  “We who have bowed ourselves to Time”We who have bowed ourselves to time Now arm an uneventful rime With panoply of flowers Through the long summer hours.... But now our fierce and warlike Muse Doth soft companionship refuse, And we must mount and ride Upon a steed untried.... We who have led by gradual ways Our placid life to sterner days And for old quiet things Have set the strife of kings, Who battled have with bloody hands Through evil times in barren lands, To whom the voice of guns Speaks and no longer stuns, Calm, though with death encompassÈd, That watch the hours go overhead Knowing too well we must With all men come to dust.... Crave of our masters’ clemency Silence a little space that we Upon their ear may force Tales of our trodden course. [pg 50] Anglia Valida in Senectute(On the Declaration of War) Not like to those who find untrodden ways; But down the weary paths we know, Through every change of sky and change of days Silent, processional we go. Not unto us the soft, unlaboured breath Of children’s hopes and children’s fears: We are not sworn to battle to the death With all the wrongs of all the years: We are old, we are old, and worn and school’d with ills, Maybe our road is almost done, Maybe we are drawn near unto the hills Where rest is and the setting sun: But yet a pride is ours that will not brook The taunts of fools too saucy grown, He that is rash to prove it, let him look He kindle not a fire unknown. Since first we flung our gauntlet to the skies And dared the high Gods’ will to bend, A fire that still may burn deceit and lies Burn and consume them to the end. [pg 51] “Dark is the World our Fathers left us”Dark is the world our fathers left us, Wearily, greyly the long years flow, Almost the gloom has of hope bereft us, Far is the high gods’ song and low: Sombre the crests of the mountains lonely, Leafless, wind-ridden, moan the trees: Down in the valleys is twilight only, Twilight over the mourning seas: Time was when earth was always golden, Time was when skies were always clear: Spirits and souls of the heroes olden, Faint are cries from the darkness, hear! Tear ye the veil of time asunder Tear the veil, ’tis the gods’ command, Hear we the sun-stricken breakers thunder Over the shore where the heroes stand. ———— Dark is the world our fathers left us, Heavily, greyly the long years flow, Almost the gloom has of hope bereft us, Far is the high gods’ song and low. [pg 52] AwakeningGold-crested towers against the veilÈd skies, Sere branches of the winter trees beneath, And a low song, and heavy-lidded eyes; Is there aught else in all the world beside? Is not time stilled and ended in this hour? ———— Up, and away! the belted squadrons ride! [pg 53] Ave atque ValeIn Oxford, evermore the same Unto the uttermost verge of time, Though grave-dust choke the sons of men, And silence wait upon the rime, At evening now the skies set forth Last glories of the dying year: The wind gives chase to relict leaves: And we, we may not linger here. A little while, and we are gone: God knows if it be ours to see Again the earliest hoar-frost white On the long lawns of Trinity. In Merton, of the many courts And doorways good to wander through, Gable and spire shall glitter white Or tawny gold against the blue: And still the winter sun shall smile At noonday, or at sunset hour On Magdalen, girt with ancient trees, Beneath her bright immortal tower. [pg 54] Though nevermore we tread the ways That our returning feet have known Past Oriel, and Christ Church gate Unto those dearer walls, our own. ———— Oxford is evermore the same, Unto the uttermost verge of time, Though grave-dust choke the sons of men, And silence wait upon the rime. [pg 55] “O, one came down from Seven Hills”O, one came down from seven hills And crossÈd seven streams: All in his hands were thyme and grass And in his eyes were dreams: He passÈd by a seven fields With early dews all grey And entered in the stricken town About the break of day. “O you old men that stand and talk About the market-place, There is much trouble in your eyes And anguish in your face: O woman in a silent room Within a silent house, There is no pleasure in your voice Or peace upon your brows.” “O how should such as we rejoice Who weep that others die, Who quake, and curse ourselves, and watch The vengeful hours go by? O better far to fly the grief That wounds, and never kills; O better far to fly the town And seek the seven hills——” “I will go pray the seven gods Who keep the seven hills That they do grant your city peace, And easement of her ills.” [pg 56] “Nay, rather pray the seven gods To launch the latest pain; For there be many things to do Ere we see peace again.” “Then I’ll go praise the seven gods With