Chapter 2

She left the rosy morn, She left the fields of corn, 10 For twilight cold and lorn And water springs. Through sleep, as through a veil, She sees the sky look pale, And hears the nightingale That sadly sings.

Rest, rest, a perfect rest Shed over brow and breast; Her face is toward the west, The purple land. 20 She cannot see the grain Ripening on hill and plain; She cannot feel the rain Upon her hand.

Rest, rest, for evermore Upon a mossy shore; Rest, rest at the heart's core Till time shall cease: Sleep that no pain shall wake; Night that no morn shall break 30 Till joy shall overtake Her perfect peace.

AT HOME

When I was dead, my spirit turned To seek the much-frequented house: I passed the door, and saw my friends Feasting beneath green orange boughs; From hand to hand they pushed the wine, They sucked the pulp of plum and peach; They sang, they jested, and they laughed, For each was loved of each.

I listened to their honest chat: Said one: 'To-morrow we shall be 10 Plod plod along the featureless sands, And coasting miles and miles of sea.' Said one: 'Before the turn of tide We will achieve the eyrie-seat.' Said one: 'To-morrow shall be like To-day, but much more sweet.'

'To-morrow,' said they, strong with hope, And dwelt upon the pleasant way: 'To-morrow,' cried they, one and all, While no one spoke of yesterday. 20 Their life stood full at blessed noon; I, only I, had passed away: 'To-morrow and to-day,' they cried; I was of yesterday.

I shivered comfortless, but cast No chill across the tablecloth; I, all-forgotten, shivered, sad To stay, and yet to part how loth: I passed from the familiar room, I who from love had passed away, 30 Like the remembrance of a guest That tarrieth but a day.

A TRIAD

Sonnet

Three sang of love together: one with lips Crimson, with cheeks and bosom in a glow, Flushed to the yellow hair and finger-tips; And one there sang who soft and smooth as snow Bloomed like a tinted hyacinth at a show; And one was blue with famine after love, Who like a harpstring snapped rang harsh and low The burden of what those were singing of. One shamed herself in love; one temperately Grew gross in soulless love, a sluggish wife; One famished died for love. Thus two of three Took death for love and won him after strife; One droned in sweetness like a fattened bee: All on the threshold, yet all short of life.

LOVE FROM THE NORTH

I had a love in soft south land, Beloved through April far in May; He waited on my lightest breath, And never dared to say me nay.

He saddened if my cheer was sad, But gay he grew if I was gay; We never differed on a hair, My yes his yes, my nay his nay.

The wedding hour was come, the aisles Were flushed with sun and flowers that day; 10 I pacing balanced in my thoughts: 'It's quite too late to think of nay.'--

My bridegroom answered in his turn, Myself had almost answered 'yea:' When through the flashing nave I heard A struggle and resounding 'nay.'

Bridemaids and bridegroom shrank in fear, But I stood high who stood at bay: 'And if I answer yea, fair Sir, What man art thou to bar with nay?' 20

He was a strong man from the north, Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous grey: 'Put yea by for another time In which I will not say thee nay.'

He took me in his strong white arms, He bore me on his horse away O'er crag, morass, and hairbreadth pass, But never asked me yea or nay.

He made me fast with book and bell, With links of love he makes me stay; 30 Till now I've neither heart nor power Nor will nor wish to say him nay.

WINTER RAIN

Every valley drinks, Every dell and hollow: Where the kind rain sinks and sinks, Green of Spring will follow.

Yet a lapse of weeks Buds will burst their edges, Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks, In the woods and hedges;

Weave a bower of love For birds to meet each other, 10 Weave a canopy above Nest and egg and mother.

But for fattening rain We should have no flowers, Never a bud or leaf again But for soaking showers;

Never a mated bird In the rocking tree-tops, Never indeed a flock or herd To graze upon the lea-crops. 20

Lambs so woolly white, Sheep the sun-bright leas on, They could have no grass to bite But for rain in season.

We should find no moss In the shadiest places, Find no waving meadow grass Pied with broad-eyed daisies:

But miles of barren sand, With never a son or daughter, 30 Not a lily on the land, Or lily on the water.

COUSIN KATE

I was a cottage maiden Hardened by sun and air, Contented with my cottage mates, Not mindful I was fair. Why did a great lord find me out, And praise my flaxen hair? Why did a great lord find me out To fill my heart with care?

He lured me to his palace home-- Woe's me for joy thereof-- 10 To lead a shameless shameful life, His plaything and his love. He wore me like a silken knot, He changed me like a glove; So now I moan, an unclean thing, Who might have been a dove.

