and the poppies redAnd the fields are crimson with love-lies-bleeding,When the elms are black deep overheadAnd the shade lies cool where the calves are feeding,When the blackbird whistles the song of June,When kine knee-deep in the pond are drowsing,Leave pastoral peace – come up through the noonTo the high chalk downs where the sheep are browsing.Oh! sweet to dream in the noontide heat,On the scented bed of thyme and clover,With the air from the sea, blown keen and sweet,And the wings of the wide sky folded over,While, far in the blue, the skylark sings,Renounce desire and renounce endeavour,Forget life’s little unworthy thingsAnd dream that the dream will last for ever.The love of your life, in your heart’s hid shrine,With its gifts and its torments, leave it sighing,And I will bury the pain of mineIn the selfsame grave where its joy is lying.Let me hold your hand for a quiet hourIn the wild thyme’s scent and the clear blue weather,Then come what may, we have plucked one flower,This hour on the downs alone together.

SONG OF LONG AGO

Long ago, long ago,When the hawthorn buds were pearlyAnd the birds sang, late and early,All the songs that lovers know,How we lingered in the lane,Kissed and parted, kissed again,Parted, laggard foot and slow!What a pretty world we knewDressed in moonlight, dreams and dew,Long ago, my first sweet sweetheart,Long ago!Long ago, long ago,When the wind was on the riverWhere the lights and shadows shiver,And the streets were all aglow.In the gaudy gas-lit streetWe two parted, sweet, my sweet,And the crowd went to and fro,And your veil was wet with tearsFor the inevitable years —Long ago, my last sweet sweetheart,Long ago!

IN ECLIPSE

Pale veil of mist bound round the treesPale fringe of rain upon the hills,Cold earth, cold sky and biting breezeThat mock the withered daffodils.And yet so short a while ago,The sunlight on the quickened landLaughed at the memory of the snow,And we went hand in hand.Pale veil of doubt wound round my heart,Pale fringe of tears upon your eyes;Why did we choose the evil part?Why did we leave our Paradise?There were such green and pleasant waysWhere you and I with happy heartLaughed at the old unhappy days,And now – we are apart.Will the sun shine again some day?Will you forgive me and forget?Chill is the east, the west is gray,And all our world with tears is wet.Ah! love, the world is wide and cold,The weary skies are wild with rain;Give me at least your hand to holdTill the sun shines again.

SPECIAL PLEADING

The world’s a path all fresh and sweet,A sky all fresh and fair,With daisies underneath your feetAnd roses for your hair;Red roses for your pretty hair,Green trees to shade your way,And lavish blossoms everywhere,Because the time is May.How gold the sun shines through the green!How soft the turf is spread!How richly falls the shimmering sheenAbout your darling head!How in the dawn of ParadiseShould you foresee the night?How, with the sunlight in your eyes,See aught beyond the light?* * * * *The world’s a path all rough and wild,A sky all black with fears,Among the ghosts, unhappy child,You stumble, blind with tears;The track is faint, and far the fold,And very far the day:Unless you have a hand to hold,How will you find the way?

“LOVE WELL THE HOUR”

Heart of my heart, my life and light,If you were lost what should I do?I dare not let you from my sight,Lest Death should fall in love with you.Such countless terrors lie in wait.The gods know well how dear you are:What if they left me desolateAnd plucked and set you for their star?So hold my hand – the gods are strong,And perfect joy so rare a flowerNo man may hope to keep it long,And I might lose it any hour.So, kiss me close, my star, my flower,Thus shall the future spare me this:The thought that there was ever an hourWe might have kissed and did not kiss.

BETRAYED

I went back to our home to-dayThat still its robe of roses wore;My feet took the old easy way,And led me to our door.And you are gone and never moreThose little feet of yours will comeTo meet me at the open door,The threshold of our home.The door unlatched did not protest:I entered, and the silence drewMy steps towards the little nestThat once I shared with you.There lay your fan, your open book,Your seam half-sewn, and I could seeThe window whence you used to look —Yes, once you looked – for me.Print of your little head caressedOur pillow still, and on the floorStill lay, dropped there when last you dressed,The scarf and rose you wore.All should have spoken of you plain,Yet, when I bade the silence tellOf you, my bidding was in vain,I could not break its spell.The silence would not speak, my dear,Till the last level light grew dim;Then, in the twilight I could hear;The silence spoke – of him.

