Part 1
PRESS NOTICES
"'TWIXT EARTH AND STARS"
"Miss Radclyffe-Hall is a poet. She has a gift of expression always felicitous, not infrequently spontaneous, and her rhythms are really musical. Moreover, the level of her book is uniformly high. In writing of nature her intuition and sympathy are remarkable. Nearly every poem contains something which clings to your memory and sets you thinking.... The main note is vigorous, joyous youth, thankful for the right to exist in such a lovely world.
"If Miss Radclyffe-Hall acquires a higher finish she may confidently look forward to taking her place among the poetesses of this country. It is not often one can so honestly recommend the public to buy a volume of poetry."—_The Queen_, 4th July, 1906.
"The author of ''Twixt Earth and Stars' has a real talent for versification, and the subjects chosen are all poetical, added to which she has real feeling and the power to express it. I am so charmed with this little book of poems that I cannot help recommending it to you, that you also may enjoy it."—_The Lady_, 5th July, 1906.
"A little book of short poems, most of which are very pleasant, being marked by sincerity and sweetness."—_Evening Standard_, 21st July, 1906.
"''Twixt Earth and Stars' is a dainty little volume of verse, some of which is of considerable merit."—_Publisher and Bookseller_, 28th July, 1906.
_A SHEAF OF VERSES_
A SHEAF OF VERSES
POEMS
BY
MARGUERITE RADCLYFFE-HALL
AUTHOR OF "'TWIXT EARTH AND STARS"
JOHN AND EDWARD BUMPUS LTD. 350 OXFORD STREET, LONDON, W.
MCMVIII
DEDICATED TO SAD DAYS AND GLAD DAYS
CONTENTS
PAGE
Kinship 1
The Moon's Message 2
On a Battle Field 4
To —— 6
The All-Mother's Awakening 7
A Summer Thought 10
Moth to the Flame 11
A Twilight Fancy 12
The Two Angels 13
In the Hardt Wald 15
The Quest of the White Heather 18
One Night 21
A Welcome 22
White Butterflies 23
Thoughts 26
The Cloud and the Mountain 27
An August Night 29
Spring Hopes 30
My Choice 31
In Couples 32
House Hunting 33
Re-incarnation 35
Ode to Sappho 36
Incompatible 39
Confidence 41
Found Wanting 43
In Darkness 44
Brother Filippo 45
An Autumn Ride 52
Before Dawn 56
My Castle 57
Malvern 58
To my little Cousin 60
Trepidation 61
At Meissen 62
Winter on the Zuyder Zee 64
Ardour 67
A Complaint 68
The Laying of Ghosts 69
To a Baby 72
O Lady Mine 73
Butterfly 74
To —— 75
A Windy June 76
Hollyhocks 78
The Truth 79
A Mountain Path 80
A Pearl Necklace 81
To Roses 82
On the Sea-shore 83
My Valley 84
To —— 85
Finis 86
Old Verses 91
On the Road to Tennaley Town 92
A little Dirge 93
The Poet 94
A Night in Italy 95
Hands and Lips 96
We Two 97
To —— 98
North and South 99
On the Hill Top 101
The Moon 102
Speculation 103
The Meeting 104
To Some One! 105
Out at Sea 106
Faith 107
The Scar 108
Comparison 109
An Interlude 110
A SHEAF OF VERSES
KINSHIP
Sunlight and shade, Moorland and glade, Evening and day, Winter and May, Troubadour breeze, Amorous trees, Pondering Hills, Gold daffodils Born of the Spring, Thrushes that sing Passionate notes From downy throats, Be unto me Each one of ye Sister or brother; And Earth be my mother!
THE MOON'S MESSAGE
The Moon looked in at the window, And smiled as I wrote to you, She lay like a frail white maiden, In shadowy folds of blue.
Her bosom was bare and tender, And slight, for she still was young, And down from her dainty shoulders A mantle of starlight hung.
She wooed with a wanton ardour The winds till they lulled to sighs, And night was transformed with beauty, For love of her limpid eyes.
The soul of the cloudy darkness Awakened beneath her beams, The sky swooned away with longing, The Earth stirred in tender dreams.