hymns and chauntings seven, Such as shall split the mountain-tops And shrivel up blue heaven: That there be men who mock at threats And wag their heads at strife, Love home above their own hearts’ blood And honour more than life.” [pg 57] The Last MeetingWe who are young, and have caught the splendour of life, Hunting it down the forested ways of the world, Do we not wear our hearts like a banner unfurled (Crowned with a chaplet of love, shod with the sandals of strife)? Now not a lustre of pain, nor an ocean of tears Nor pangs of death, nor any other thing That the old tristful gods on our heads may bring Can rob us of this one hour in the midst of the years. [pg 59] The New Age and the OldLike the small source of a smooth-flowing river, Like the pale dawn of a wonderful day, Comes the New Age, from High God, the good giver, Comes with the shouts of the children at play: As an old leaf whirls faster and faster From the sere branch that once gave it fair birth, Into the arms of the devil, its master, Be the old age swept away from the earth! [pg 60] To the CulturedSons of culture, God-given, First offspring of Heaven, Athletic and tanned, Well-built and not nervous, With your golf and your tweeds And your “noble editions,” Quiet lives and few needs (Say a thousand a year For your earthly career) Who can’t understand Discontent and seditions, May Heaven preserve us From being like you. What are we, what am I? Poor rough creatures, whose life Is “depressing” and “grey,” Is a heart-breaking strife With death and with shame And your polite laughter, Till—the world pass away In smoke and in flame, And some of us die, And some live on after To build it anew. [pg 61] AfterwardsAfterwards, when The old Gods’ hate On the riven earth No more is poured: When weapons of war Are all outworn What shall become Of the race of men? One shall go forth In the likeness of a child: Under sere skies Of a grey dawning: One shall go forth In the likeness of a child, And desolate places Shall spring and blossom: One shall go forth In the likeness of a child: And men shall sing And greatly rejoice: All men shall sing For the love that is in them, And he shall behold it And sing also. [pg 62] Domum redit PoetaO much desired from far away And long, I hold thee once again, Thou undiminished treasury Of small delights, yet nowise vain: The cat curled on the cosy hearth, The thrushes in the garden trees, The memories of younger years, The quiet voices, and the peace. [pg 63] MemoriesShapes in the mist, it is long since I saw you, Pale hands and faces, and quiet eyes, Crowned with a garland the dead years wrought you Out of remembrance that never dies: One among you is tall and supple Good to fight or to love beside, Only the stain of a deadly quarrel, Only that and the years divide: One there is with a face as honest, Heart as true, as the open sea, One who never betrayed a comrade— Death stands now betwixt him and me. One I loved with a passionate longing Born of worship and fierce despair, Dreamed that Heaven were only happy If at length I should find him there. Shapes in the mist, ye see me lonely, Lonely and sad in the dim firelight: How far now to the last of all battles? (Listen, the guns are loud to-night!) Whatever comes, I will strike once surely, Once because of an ancient tryst, Once for love of your dear dead faces Ere I come unto you, Shapes in the mist. [pg 64] IntercessionalThere is a place where voices Of great guns do not come, Where rifle, mine, and mortar For evermore are dumb: Where there is only silence, And peace eternal and rest, Set somewhere in the quiet isles Beyond Death’s starry West. O God, the God of battles, To us who intercede, Give only strength to follow Until there’s no more need, And grant us at that ending Of the unkindly quest To come unto the quiet isles Beyond Death’s starry West. [pg 65] April 1916Now spring is come upon the hills in France, And all the trees are delicately fair, As heeding not the great guns’ voice, by chance Brought down the valley on a wandering air: Now day by day upon the uplands bare Do gentle, toiling horses draw the plough, And birds sing often in the orchards where Spring wantons it with blossoms on her brow— Aye! but there is no peace in England now. O little isle amid unquiet seas, Though grisly messengers knock on many doors, Though there be many storms among your trees And all your banners rent with ancient wars; Yet such a grace and majesty are yours There be still some, whose glad heart suffereth All hate can bring from her misgotten stores, Telling themselves, so England’s self draw breath, That’s all the happiness on this side death. [pg 66] “Over the Hills and Hollows Green”Over the hills and hollows green The