  Brighton Beach(Whit-Monday, 1909) Chocolates and brandy balls and butterscotch, “Tit-Bits,” “The Mother’s Friend” and “Woman’s Life,” Sixpenny photographs, a silver watch, A “little wonder” of a pocket-knife— All these for sale: the sunshine, given free, Beats down upon the beach and on the sea Where ma and brats—fat legs and little feet— Paddle and laugh and redden in the heat. All through the happy day they call and shout, Shriek with delight and giggle and “hooray”; And two alone look gloomy and put out, Causing a lady to her pal to say: “’Oo’s that young man wot give ’is girl a shove?” “O them poor sulky devils, they’re in love!” Beaugency-sur-LoireA strong stroke, and the boat leaps, and the heart grows merry! But I think of a little farm slid by, and a dark girl at the ferry. The sun dies, and a bird cries, and a bright star’s gleaming: And I afloat, and all alone, with the long night for dreaming.... A strong stroke, and the boat leaps, and the stream swirls under; And here am I by the still white town, in a sad, hush’d wonder. Lovers sigh and the leaves sigh—and bright eyes peeping: A boy laughs and a girl laughs ... and ah! who’s weeping? 1912. In PicardyWaves lap the beach, pines stretch to meet the sea— A pale light on the horizon lingers and shines That might shine round the Graal; and we Stand very silent, underneath the pines. Oh, swift expresses for the spirit’s flight! Sometimes the moon is like a maid I know, Looking roguishly back and flying onward—so I follow, flashing after. Blessed night! 1912. Calle Memo O LoredanWe were staying (that night) in a very old palace— Very dark, very large, and sheer to the water below. The rooms were silent and strange, and you were frightened: The silver lamp gave a feeble, flickering glow. And the bed had a high dark tester and carved black posts. And behind our heads was a glimmer of old brocade. Do you remember? you thought the shadows were full of ghosts, And the sound of the lapping water made you afraid. Ah, and your face shone pale, in the gleam of that quivering flame! And your bosom was rich with the round pearls row on row; And you looked proud and jewelled, and passionate without shame— Like some Princess who stooped to her lover, a long while ago. 1912. BarcelonaA squalid station, tramcars, dusty palms In a great square; and then the surging streets That cut the town in two, where its heart beats. Crowds jostle to and fro, brats cadge for alms, Sell lottery tickets, hand their sister’s card (With her address, nude photograph and hours); Men offer little birds, old women flow’rs; Red-coated guards loaf by; a half-blind bard Drones out stale tunes; and amorous ladies stare (Clad in rich clothes, with very bad black eyes) At men with Brownings bulging at their thighs Who’ll fight for a Republic—when they dare. 1914. Juillac-le-Coq(Charente) It’s to Juillac-le-coq, where the vines stretch o’er the plain, And the little streams are running eau-de-vie and the sweet champagne, That I’d take my pipe and smoke it, sitting on some garden wall, And kick my heels and dream my dreams, and never work at all. For the sun’s bright, and the moon’s bright, and all the women’s eyes Are bright there; and joy’s there, and love that fools despise. It’s a little dusty village, full of laughing men and girls; At the thought of it my breath comes short, my tired brain spins and whirls. I must tramp along and find it, choose my sunny white-washed wall, And sing my songs, and dream my dreams, and never work at all. There are vines there, and wines there, and straight, long dazzling ways That shine white, on a fine night, when high the full moon sways. 1910. RoadsLong roads that stretch out hard and white, Long roads that climb into the sky, They haunt me in this London night: I knew them well in days gone by— Knew them and loved them! Bright they shone— They led to that enchanting land, Where all the throneless gods live on And where men go, who understand; Where hills too lovely to be true Rise dazzling, in diviner air, And under heavens for ever blue Love grows to friendship fine and rare. Far from a bitter world of toil They led, those roads of long ago: They climbed the skies to fairy soil, They glittered like a line of snow. 1910. EnvoiArs Longa They hanged the poet up next day. It was a rare and curious treat; They never had seen so much meat Suspended, juicily, in May. They sat them down and made a feast, And, carving him, they sang his songs Of lovely girls, and shameful wrongs, And amorous customs in the East. But Gubbins, nosey man for pelf, Denounced their joyous foozaloo And piously dispersed the crew— Then ate the poet’s soul himself.... |
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