Alas! for the moon was cruel, Far colder than snow was she, Her heart was a burnt-out Planet, Her light but a fallacy:
And she looked at my open letter, And called from her couch on high, "Pray give my love to my Sister Who is even more cold than I."
ON A BATTLE FIELD
Once o'er this hill whereon we stand, Just you and I, hand clasp'd in hand Amid the silence, and the space, A mighty battle rent the air, With dying curse and choking prayer; 'Mid shot and shell death stalked apace.
Is it conceivable to you— So much at peace—because we two Are close together, or to me? The silent beauty of the noon Seems like a Heaven-granted boon, Aglow with tender ecstasy.
A little mist of hazy blue Is slowly hiding from our view The city's domes and slender spires, As thro' a bridal veil the sun Subdued and shy lights one by one The virgin clouds with blushing fires.
The wind has fallen; very low We hear his wings brush past, and know He creeps away to dream and rest; How sweet to be alone, to feel You breathe one longing sigh, and steal A little closer to my breast.
Is anything worth while but this? We may not perish for a kiss, Yet thus it were not hard to die! War strews the earth with countless dead, And after all is done and said, The end is love, and you and I!
TO ——
The world that thro' its vale of tears Looks out upon Eternity Has yet one smile for us, and we Still youthful in the count of years, May add our smiles, and kiss the lips Of life, for whosoever sips The wine within that ruddy bowl Has quaffed defiance to the spheres. Beloved, see, I drink thereto! And pass the goblet on to you.
THE ALL-MOTHER'S AWAKENING
To-day the still, deep mind of the Earth Has steeped in longing her wistful eyes, A sense of wonder and glad surprise Thrills thro' her heart with a thought of birth.
The grave All-Mother looks up and smiles, Her breath comes balmy from sunlit mouth, Her bosom bare to the ardent south Is fanned by perfume from fruitful miles.
All winter long has the dear Earth slept In drifts of snow, 'neath the bane of frost, Her children sought for the Mother lost, Yet found her not, and in anguish wept.
All winter long have my senses cried For warmth of sun, and the blue of sky, The hard north answered to mock my sigh, And all the glory of life denied.
The cold mists drifting on land and sea, Like ghosts of passions burnt out and chill, Smote heart and soul with the fear of ill, That cast its awfulness over me.
The dank gray sails, and the dank gray shore, They melted each in the other's face, With clammy kiss, in a wan embrace That left them colder than e'en before.
And thro' the boughs of the moss-grown trees The sap flowed sluggish, or not at all, While here and there would a dead leaf fall, Like thought of harrowing memories.
Then from the heart of the Universe There rose a wail of unending woe, An anguished prayer from the deeps below: "Oh! Mother, lift from our souls the curse!"
"Oh! Mother, quicken thy sacred womb, With fire that throbs in the veins of Spring, Behold the numbness of everything, And only thou can avert the doom."
"Oh! Mother, hear us!" But silent still The Earth slept on, as it were in death. Her ice-bound bosom stirred not with breath, So fast she lay 'neath the winter's will.
I joined my prayer to the wind and trees, I joined my cry to the striving soil, I said, "Oh! Mother, our endless toil Has made us sicken with miseries.
"Rise up! and help us again to live, Rise up! uncover thy fruitful breast, We faint in winter's unrestful rest, We burn with longings to love and give."
And as I spoke came a voice more strong Than all creation's, o'er land and sea It called our Mother to ecstasy, And lo! she stirred, who had slept so long.
She stirred, she opened her drowsy eyes, And bending down from the dome above, Beheld the form of embodied Love, As Spring stepped Earthward from Paradise.
A SUMMER THOUGHT
I often think that all those vast desires For purer joys, that thrill the human heart, Vague yearnings such as solitude inspires, That nameless something silence can impart,
Could after all be quenched by simple things, Whose spirits dwell within the wide-eyed flowers, Or haunt deep glades, where scent of primrose clings About the garments of the passing hours.
MOTH TO THE FLAME
Moth to the flame! Fool that you be, Life's but a game, Love is the same, Better go free!