springtide air goes valiantly, Where many sainted singing larks And blessed primaveras be: But bitterly the springtide air Over the desert towns doth blow, About whose torn and shattered streets No more shall children’s footsteps go. [pg 67] SonnetTo-night the world is but a prison house, And kindly ways, and all the springing grass Are dungeon stones to him that may not pass Among them, save with anguish on his brows: And any wretched husbandman that ploughs The upland acres in his habit spare Is king, to those in palaces of glass Who sit with grief and weariness for spouse. O God, who madest first the world that we Might happy live, and praise its pleasantness In such wise as the angels never could, Wherefore are hearts, fashioned so wondrously, All spoiled and changed by human bitterness Into the likenesses of stone and wood? [pg 68] “O Long the Fiends of War shall dance”O long the fiends of war shall dance Upon the stricken fields of France: And long and long their grisly cry Shall echo up and smite the sky: O long and long the tears of God Shall fall upon a barren sod, Save when, of His great clemency, He gives men’s hearts in custody Of grim old kindly Death, who knows The mould is better than the rose. [pg 69] For R. Q. G.July 1916 O God, whose great inscrutable purposes (Seen only of the one all-seeing eye) Are as unchangeable as the azure sky, And as fulfilled of infinite mysteries: Are like a fast-locked castle without keys Whereof the gates are very strong and high, Impenetrable, and we poor fools die Nor even know what thing beyond them is: O God, by whom men’s lives are multiplied, Are scattered broadcast in the world like grain, And after long time reaped again and stored, O Thou who only canst be glorified By man’s own passion and the supreme pain, Accept this sacrifice of blood outpoured. [pg 70] “Sun and Shadow and Winds of Spring”Sun and shadow and winds of spring, Love and laughter and hope and fame, Cloud and storm-light over the hills, Tears and passion and sordid shame: All, all are but as quenchÈd fire And vanish’d smoke to him that lies Amid the silence of the trees Under the silence of the skies. [pg 71] “Let us tell Quiet Stories of Kind Eyes”Let us tell quiet stories of kind eyes And placid brows where peace and learning sate: Of misty gardens under evening skies Where four would walk of old, with steps sedate. Let’s have no word of all the sweat and blood, Of all the noise and strife and dust and smoke (We who have seen Death surging like a flood, Wave upon wave, that leaped and raced and broke). Or let’s sit silently, we three together, Around a wide hearth-fire that’s glowing red, Giving no thought to all the stormy weather That flies above the roof-tree overhead. And he, the fourth, that lies all silently In some far-distant and untended grave, Under the shadow of a shattered tree, Shall leave the company of the hapless brave, And draw nigh unto us for memory’s sake, Because a look, a word, a deed, a friend, Are bound with cords that never a man may break, Unto his heart for ever, until the end. [pg 72] “Save that Poetic Fire”Save that poetic fire Burns in the hidden heart, Save that the full-voiced choir Sings in a place apart, Man that’s of woman born, With all his imaginings, Were less than the dew of morn, Less than the least of things. [pg 73] The Burial of SophoclesThe First VersesGather great store of roses, crimson-red From ancient gardens under summer skies: New opened buds, and some that soon must shed Their leaves to earth, that all expectant lies; Some from the paths of poets’ wandering, Some from the places where young lovers meet, Some from the seats of dreamers pondering, And all most richly red, and honey-sweet. For in the splendour of the afternoon, When sunshine lingers on the glittering town And glorifies the temples wondrous-hewn All set about it like a deathless crown, We will go mingle with the solemn throng, With neither eyes that weep, nor hearts that bleed, That to his grave with slow, majestic song Bears down the latest of the godlike seed. Many a singer lies on distant isle Beneath the canopy of changing sky: Around them waves innumerable smile, And o’er their head the restless seabirds cry: But we will lay him far from sound of seas, Far from the jutting crags’ unhopeful gloom, Where there blows never wind save summer breeze, And where the growing rose may clasp his tomb. And thither in the splendid nights of spring, When stars in legions over heaven are flung, Shall come the ancient gods, all wondering Why he sings not that had so richly sung: [pg 74] There Heracles with peaceful foot shall press The springing herbage, and HephÆstus strong, Hera and Aphrodite’s loveliness, And the great giver of