O Lady Kate, my cousin Kate, You grew more fair than I: He saw you at your father's gate, Chose you, and cast me by. 20 He watched your steps along the lane, Your work among the rye; He lifted you from mean estate To sit with him on high.

Because you were so good and pure He bound you with his ring: The neighbours call you good and pure, Call me an outcast thing. Even so I sit and howl in dust, You sit in gold and sing: 30 Now which of us has tenderer heart? You had the stronger wing.

O cousin Kate, my love was true, Your love was writ in sand: If he had fooled not me but you, If you stood where I stand, He'd not have won me with his love Nor bought me with his land; I would have spit into his face And not have taken his hand. 40

Yet I've a gift you have not got, And seem not like to get: For all your clothes and wedding-ring I've little doubt you fret. My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride, Cling closer, closer yet: Your father would give lands for one To wear his coronet.

NOBLE SISTERS

'Now did you mark a falcon, Sister dear, sister dear, Flying toward my window In the morning cool and clear? With jingling bells about her neck, But what beneath her wing? It may have been a ribbon, Or it may have been a ring.'-- 'I marked a falcon swooping At the break of day; 10 And for your love, my sister dove, I 'frayed the thief away.'--

'Or did you spy a ruddy hound, Sister fair and tall, Went snuffing round my garden bound, Or crouched by my bower wall? With a silken leash about his neck; But in his mouth may be A chain of gold and silver links, Or a letter writ to me.'-- 20 'I heard a hound, highborn sister, Stood baying at the moon; I rose and drove him from your wall Lest you should wake too soon.'--

'Or did you meet a pretty page Sat swinging on the gate; Sat whistling whistling like a bird, Or may be slept too late; With eaglets broidered on his cap, And eaglets on his glove? 30 If you had turned his pockets out, You had found some pledge of love.'-- 'I met him at this daybreak, Scarce the east was red: Lest the creaking gate should anger you, I packed him home to bed.'--

'Oh patience, sister. Did you see A young man tall and strong, Swift-footed to uphold the right And to uproot the wrong, 40 Come home across the desolate sea To woo me for his wife? And in his heart my heart is locked, And in his life my life.'-- 'I met a nameless man, sister, Hard by your chamber door: I said: Her husband loves her much. And yet she loves him more.'--

'Fie, sister, fie, a wicked lie, A lie, a wicked lie, 50 I have none other love but him, Nor will have till I die. And you have turned him from our door, And stabbed him with a lie: I will go seek him thro' the world In sorrow till I die.'-- 'Go seek in sorrow, sister, And find in sorrow too: If thus you shame our father's name My curse go forth with you.' 60

SPRING

Frost-locked all the winter, Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, What shall make their sap ascend That they may put forth shoots? Tips of tender green, Leaf, or blade, or sheath; Telling of the hidden life That breaks forth underneath, Life nursed in its grave by Death.

Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly, 10 Drips the soaking rain, By fits looks down the waking sun: Young grass springs on the plain; Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees; Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, Swollen with sap put forth their shoots; Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane; Birds sing and pair again.

There is no time like Spring, When life's alive in everything, 20 Before new nestlings sing, Before cleft swallows speed their journey back Along the trackless track-- God guides their wing, He spreads their table that they nothing lack,-- Before the daisy grows a common flower, Before the sun has power To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.

There is no time like Spring, Like Spring that passes by; 30 There is no life like Spring-life born to die,-- Piercing the sod, Clothing the uncouth clod, Hatched in the nest, Fledged on the windy bough, Strong on the wing: There is no time like Spring that passes by, Now newly born, and now Hastening to die.

THE LAMBS OF GRASMERE, 1860

The upland flocks grew starved and thinned: Their shepherds scarce could feed the lambs Whose milkless mothers butted them, Or who were orphaned of their dams. The lambs athirst for mother's milk Filled all the place with piteous sounds: Their mothers' bones made white for miles The pastureless wet pasture grounds.

Day after day, night after night, From lamb to lamb the shepherds went, 10 With teapots for the bleating mouths Instead of nature's nourishment. The little shivering gaping things Soon knew the step that brought them aid, And fondled the protecting hand, And rubbed it with a woolly head.

Then, as the days waxed on to weeks, It was a pretty sight to see These lambs with frisky heads and tails Skipping and leaping on the lea, 20 Bleating in tender, trustful tones, Resting on rocky crag or mound. And following the beloved feet That once had sought for them and found.