Moth to the fire! Madness your fate; Burnt of desire, If you expire, Joy comes too late.
Moth to the kiss Bringing you death! "Gladly for this Agonized bliss, With my last breath Will I adore As ne'er before!" Foolish Moth saith.
A TWILIGHT FANCY
Dear, give me the tips of your fingers To hold in this scented gloom, 'Mid the sighs of the dying roses, That steal through the breeze-swept room;
I would have you but lightly touch me, A phantom might stir the dress, In its passing, of some lost lover With just such a faint caress;
Or a butterfly wan with summer Brush thus with his down-flecked wings The bells of the altar lilies He touches, and lightly rings.
So give me the tips of your fingers, Not your hand, lest I break the spell Of the moment with too much passion, And lose what I love so well.
THE TWO ANGELS
Once Youth and Innocence, side by side, With flaming swords at a garden gate Stood forth in silence, to watch and wait, Lest lust and evil their might defied.
Love's rarest fruits in that garden grew, And lo! a Pilgrim of pain and sin Grown tired, would gladly have entered in, And washed his soul in the gleaming dew.
He looked at Youth, and the Angel said: "Behold me young, and behold me weak; If you but crush me, the joy you seek Shall quench desire on a rose-strewn bed,
"Yet oh! I pray you another hour, For should you enter this Holy place, My soul is given again to space, And I must die as a blighted flower."
Then all the sorrow and all the shame, That life had taught him to understand, Rose up, and fettered the Pilgrim's hand, And murmur'd: "Youth is a sacred name."
He looked at Innocence, nude and white, And all unconscious she met his gaze; Her eyes were soft as an evening haze, Her red lips fashioned to give delight.
She sighed, "I know not the boon you ask, But Nature sent me to guard the way That leads to realms of Eternal day; I may not shrink from the Mother's task.
"Yet these fair limbs that are pure as snow, Should you but sully by thought or deed Must droop and fade as a broken reed, That every wind of the earth may blow."
Then all the goodness that he had missed, Each dream of sweetness that passed him by, Rose up, and cried: "Thou shalt still deny Thyself"—and Innocence stood unkissed.
IN THE HARDT WALD
A road disused these many years, O'er which the grass has grown Between two rows of silent pines, That stretch in straight, unbroken lines Away to plains unknown.
Long ruts that passing wagons made In days whose records die Form trenches for the frailer flowers, That timid of more open bowers Secure in hiding lie.
And in those deep impressions there, Where patient beasts have trod, With stems in dainty green array, And faces turned to meet the day, Grow sprays of golden-rod,
'Mid sunbeams slanting thro' the wood The ardent Afternoon Steals like a lover fond, and dumb, Upon his mistress Earth, o'ercome With many a tender boon;
And that she sooner shall respond To his awakening fires, He summons from each fairy glade Wee winged things, to serenade This nymph of his desires.
So full of mystic power and life Is this forgotten place That I may scarcely dare intrude My presence and my lighter mood, Lest stepping I deface
Some masterpiece of moss or bloom, That Dryad hands have wrought, Perchance my very humanness May make this potent charm the less, That solitude has taught.
I fear to tread upon a branch, For if beneath my feet It breaks 'twould thus affright the bird Whose tender music I have heard In yonder green retreat;
And who am I that I should dare Gainsay the Noon's behest; Or penetrate this peaceful sphere, And bring an agony of fear To some dumb creature's breast?
Within this forest night and day An endless hymn of praise From out the heart of Nature wells, That once again perfection dwells In her profanèd ways,
That living green conceals the scars Made by relentless man, While in the deepest sylvan glades Sound faint and far thro' emerald shades The crystal pipes of Pan.
THE QUEST OF THE WHITE HEATHER
Schwartz Wald
I sought at dawn for the sweet white heather, In hiding among the blue, The earth was warm with the summer weather, The flowers still damp with dew.
I moved a stone with my foot in walking, A lizard ran out in fear, Two tiny streams to each other talking Complained that I came so near.
And all alone on the side of the mountain I spoke to the new-born Day, Oh! help me to gather some rare white heather Sweet Morning, show me the way!
A big stag beetle crawled close in wonder, A grasshopper chirped of rain, A bee just pushing some flowers asunder Buzzed loud in his vast disdain.
The pines swayed gently, as though with laughter, They knew what I came to seek! A thistledown that the breeze ran after Brushed lightly against my cheek.
And all alone on the side of the mountain I spoke to the new born Day, Oh! help me to gather some rare white heather, Sweet Morning, show me the way!
A trout jumped high with a rainbow shudder, To see how the mortals look, Then swayed his tail like a silver rudder, And swam away in the brook.
I think I heard all the Pixies saying "No heather that's white you'll find!" I know I saw little Gnome-folk playing Where shadowy boughs reclined—
And all alone on the side of the mountain I spoke to the new born Day, O help me to gather some rare white heather, Sweet Morning, show me the way!
Alas! alas! for the fairy flower, My feet grew weary in vain, I sought for luck thro' each sunlit bower, To find it truant again.
Then while I paused on the side of the mountain The stillness was cleft apart, And Morning cried "He who seeks white heather Must find it deep in his heart!"
ONE NIGHT
I stood beside you in the dark, And felt the magic of the night Steal o'er my senses, 'til they swooned, And mists of passion dimmed my sight.
The stillness made me dumb, those words I dared not utter choked my breath, Each crushing each, as mad with life They rose, to die a silent death.
My lips grew dry beneath the fire Of kisses that they feign would give, And every pulse, with answering beat, Throbbed in its eagerness to live.
A WELCOME
Dear Ghost, across a wind-swept sphere You wander back again to me, And I am not afraid, for see I bid you rest beside me here!
I press your icy lips to mine, Since you and I are almost one Can I condemn what you have done To render fruitless the divine?
Some day perchance our weary task May finish, and we two will stand Before the Maker, hand in hand, There will be much that we shall ask!
WHITE BUTTERFLIES
Schwartz Wald
The heat of the mid-day has smitten the forest-land dumb! The mountains are closing their eyes in a languorous dream, The boulders stand stark, where the torrents once hastened to come, For Earth in her passion is wholly consuming their stream.
The ardour and terror of living is rife in the air, The air that is breathless, and stranger to motion or sound, A rapture so potent it seems near akin to despair Is drawing the life-blood in mist, from the sun-ravished ground.
And out thro' this region grown tense with creation's desire, Inconsequent, fragile as thistledown wafted by breeze, Two butterflies flutter, like snow-flakes that fall upon fire, Far into the flame-land, that stretches away from the trees.
White butterflies, innocent-looking and soft as a sigh, In quest of what blossoms, what mystical pleasures, who knows? Close one to the other they hover now low and now high, Like thoughts that are breathed from the heart of an opening rose.
Vague spirits that drift o'er the infinite tide of the earth, As jewels of foam, on the passion-torn breast of the sea, They know not the hour of their ending, the cause of their birth, A moment of time or a year, they rejoice but to be!
Around them the problem of life, with its pain and its joy, Impregnates the noon with a sense of some marvellous power, Above them, grown potent with strength to create or destroy, The shafts of the sun, that have smitten and withered the flower.
And still with frail bodies unmoved by the vastness of things These fairy white butterflies flutter like spirits of light, They pause for an instant, then spreading their tremulous wings, Fly into the infinite, fading away from my sight.
THOUGHTS
A drop of dew that on a rose-bud clings, A ray of sunshine in a world of Springs, A bird, who singing from some hidden tree, Is bathed in streams of endless melody,
An open flower you trod on as you passed, The purple shadow that your passing cast, A breath of wind that lingered on your brow, An emerald leaf fresh shaken from the bough,
A smile of hope on lips that you delight, A grateful word from one whom you requite For some small service, or a little sigh That fans your senses as it flutters by, These things to you how much they mean! While I?...
THE CLOUD AND THE MOUNTAIN
A little white Cloud loved the Mountain, She hung in the sky all day, And gazed with rather a timid smile To where, beneath her full many a mile, The earth and the loved one lay.
The Mountain was silent and lonely, And grim in the light of dawn, And ever and aye he cast his eyes In longing hope to the distant skies Where little white clouds are born.
Till a breeze in the evening passing Took pity upon her vow, And very tenderly lifted down The virgin Cloud, till her fleecy crown Was set on the Mountain's brow.
And they loved with a silent ardour So great that she soon was slain, And drop by drop from her tender breast The life-blood flowed o'er his rock-bound crest, And fell to the earth in rain.
But she left him to keep for ever, As solace in endless woe Her soul, and now through the changing years, Come shine, come shade, or come smiles, or tears, It lies on his breast as snow.
AN AUGUST NIGHT
Hot with the ardour of the sun, Whose burning lips had slain the noon, The golden pallor of the moon Was but an added fire, o'ercome With memories she swooned away, While I, grown weary with the day Sought on my balcony to find Some solace for my groping mind, But lo! the awful night was fraught With anguish, from the noontide caught; The dark was breathless, and the skies Filled with a thousand prying eyes But scoffed to see my soul's despair, And flung me back my tortured prayer.
SPRING HOPES
SONG
Dear, perchance 'neath the frost and snow One little golden flower is sleeping, You shall find it, for you will know Whither at dawn the sun goes peeping.
Come then sweetheart, we two will go Hand in hand, and a truce to weeping, If, in spite of the winter's woe, Safe in Nature's maternal keeping Under the frost rime and under the snow, One little primrose is daintily sleeping.
MY CHOICE
I have chosen a hill very solemn and tall, To shelter me. I have chosen a home very humble and small, Where I would be.
I have chosen a wind very fragrant and gay, To kiss my mouth. I have chosen a view, stretching ever away, When I look south.
I have chosen a glow that the sunlight shall bring When morning calls. I have chosen a choir of the thrushes to sing When twilight falls.
I have chosen a shrine where my spirit may pray, Blessing its birth. I have chosen a breast where my head I can lay, Sweet Mother Earth!
IN COUPLES
There are two happy birds in the tree, There are two happy stars in the sky, There are two happy waves in the sea, There are two happy clouds drifting by, There are two happy mortals, since we Are together, just you dear, and I.
HOUSE HUNTING
Where shall we make us a cosy home, Up in a high pine tree? Suppose the squirrel deserts his nest, And we could only grow small and rest Under the twigs, laid so daintily, Up in the high pine tree!
Where shall we build us a lovely house, Under the Ocean deep? Suppose the fishes would swim away, And leave a palace of coral gay, With seaweed gardens where moonbeams sleep, Under the Ocean deep!
Where shall we find an enchanted spot, Up in the fields of sky? Suppose the rainbow bends slowly down, And we walk over to Cloudy Town, Golden with beams from the morning's eye, Up in the fields of sky!
How shall we live out our days, we two, Safely where no harm parts? Suppose we fetter our lives with love, More fair than ocean, or skies above, And learn to dwell in each other's hearts, Safely where no harm parts.
RE-INCARNATION
Meeting you I felt a thrill, Strangely sad, and strangely sweet! Some compelling force of will, Sprung from sympathies complete, Sympathies, that rose again After death's ennobling pain.
ODE TO SAPPHO
If not from Phaon I must hope for ease, Ah! let me seek it from the raging seas: To raging seas unpitied I'll remove; And either cease to live or cease to love.
OVID'S _Heroic Epistle_, XV.
Immortal Lesbian! canst thou still behold From some far sphere wherein thy soul doth sing This earth, that once was thine, while glimmered gold The joyous beams of youth's forgotten spring?
Can thine unfathomed eyes embrace this sea, Whose ebb and flow once echoed in thy brain? Whose tides bear record of thine ecstasy And thy despair, that in its arms hath lain?
Those love-burnt lips! Can death have quenched their fire? Whose words oft stir our senses to unrest? Whose eager ardour caught and held desire, A searing flame against thy living breast?
Passion-wan Lesbian, in that awful place Where spirits wander lost without a name Thou still art Sappho, and thine ardent face Lights up the gloom with love's enduring flame.
Oh! Goddess, woman, lover, all divine And yet divinely mortal, where thou art Comes not as cadence from some song of thine Each throbbing beat that stirs the human heart?