the choric song. And thither, after weary pilgrimage, From unknown lands beyond the hoary wave, Shall travellers through every coming age Approach to pluck a blossom from his grave: Some in the flush of youth, or in the prime, Whose life is still as heapÈd gold to spend, And some who have drunk deep of grief and time, And who yet linger half-afraid the end. The InterludeIt was upon a night of spring, Even the time when first do sing The new-returnÈd nightingales; Whenas all hills and woods and dales Are resonant with melody Of songs that die not, but shall be Unto the latest hour of time Beyond the life of word or rime— Whenas all brooks more softly flow Remembering lovers long ago That stood upon their banks and vowed, And love was with them like a cloud: There came one out of Athens town In a spun robe, with sandals brown, Just when the white ship of the moon Had first set sail, and many a rune Was written in the argent stars; His feet were set towards the hills Because he knew that there the rills Ran down like jewels, and fairy cars [pg 75] Galloped, maybe, among the dells, And airy sprites wove fitful spells Of gossamer and cold moonshine Which do most mistily entwine: And ever the hills called, and a voice Cried: “Soon, maybe, comes thy choice Twixt mortal immortality Such as shall never be again, ’Twixt the most passionate-pleasant pain And all the quiet, barren joys That old men prate about to boys.” ———— He wandered many nights and days— Whose morns were always crystal clear, As lay the world in still amaze Enchanted of the springing year, And all the nights with wakeful eyes Watched for another dawn to rise— Till at the last the mountain tops Received him, which like giant props Stand, lest the all-encircling sky Fall down, and men be crushed and die. And so he reached a curvÈd hill Whereon the hornÈd moon did seem Her richest radiance to spill In an inestimable stream, Like jewels rare of countless price, Or wizard magic turned to ice. ———— And as he reached the topmost crest of it, Lo! the Olympian majesties did sit In a most high and passionless conclave: They ate ambrosia with their deathless lips, And ever and anon the golden wave Flowed of the drink divine, which only strips This mortal frame of its mortality. And there, and there was Aphrodite, she [pg 76] That is more lovely than the golden dawn And from a ripple of the sea was born: And there was Hera, the imperious queen, And Dian’s chastity, that hunts unseen What time with spring the woodland boughs are green: And there was Pan with mirth and pleasantness, And Eros’ self that never knew distress Save for the love of the fair Cretan maid; There Hermes with the wings of speed arrayed, And awful Zeus, the king of gods and men, And ever at his feet Apollo sang A measure of changing harmonies that rang From that high mountain over all the world, And all the sails of fighting ships were furled, And men drew breath, and there was peace again. But him that saw, the sight like flame Or depths of waters overcame: He swooned, nor heard how ceased the choir Of strings upon Apollo’s lyre, Nor saw he how the sweet god stood And smiled on him in kindly mood, And stooped, and kissed him as he lay; Then lightly rose and turned away To join the bright immortal throng And make for them another song. The Last VersesO ageless nonpareil of stars That shinest through a mist of cloud, O light beyond the prison bars Remote, unwavering, and proud; Fortunate star and happy light, Ye benison the gloom of night. All hail, unfailing eye and hand, All hail, all hail, unsilenced voice, [pg 77] That makest dead men understand, The very dead in graves rejoice: Whose utterance, writ in ancient books, Shall always live, for him that looks. Many as leaves from autumn trees The years shall flutter from on high, And with their multiple decease The souls of men shall fall and die, Yet, while the empires turn to dust, You shall live on, because you must. O seven times happy he that dies After the splendid harvest-tide, When strong barns shield from winter skies The grain that’s rightly stored inside: There death shall scatter no more tears Than o’er the falling of the years: Aye, happy seven times is he Who enters not the silent doors Before his time, but tenderly Death beckons unto him, because There’s rest within for weary feet Now all the journey is complete. [pg 78] “So we lay down the Pen”So we lay down the pen, So we forbear the building of the rime, And bid our hearts be steel for times and a time Till ends the strife, and then, When the New Age is verily begun, God grant that we may do the things undone. ———— Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.
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