THE HEART OF SADNESS

It is not, Dear, because I am alone,I am lonelier when the rest are near,But that my place against your heart has grownToo dear to dream of when you are not here.I weep because my thoughts no more may roamTo meet, half-way, your longing thoughts of me,To turn with these and spread glad wings for home,For the dear haven where I fain would be.When first we loved, I loved to steal awayTo show to solitude what love could do,To fill the waste space of the night and dayWith thousand-wingèd dreams that flew to you;But now through many tears I am grown wiseTo know how mighty and how dear love is;I dare not turn to him my longing eyes,Nor even in dreams lean out my face to his,Because, if once I let my caged heart goThrough dreams to seek you, I should follow tooThrough wrong and right, through wisdom and through woe,Through heaven and hell, until I won to you!

THE HEART OF JOY

Dear, do you sigh that your love may not stay with you,Laugh with and play with you,Weep with and pray with you,All his life through?Think, O my heart, if you never had found me,Crept through the cere-clothes the world has wound round me,What would you do?Wide is the world, and so many would sigh for you,Long for and cry for you,Weep for and die for you,You being you.I only I, am the man you could sigh for,Live for and suffer for, sorrow and die for,Twenty lives through.Think! Had I missed you! The world was so wide for us,Traps on each side for us,Nothing as guide for us,Yet I and youFound Life’s great treasure, the last and the first, love;Life’s little things, Time and Space, do their worst, love!What, after all, can they do?

THE HEART OF GRIEF

You will not come againAlong the deep-banked laneTo where the field and fold so long have missed you;You know no more the wayTo where, so many a dayBefore the world grew gray,Your lover kissed you.The wonders and delightsOf London days and nightsHold fast a soul not made for pastoral pleasures;The scent of mignonetteBrings to you no regret,No withered flowers lie yetAmong your treasures.And I, who long for youSad and glad seasons through,Find my grief’s heart in knowing grief will find you;Some day you too will sigh,And lay a dead flower by,And weep to see joy lieAt last behind you.What though the flower you hideWith London wire be tied?What though the heart that broke your heart be rotten?You too at last must missThe smile, the word, the kiss,And know how hard it isTo be forgotten.

REQUIEM

Now veiled in the inviolable pastLove lies asleep, who never more will wake;Nor would you wake him, even for my sakeWho for your sake pray he sleep sound at last.What good thing had we of him – we who boreSo long his yoke? what pleasant thing had weThat we should weep his deathlong sleep to see,Or call on Life to waken him once more?A little joy he gave, and much of pain,A little pleasure, and enduring grief,One flower of joy, and pain piled sheaf on sheaf,Harvests of loss, for every bud of gain.Yet where he lies in this deserted placeDivided by his narrow grave we sit,Welded together by the depths of it,Watching the years pass, with averted face.We do not mourn for him, for here is peace;The old unrest frets not these empty years;With him went smiles a few, and many tears,And peace is sweeter far than those or these.Only – we owe him nothing. If he gave,We too gave gifts – his gifts were less than ours:We gave the world, that held so many flowersFor this – the world that only holds his grave.

TEINT NEUTRE

Wide downs all gray, with gray of clouds roofed over,Chill fields stripped naked of their gown of grain,Small fields of rain-wet grass and close-grown clover,Wet, wind-blown trees – and, over all, the rain.Does memory lie? For Hope her missal closesSo far away the may and roses seem;Ah! was there ever a garden red with roses?Ah! were you ever mine save in a dream?So long it is since Spring, the skylark wakingHeard her own praises in his perfect strain;Low hang the clouds, the sad year’s heart is breaking,And mine, my heart – and, over all, the rain.