Chapter 8

After the night, and before the day, One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping-- Watching, weeping for one away.

There came a footstep climbing the stair; Some one standing out on the landing Shook the door like a puff of air--

Shook the door, and in he passed. Did he enter? In the room centre Stood her husband: the door shut fast. 30

'O Robin, but you are cold-- Chilled with the night-dew: so lily-white you Look like a stray lamb from our fold.

'O Robin, but you are late: Come and sit near me--sit here and cheer me.'-- (Blue the flame burnt in the grate.)

'Lay not down your head on my breast: I cannot hold you, kind wife, nor fold you In the shelter that you love best.

'Feel not after my clasping hand: 40 I am but a shadow, come from the meadow Where many lie, but no tree can stand.

'We are trees which have shed their leaves: Our heads lie low there, but no tears flow there; Only I grieve for my wife who grieves.

'I could rest if you would not moan Hour after hour; I have no power To shut my ears where I lie alone.

'I could rest if you would not cry; But there's no sleeping while you sit weeping-- 50 Watching, weeping so bitterly.'--

'Woe's me! woe's me! for this I have heard. Oh night of sorrow!--oh black to-morrow! Is it thus that you keep your word?

'O you who used so to shelter me Warm from the least wind--why, now the east wind Is warmer than you, whom I quake to see.

'O my husband of flesh and blood, For whom my mother I left, and brother, And all I had, accounting it good, 60

'What do you do there, underground, In the dark hollow? I'm fain to follow. What do you do there?--what have you found?'--

'What I do there I must not tell: But I have plenty: kind wife, content ye: It is well with us--it is well.

'Tender hand hath made our nest; Our fear is ended, our hope is blended With present pleasure, and we have rest.'--

'Oh, but Robin, I'm fain to come, 70 If your present days are so pleasant; For my days are so wearisome.

'Yet I'll dry my tears for your sake: Why should I tease you, who cannot please you Any more with the pains I take?'

MEMORY

I

I nursed it in my bosom while it lived, I hid it in my heart when it was dead; In joy I sat alone, even so I grieved Alone and nothing said.

I shut the door to face the naked truth, I stood alone--I faced the truth alone, Stripped bare of self-regard or forms or ruth Till first and last were shown.

I took the perfect balances and weighed; No shaking of my hand disturbed the poise; 10 Weighed, found it wanting: not a word I said, But silent made my choice.

None know the choice I made; I make it still. None know the choice I made and broke my heart, Breaking mine idol: I have braced my will Once, chosen for once my part.

I broke it at a blow, I laid it cold, Crushed in my deep heart where it used to live. My heart dies inch by inch; the time grows old, Grows old in which I grieve. 20

II

I have a room whereinto no one enters Save I myself alone: There sits a blessed memory on a throne, There my life centres.

While winter comes and goes--oh tedious comer!-- And while its nip-wind blows; While bloom the bloodless lily and warm rose Of lavish summer.

If any should force entrance he might see there One buried yet not dead, 30 Before whose face I no more bow my head Or bend my knee there;

But often in my worn life's autumn weather I watch there with clear eyes, And think how it will be in Paradise When we're together.

A ROYAL PRINCESS

I, a princess, king-descended, decked with jewels, gilded, drest, Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast, For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west.

Two and two my guards behind, two and two before, Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore; Me, poor dove, that must not coo--eagle that must not soar.

All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow That are costly, out of season as the seasons go.

All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace 10 Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place, Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face.

Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon, Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne; There I sit uplift and upright, there I sit alone.

Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end; My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend-- O my father! O my mother! have you ne'er a friend?

As I am a lofty princess, so my father is A lofty king, accomplished in all kingly subtilties, 20 Holding in his strong right hand world-kingdoms' balances.

He has quarrelled with his neighbours, he has scourged his foes; Vassal counts and princes follow where his pennon goes, Long-descended valiant lords whom the vulture knows,

On whose track the vulture swoops, when they ride in state To break the strength of armies and topple down the great: Each of these my courteous servant, none of these my mate.

My father counting up his strength sets down with equal pen So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men; These for slaughter, these for breeding, with the how and when. 30

Some to work on roads, canals; some to man his ships; Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips; Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips.

Once it came into my heart, and whelmed me like a flood, That these too are men and women, human flesh and blood; Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like mud.

Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay: On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of grey, My father frowning at the fare seemed every dish to weigh.

I sat beside them sole princess in my exalted place, 40 My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais: A mirror showed me I look old and haggard in the face;

It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon, Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known, They laugh by day, they sleep by night; ah me, what is a throne?

The singing men and women sang that night as usual, The dancers danced in pairs and sets, but music had a fall, A melancholy windy fall as at a funeral.

Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept; My ladies loosed my golden chain; meantime I could have wept 50 To think of some in galling chains whether they waked or slept.

I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on, They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon, They lit my shaded silver lamp, and left me there alone.

A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said: 'Men are clamouring, women, children, clamouring to be fed; Men like famished dogs are howling in the streets for bread.'

So two whispered by my door, not thinking I could hear, Vulgar naked truth, ungarnished for a royal ear; Fit for cooping in the background, not to stalk so near. 60

But I strained my utmost sense to catch this truth, and mark: 'There are families out grazing like cattle in the park.' 'A pair of peasants must be saved even if we build an ark.'

A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way; One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day; One was my youngest maid as sweet and white as cream in May.

Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp; Voices said: 'Picked soldiers have been summoned from the camp To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and stamp.'

'Howl and stamp?' one answered: 'They made free to hurl a stone 70 At the minister's state coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown.' 'There's work then for the soldiers, for this rank crop must be mown.'

'One I saw, a poor old fool with ashes on his head, Whimpering because a girl had snatched his crust of bread: Then he dropped; when some one raised him, it turned out he was dead.'

'After us the deluge,' was retorted with a laugh: 'If bread's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff.' 'While I've a loaf they're welcome to my blessing and the chaff.'

These passed. The king: stand up. Said my father with a smile: 'Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile, 80 She's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?'

He too left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait,-- (I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate--) Or shall I work the last gold stitch into my veil of state;

Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene, There's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between; Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen?

Again I caught my father's voice in sharp word of command: 'Charge!' a clash of steel: 'Charge again, the rebels stand. Smite and spare not, hand to hand; smite and spare not, hand to hand.'

There swelled a tumult at the gate, high voices waxing higher; 91 A flash of red reflected light lit the cathedral spire; I heard a cry for faggots, then I heard a yell for fire.

'Sit and roast there with your meat, sit and bake there with your bread, You who sat to see us starve,' one shrieking woman said: 'Sit on your throne and roast with your crown upon your head.'

Nay, this thing will I do, while my mother tarrieth, I will take my fine spun gold, but not to sew therewith, I will take my gold and gems, and rainbow fan and wreath;

With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my hand, 100 I will go down to this people, will stand face to face, will stand Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land.

They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give; I, if I perish, perish; they to-day shall eat and live; I, if I perish, perish; that's the goal I half conceive:

Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and show The lesson I have learned which is death, is life, to know. I, if I perish, perish; in the name of God I go.

SHALL I FORGET?

Shall I forget on this side of the grave? I promise nothing: you must wait and see Patient and brave. (O my soul, watch with him and he with me.)

Shall I forget in peace of Paradise? I promise nothing: follow, friend, and see Faithful and wise. (O my soul, lead the way he walks with me.)

VANITY OF VANITIES

Sonnet

Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain, Ah, woe is me for glory that is past: Pleasure that bringeth sorrow at the last, Glory that at the last bringeth no gain! So saith the sinking heart; and so again It shall say till the mighty angel-blast Is blown, making the sun and moon aghast And showering down the stars like sudden rain. And evermore men shall go fearfully Bending beneath their weight of heaviness; And ancient men shall lie down wearily, And strong men shall rise up in weariness; Yea, even the young shall answer sighingly Saying one to another: How vain it is!

L. E. L.

'Whose heart was breaking for a little love.'

Downstairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all; But in my solitary room above I turn my face in silence to the wall; My heart is breaking for a little love. Though winter frosts are done, And birds pair every one, And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun.

I feel no spring, while spring is wellnigh blown, I find no nest, while nests are in the grove: Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone, 10 My heart that breaketh for a little love. While golden in the sun Rivulets rise and run, While lilies bud, for springtide is begun.

All love, are loved, save only I; their hearts Beat warm with love and joy, beat full thereof: They cannot guess, who play the pleasant parts, My heart is breaking for a little love. While beehives wake and whirr, And rabbit thins his fur, 20 In living spring that sets the world astir.

I deck myself with skills and jewelry, I plume myself like any mated dove: They praise my rustling show, and never see My heart is breaking for a little love. While sprouts green lavender With rosemary and myrrh, For in quick spring the sap is all astir.

Perhaps some saints in glory guess the truth, Perhaps some angels read it as they move, 30 And cry one to another full of ruth, 'Her heart is breaking for a little love.' Though other things have birth, And leap and sing for mirth, When springtime wakes and clothes and feeds the earth.

Yet saith a saint: 'Take patience for thy scathe;' Yet saith an angel: 'Wait, for thou shalt prove True best is last, true life is born of death, O thou, heart-broken for a little love. Then love shall fill they girth, 40 And love make fat thy dearth, When new spring builds new heaven and clean new earth.'

LIFE AND DEATH

Life is not sweet. One day it will be sweet To shut our eyes and die: Nor feel the wild flowers blow, nor birds dart by With flitting butterfly, Nor grass grow long above our heads and feet, Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky high, Nor sigh that spring is fleet and summer fleet, Nor mark the waxing wheat, Nor know who sits in our accustomed seat.

Life is not good. One day it will be good 10 To die, then live again; To sleep meanwhile: so not to feel the wane Of shrunk leaves dropping in the wood, Nor hear the foamy lashing of the main, Nor mark the blackened bean-fields, nor where stood Rich ranks of golden grain Only dead refuse stubble clothe the plain: Asleep from risk, asleep from pain.

BIRD OR BEAST?

Did any bird come flying After Adam and Eve, When the door was shut against them And they sat down to grieve?

I think not Eve's peacock Splendid to see, And I think not Adam's eagle; But a dove may be.

Did any beast come pushing Through the thorny hedge 10 Into the thorny thistly world, Out from Eden's edge?

I think not a lion, Though his strength is such; But an innocent loving lamb May have done as much.

If the dove preached from her bough and the lamb from his sod, The lamb and dove Were preachers sent from God. 20

EVE

'While I sit at the door Sick to gaze within Mine eye weepeth sore For sorrow and sin: As a tree my sin stands To darken all lands; Death is the fruit it bore.

'How have Eden bowers grown Without Adam to bend them! How have Eden flowers blown 10 Squandering their sweet breath Without me to tend them! The Tree of Life was ours, Tree twelvefold-fruited, Most lofty tree that flowers, Most deeply rooted: I chose the tree of death.

'Hadst thou but said me nay, Adam, my brother, I might have pined away; 20 I, but none other: God might have let thee stay Safe in our garden, By putting me away Beyond all pardon.

'I, Eve, sad mother Of all who must live, I, not another Plucked bitterest fruit to give My friend, husband, lover-- 30 O wanton eyes, run over; Who but I should grieve?-- Cain hath slain his brother: Of all who must die mother, Miserable Eve!'

Thus she sat weeping, Thus Eve our mother, Where one lay sleeping Slain by his brother. Greatest and least 40 Each piteous beast To hear her voice Forgot his joys And set aside his feast.

The mouse paused in his walk And dropped his wheaten stalk; Grave cattle wagged their heads In rumination; The eagle gave a cry From his cloud station; 50 Larks on thyme beds Forbore to mount or sing; Bees drooped upon the wing; The raven perched on high Forgot his ration; The conies in their rock, A feeble nation, Quaked sympathetical; The mocking-bird left off to mock; Huge camels knelt as if 60 In deprecation; The kind hart's tears were falling; Chattered the wistful stork; Dove-voices with a dying fall Cooed desolation Answering grief by grief.

Only the serpent in the dust Wriggling and crawling, Grinned an evil grin and thrust His tongue out with its fork. 70

GROWN AND FLOWN

I loved my love from green of Spring Until sere Autumn's fall; But now that leaves are withering How should one love at all? One heart's too small For hunger, cold, love, everything.

I loved my love on sunny days Until late Summer's wane; But now that frost begins to glaze How should one love again? 10 Nay, love and pain Walk wide apart in diverse ways.

I loved my love--alas to see That this should be, alas! I thought that this could scarcely be, Yet has it come to pass: Sweet sweet love was, Now bitter bitter grown to me.

A FARM WALK

The year stood at its equinox And bluff the North was blowing, A bleat of lambs came from the flocks, Green hardy things were growing; I met a maid with shining locks Where milky kine were lowing.

She wore a kerchief on her neck, Her bare arm showed its dimple, Her apron spread without a speck, Her air was frank and simple. 10

She milked into a wooden pail And sang a country ditty, An innocent fond lovers' tale, That was not wise nor witty, Pathetically rustical, Too pointless for the city.

She kept in time without a beat As true as church-bell ringers, Unless she tapped time with her feet, Or squeezed it with her fingers; 20 Her clear unstudied notes were sweet As many a practised singer's.

I stood a minute out of sight, Stood silent for a minute To eye the pail, and creamy white The frothing milk within it;

To eye the comely milking maid Herself so fresh and creamy: 'Good day to you,' at last I said; She turned her head to see me: 30 'Good day,' she said with lifted head; Her eyes looked soft and dreamy,

And all the while she milked and milked The grave cow heavy-laden: I've seen grand ladies plumed and silked, But not a sweeter maiden;

But not a sweeter fresher maid Than this in homely cotton, Whose pleasant face and silky braid I have not yet forgotten. 40

Seven springs have passed since then, as I Count with a sober sorrow; Seven springs have come and passed me by, And spring sets in to-morrow.

I've half a mind to shake myself Free just for once from London, To set my work upon the shelf And leave it done or undone;

To run down by the early train, Whirl down with shriek and whistle, 50 And feel the bluff North blow again, And mark the sprouting thistle Set up on waste patch of the lane Its green and tender bristle.

And spy the scarce-blown violet banks, Crisp primrose leaves and others, And watch the lambs leap at their pranks And butt their patient mothers.

Alas, one point in all my plan My serious thoughts demur to: 60 Seven years have passed for maid and man, Seven years have passed for her too;

Perhaps my rose is overblown, Not rosy or too rosy; Perhaps in farmhouse of her own Some husband keeps her cosy, Where I should show a face unknown. Good-bye, my wayside posy.

SOMEWHERE OR OTHER

Somewhere or other there must surely be The face not seen, the voice not heard, The heart that not yet--never yet--ah me! Made answer to my word.

Somewhere or other, may be near or far; Past land and sea, clean out of sight; Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star That tracks her night by night.

Somewhere or other, may be far or near; With just a wall, a hedge, between; 10 With just the last leaves of the dying year Fallen on a turf grown green.

A CHILL

What can lambkins do All the keen night through? Nestle by their woolly mother The careful ewe.

What can nestlings do In the nightly dew? Sleep beneath their mother's wing Till day breaks anew.

If in a field or tree There might only be 10 Such a warm soft sleeping-place Found for me!

CHILD'S TALK IN APRIL

I wish you were a pleasant wren, And I your small accepted mate; How we'd look down on toilsome men! We'd rise and go to bed at eight Or it may be not quite so late.

Then you should see the nest I'd build, The wondrous nest for you and me; The outside rough perhaps, but filled With wool and down; ah, you should see The cosy nest that it would be. 10

We'd have our change of hope and fear, Small quarrels, reconcilements sweet: I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer, Or hop about on active feet, And fetch you dainty bits to eat.

We'd be so happy by the day, So safe and happy through the night, We both should feel, and I should say, It's all one season of delight, And we'll make merry whilst we may. 20

Perhaps some day there'd be an egg When spring had blossomed from the snow: I'd stand triumphant on one leg; Like chanticleer I'd almost crow To let our little neighbours know.

Next you should sit and I would sing Through lengthening days of sunny spring; Till, if you wearied of the task, I'd sit; and you should spread your wing From bough to bough; I'd sit and bask. 30

Fancy the breaking of the shell, The chirp, the chickens wet and bare, The untried proud paternal swell; And you with housewife-matron air Enacting choicer bills of fare.

Fancy the embryo coats of down, The gradual feathers soft and sleek; Till clothed and strong from tail to crown, With virgin warblings in their beak, They too go forth to soar and seek. 40

So would it last an April through And early summer fresh with dew: Then should we part and live as twain, Love-time would bring me back to you And build our happy nest again.

GONE FOR EVER

O happy rose-bud blooming Upon thy parent tree, Nay, thou art too presuming; For soon the earth entombing Thy faded charms shall be, And the chill damp consuming.

O happy skylark springing Up to the broad blue sky, Too fearless in thy winging, Too gladsome in thy singing, 10 Thou also soon shalt lie Where no sweet notes are ringing.

And through life's shine and shower We shall have joy and pain; But in the summer bower, And at the morning hour, We still shall look in vain For the same bird and flower.

UNDER THE ROSE

'The iniquity of the fathers upon the children.'

Oh the rose of keenest thorn! One hidden summer morn Under the rose I was born.

I do not guess his name Who wrought my Mother's shame, And gave me life forlorn, But my Mother, Mother, Mother, I know her from all other. My Mother pale and mild, Fair as ever was seen, 10 She was but scarce sixteen, Little more than a child, When I was born To work her scorn. With secret bitter throes, In a passion of secret woes, She bore me under the rose.

One who my Mother nursed Took me from the first:-- 'O nurse, let me look upon 20 This babe that costs so dear; To-morrow she will be gone: Other mothers may keep Their babes awake and asleep, But I must not keep her here.'-- Whether I know or guess, I know this not the less.