These very shepherds of their flocks, These loving lambs so meek to please, Are worthy of recording words And honour in their due degrees: So I might live a hundred years, And roam from strand to foreign strand, 30 Yet not forget this flooded spring And scarce-saved lambs of Westmoreland.

A BIRTHDAY

My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; 10 Carve it in doves, and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

REMEMBER

Sonnet

Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.

AFTER DEATH

Sonnet

The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. He leaned above me, thinking that I slept And could not hear him; but I heard him say: 'Poor child, poor child:' and as he turned away Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold That hid my face, or take my hand in his, Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: He did not love me living; but once dead He pitied me; and very sweet it is To know he still is warm though I am cold.

AN END

Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet, Whereon we may sit In the quiet evening hours.

He was born in the Spring, And died before the harvesting: On the last warm summer day 10 He left us; he would not stay For Autumn twilight cold and grey. Sit we by his grave, and sing He is gone away.

To few chords and sad and low Sing we so: Be our eyes fixed on the grass Shadow-veiled as the years pass While we think of all that was In the long ago. 20

MY DREAM

Hear now a curious dream I dreamed last night Each word whereof is weighed and sifted truth.

I stood beside Euphrates while it swelled Like overflowing Jordan in its youth: It waxed and coloured sensibly to sight; Till out of myriad pregnant waves there welled Young crocodiles, a gaunt blunt-featured crew, Fresh-hatched perhaps and daubed with birthday dew. The rest if I should tell, I fear my friend My closest friend would deem the facts untrue; 10 And therefore it were wisely left untold; Yet if you will, why, hear it to the end.

Each crocodile was girt with massive gold And polished stones that with their wearers grew: But one there was who waxed beyond the rest, Wore kinglier girdle and a kingly crown, Whilst crowns and orbs and sceptres starred his breast. All gleamed compact and green with scale on scale, But special burnishment adorned his mail And special terror weighed upon his frown; 20 His punier brethren quaked before his tail, Broad as a rafter, potent as a flail. So he grew lord and master of his kin: But who shall tell the tale of all their woes? An execrable appetite arose, He battened on them, crunched, and sucked them in. He knew no law, he feared no binding law, But ground them with inexorable jaw: The luscious fat distilled upon his chin, Exuded from his nostrils and his eyes, 30 While still like hungry death he fed his maw; Till every minor crocodile being dead And buried too, himself gorged to the full, He slept with breath oppressed and unstrung claw. Oh marvel passing strange which next I saw: In sleep he dwindled to the common size, And all the empire faded from his coat. Then from far off a wingèd vessel came, Swift as a swallow, subtle as a flame: I know not what it bore of freight or host, 40 But white it was as an avenging ghost. It levelled strong Euphrates in its course; Supreme yet weightless as an idle mote It seemed to tame the waters without force Till not a murmur swelled or billow beat: Lo, as the purple shadow swept the sands, The prudent crocodile rose on his feet And shed appropriate tears and wrung his hands.

What can it mean? you ask. I answer not For meaning, but myself must echo, What? 50 And tell it as I saw it on the spot.

SONG

Oh roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime; But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time.

Oh violets for the grave of youth, And bay for those dead in their prime; Give me the withered leaves I chose Before in the old time.

THE HOUR AND THE GHOST

BRIDE

O love, love, hold me fast, He draws me away from thee; I cannot stem the blast, Nor the cold strong sea: Far away a light shines Beyond the hills and pines; It is lit for me.

BRIDEGROOM

I have thee close, my dear, No terror can come near; Only far off the northern light shines clear. 10

GHOST

Come with me, fair and false, To our home, come home. It is my voice that calls: Once thou wast not afraid When I woo'd, and said, 'Come, our nest is newly made'-- Now cross the tossing foam.

BRIDE

Hold me one moment longer, He taunts me with the past, His clutch is waxing stronger, 20 Hold me fast, hold me fast. He draws me from thy heart, And I cannot withhold: He bids my spirit depart With him into the cold:-- Oh bitter vows of old!

BRIDEGROOM

Lean on me, hide thine eyes: Only ourselves, earth and skies, Are present here: be wise.

GHOST

Lean on me, come away, 30 I will guide and steady: Come, for I will not stay: Come, for house and bed are ready. Ah, sure bed and house, For better and worse, for life and death: Goal won with shortened breath: Come, crown our vows.

BRIDE

One moment, one more word, While my heart beats still, While my breath is stirred 40 By my fainting will. O friend forsake me not, Forget not as I forgot: But keep thy heart for me, Keep thy faith true and bright; Through the lone cold winter night Perhaps I may come to thee.

