  MorituraLeave the radiant sun, Of drowsy rest the giver; Leave the song of the birds and leave The sob of the river. Break loose from his passionate arms, And awake from thy dream of bliss: King Death hath marked thy charms And fain would kiss. 1902. The Voices“Oh, hear them in the Valley— The wailing voices cry! They count the yearly tally Of lost girls that must die. Cold fingers in the gloaming, Will grope one night for me; I daren’t go heather-roaming, For fear the ghosts will see. “And now the rain is falling, They’ll cry the whole long night, I tremble at their calling— O take and hold me tight! Each of those warning spirits Was once a girl, betrayed; O wayward love, be true to me Who am no more a maid.” 1909. Cuckfield ParkThe deer stand outlined on a sky That glows to red and pales to green: The restless pine-trees shake and sigh, And troubled spirits move, unseen. A brooding quiet holds the night. It is the hour of dreams, of fears, When day’s defiant dying light Fades, with a sombre hint of tears. We hardly speak, we hardly dare, Our steps are noiseless on the grass, And shadows haunt your eyes and hair. Does love pass as these moments pass? 1910. “Now slants the moonlight ...”Now slants the moonlight through the trees And bathes the pathway through the wood: The large leaves wrangle in the breeze And sigh, as if they understood. Dear Heart, it is so still and warm, —A lovelier night there has not been— But lonely I have left the farm, And lonely I have crossed the green. 1910. “Sang a Maid at Peep of Day”Sang a maid at peep of day To the blackbird in the yew— “My true heart has flown away, Seeking other heart as true.” “Bird, my heart has taken wings,” Whispered she, with sorrowful eyes. “In the raging wind it sings, In the sun it cries, it cries.” 1910. A Home-Coming“He was a wilful chap,” said one “—The kind that often dies alone.” “He shamed us all,” another said: “’Tis just as well that he be dead.” “Poor Jack, poor Jack,” a third one sighed. “He swam to Bere against the tide “And beat John Hawkins, on the green. It’s long since such a lad was seen.” A fourth one laughed: “’Twould seem the town He loved so well has let him down. “A poor thin corpse ’tis, to be sure, That he’s brought home to make manure.” They swathed his body, tall and slim, Then screwed the oak lid down on him. They put him in his deep-dug hole, And bawled responses for his soul. But, ere the gaping earth did close, One frail hand threw a frail white rose. The KissCold it was, Dear, when you kissed me: Still I hear the steady drips Of the wet from leaves and branches As we huddled ’neath the tree: I can feel your arms about me, And your lips upon my lips, And it’s you alone I dream of, —Though you’ve soon forgotten me. On the Promenade(March Winds: Seaford) “I never will see you again, Nor go walking with you, nor be friends; You have rumpled my hair in the rain— This foolishness ends! You can carry your kisses elsewhere: I call it low To paw one about like a bear— You can go!” “Oh, you baby, to take it like that— Why, you’d better sit down in the shelter And polish your shoes on the mat— I’m off to the downs, helter-skelter! For it’s Heaven to race in the wind, With the rain in your eyes, on your cheek, And perhaps, on the top of the hill, by the cliff, I shall find A fairy will speak! “Oh, yes, there are fairies up there, With faces fresh in the dew— The wild wind kisses their wild long hair, And they run by the side of you. “I’m sorry you’re angry, like this, But I don’t think I want to be friends—” “If I gave you your kiss— Would that make amends?” JuneThe clasped hand, the low laugh and the trill of love, Intimate whisper and long look and sinking head That sinks but to be captured, while, above, The stars stand motionless, the tree seems dead. Cold, in the stillness, looks the thin moon down; Far off are murmuring sea and restless town— As far as life and death and common things— For two to-night know joy, a joy that sings. To ——Sleep sound, Oh my love —Closed eyes, gentle breath— While I whisper, so you will not hear, Things I cannot tell you this side death. The Case of PierrotWhen I lie down in my bed Forty devils guard my head, They don’t let me sleep, They laugh when I weep. All night long they sneer and sneer: “Dead heart, cruel heart, Do you know where she is? How she moans! Don’t you hear? Under the madman’s kiss. “See, she’s fallen on her knees! —Dead heart, take your ease— Cries for pity, none to care. Happy Pair! “Now the Marquis cracks the whip! Justine up-to-date. Cannot give this fiend the slip, For his name is Fate.” Forty devils guard my head When I lie down in my bed. All night long they rave and jeer And I cannot choose but hear. 1920. Pompes FunÈbresRound and round in a circle, slowly, Two by two go the mitred mutes: Death for the wealthy, death for the lowly, Death for the pretty girls, Death for the brutes! Two black horses with two black tails, And the long black coach with its four black wheels; Black-edged handkerchiefs, black crÊpe veils— But who minds now what the dead dog feels? For a corpse is foul as the rose is fair And the young must love—and the old don’t care. To-night it’s the dance, to-morrow the fair. Bury him quick, with a carriage and pair! Round and round in a circle, slowly, Two by two go the mitred mutes: Death for the wealthy, death for the lowly, Death for the pretty girls, Death for the brutes! Ah! You MoonAh! you moon, you fickle one, Traitor, like the cruel sun! You’ve disowned me now I lie Underneath this alien sky— Mad, because I cannot die. Once you liked us, long ago, When the woods were flower-scented, When my love, with tender eyes, Listened to familiar lies In the forest of St. Cloud. You were friend to those who woo ... Moon you might have warned, prevented Us from battening on hope, Thrown us down an end of rope! This was coming, and you knew, Could you treat a lover so! Ah! you moon, you fickle one, Traitor, like the cruel sun. A Little Poem on SinChrist, since I turned my back upon your altars Joy has deserted me, the world is dull; The cry of passion fades away and falters, And what may be is no more beautiful. Hand me the scourge again, forsaken Master, Open your doors and bid me enter in, Then shall my pulses throb, my heart beat faster, And rapture kiss me with the lips of sin. 1920. Heart and SoulThe worn heart called the soul that flew, That soared on high, with fiery wing: “Once in a house of flesh, we two Dwelt silent, sorrowing. “I fled you for all false delights, Sister, I let you sleep and fade, While in the breathless summer nights With deathly joys I played.” The tired heart wailed and sank and died, Died terribly, a thousand deaths: Strange things that passed like wild-birds cried; The ghosts drew icy breaths. “Too late! My jewel, Bird of Hope, You slipt my grasp: now firm and free You soar to that Olympian slope Where every soul would be—” The dead voice failed; the soul flew by, Nor turned her course, nor dropped her wing: A cold wind shivered through the sky: The pale ghosts heard her sing. The sister of the weary heart, The bright-winged bird, the bird of fire, Flew onwards swiftly, and apart, Towards the heart’s desire. The Singer’s JourneyI On the closed door I knocked and knocked again. It was so cold without: the wind and rain Buffeted me, and made me sick and sore, And no birds sang, and night came on, and o’er The surging wind rose pitiful sad cries From all the souls cast out of Paradise ... On the closed door I knocked and knocked again Till I grew tired with bitterness and pain. I made no fine resolve, I shed no tear: I knew that God was good, that she was dear, Only I wondered why these things had been, Why I was glad I loved, that she had seen. She was too pure to care, perhaps too cold, So, in the wilderness I should grow old, With but the memory of her wide grave eyes To comfort me, shut out from Paradise. On the closed door I knocked and knocked again, And suddenly it opened on a chain And I peered close, and, eager, looked inside— Then turned me to the world that waited, wide: ’Twas not for pride I suffered, not for sin; I was barred out to let a loved one in. II And so from Paradise I turned my feet, And the earth claimed me, and I ran to meet The salutation of the wind and rain, That swept across a desolate, sad plain. Then called the mountains and the grassy hills, Broad seas and rivers, and small tinkling rills: And there were forests wonderful and dark, And when the shrill wind ceased, sweet sang the lark, And I forgot lost love, in pleasant places, For I found other heavens, and sweeter faces Smiled from the lake, or laughed behind the reeds; —But in the night the heart that’s stricken bleeds. Then once at dawn-time, by a quiet pool, A goat-legged fellow cried: “Come hither, fool, And learn the tune that makes the world roll round: Life, lust and laughter mingle in the sound: ’Twas made with longing and with tears and fire, But laughter conquered it, and mocked desire.” And then he took his pipe, this goat-legged man, And all the winds cried: “Hark, the song of Pan: Pan who is god of flocks and herds, who dwells Deep in the woods a-weaving curious spells And tunes that sob for joy, that thrill and weep— That charm to laughter and that soothe to sleep.” III And by and by Pan made a flute for me, And when I took the flute I seemed to see Visions of bodied-thoughts, gay-clothed or dark, And each thought made a sound: and some the lark Took for his song—the gayest did he take— But I for mine took sombre ones, to make A mournful wail for my lost love, but while I sang I did forget my grief and smile. And then the sweetness of the tunes I made Thrilled me, and sorrow vanished and I played Enraptured, with the sounds that charmed me best; And I made songs for pleasure, while the West Crimsoned behind the dark, enchanted woods. Still by the silent pool, in varying moods, All night beneath the stars I laughed and sang, And through the shadows joyful echoes rang, And presently dryads slipt from tree to tree; Nymphs from the field and stream crept close to me And stealthy satyrs; and web-footed men Climbed from the lake; and from a fairy glen Came trooping little people with bright eyes, Who listened while I made them melodies. Then slender women, with white limbs and hair Dusky as night, sought out my reedy lair To hear my singing, and the loveliest one Lay in my arms until the night was done. 1909. |
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