BRIDEGROOM

Nay peace, my darling, peace: Let these dreams and terrors cease: Who spoke of death or change or aught but ease? 50

GHOST

O fair frail sin, O poor harvest gathered in! Thou shalt visit him again To watch his heart grow cold; To know the gnawing pain I knew of old; To see one much more fair Fill up the vacant chair, Fill his heart, his children bear:-- While thou and I together 60 In the outcast weather Toss and howl and spin.

A SUMMER WISH

Live all thy sweet life thro', Sweet Rose, dew-sprent, Drop down thine evening dew To gather it anew When day is bright: I fancy thou wast meant Chiefly to give delight.

Sing in the silent sky, Glad soaring bird; Sing out thy notes on high 10 To sunbeam straying by Or passing cloud; Heedless if thou art heard Sing thy full song aloud.

Oh that it were with me As with the flower; Blooming on its own tree For butterfly and bee Its summer morns: That I might bloom mine hour 20 A rose in spite of thorns.

Oh that my work were done As birds' that soar Rejoicing in the sun: That when my time is run And daylight too, I so might rest once more Cool with refreshing dew.

AN APPLE GATHERING

I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple-tree And wore them all that evening in my hair: Then in due season when I went to see I found no apples there.

With dangling basket all along the grass As I had come I went the selfsame track: My neighbours mocked me while they saw me pass So empty-handed back.

Lilian and Lilias smiled in trudging by, Their heaped-up basket teased me like a jeer; 10 Sweet-voiced they sang beneath the sunset sky, Their mother's home was near.

Plump Gertrude passed me with her basket full, A stronger hand than hers helped it along; A voice talked with her through the shadows cool More sweet to me than song.

Ah Willie, Willie, was my love less worth Than apples with their green leaves piled above? I counted rosiest apples on the earth Of far less worth than love. 20

So once it was with me you stooped to talk Laughing and listening in this very lane: To think that by this way we used to walk We shall not walk again!

I let my neighbours pass me, ones and twos And groups; the latest said the night grew chill, And hastened: but I loitered, while the dews Fell fast I loitered still.

SONG

Two doves upon the selfsame branch, Two lilies on a single stem, Two butterflies upon one flower:-- Oh happy they who look on them.

Who look upon them hand in hand Flushed in the rosy summer light; Who look upon them hand in hand And never give a thought to night.

MAUDE CLARE

Out of the church she followed them With a lofty step and mien: His bride was like a village maid, Maude Clare was like a queen.

'Son Thomas,' his lady mother said, With smiles, almost with tears: 'May Nell and you but live as true As we have done for years;

'Your father thirty years ago Had just your tale to tell; 10 But he was not so pale as you, Nor I so pale as Nell.'

My lord was pale with inward strife, And Nell was pale with pride; My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare Or ever he kissed the bride.

'Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord, Have brought my gift,' she said: 'To bless the hearth, to bless the board, To bless the marriage-bed. 20

'Here's my half of the golden chain You wore about your neck, That day we waded ankle-deep For lilies in the beck:

'Here's my half of the faded leaves We plucked from budding bough, With feet amongst the lily leaves,-- The lilies are budding now.'

He strove to match her scorn with scorn, He faltered in his place: 30 'Lady,' he said,--'Maude Clare,' he said,-- 'Maude Clare:'--and hid his face.

She turn'd to Nell: 'My Lady Nell, I have a gift for you; Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone, Or, were it flowers, the dew.

'Take my share of a fickle heart, Mine of a paltry love: Take it or leave it as you will, I wash my hands thereof.' 40

'And what you leave,' said Nell, 'I'll take, And what you spurn, I'll wear; For he's my lord for better and worse, And him I love, Maude Clare.

'Yea, though you're taller by the head, More wise, and much more fair; I'll love him till he loves me best, Me best of all, Maude Clare.'

ECHO

Come to me in the silence of the night; Come in the speaking silence of a dream; Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright As sunlight on a stream; Come back in tears, O memory, hope, love of finished years.

Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet, Whose wakening should have been in Paradise, Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet; Where thirsting longing eyes 10 Watch the slow door That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live My very life again though cold in death: Come back to me in dreams, that I may give Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: Speak low, lean low, As long ago, my love, how long ago!

MY SECRET

I tell my secret? No indeed, not I: Perhaps some day, who knows? But not to-day; it froze, and blows, and snows, And you're too curious: fie! You want to hear it? well: Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell.