Part 2

Beyond me, up the darkness, goes the gush of the lights of two towns, As the breath which rushes upwards from the nostrils of an immense Life crouched across the globe, ready, if need be, to pounce Across the space upon heaven's high hostile eminence.

All round me, but far away, the night's twin consciousness roars With sounds that endlessly swell and sink like the storm of thought in the brain, Lifting and falling like slow breaths taken, pulsing like oars Immense that beat the blood of the night down its vein.

The night is immense and awful, Helen, and I am insect small In the fur of this hill, clung on to the fur of shaggy, black heather. A palpitant speck in the fur of the night, and afraid of all, Seeing the world and the sky like creatures hostile together.

And I in the fur of the world, and you a pale fleck from the sky, How we hate each other to-night, hate, you and I, As the world of activity hates the dream that goes on on high, As a man hates the dreaming woman he loves, but who will not reply.

DREAM-CONFUSED

Is that the moon At the window so big and red? No one in the room, No one near the bed----?

Listen, her shoon Palpitating down the stair? --Or a beat of wings at the window there?

A moment ago She kissed me warm on the mouth, The very moon in the south Is warm with a bloody glow, The moon from far abysses Signalling those two kisses.

And now the moon Goes slowly out of the west, And slowly back in my breast My kisses are sinking, soon To leave me at rest.

COROT

The trees rise tall and taller, lifted On a subtle rush of cool grey flame That issuing out of the dawn has sifted The spirit from each leaf's frame.

For the trailing, leisurely rapture of life Drifts dimly forward, easily hidden By bright leaves uttered aloud, and strife Of shapes in the grey mist chidden.

The grey, phosphorescent, pellucid advance Of the luminous purpose of God, shines out Where the lofty trees athwart stream chance To shake flakes of its shadow about.

The subtle, steady rush of the whole Grey foam-mist of advancing God, As He silently sweeps to His somewhere, his goal, Is heard in the grass of the sod.

Is heard in the windless whisper of leaves In the silent labours of men in the fields, In the downward dropping of flimsy sheaves Of cloud the rain skies yield.

In the tapping haste of a fallen leaf, In the flapping of red-roof smoke, and the small Foot-stepping tap of men beneath These trees so huge and tall.

For what can all sharp-rimmed substance but catch In a backward ripple, God's purpose, reveal For a moment His mighty direction, snatch A spark beneath His wheel.

Since God sweeps onward dim and vast, Creating the channelled vein of Man And Leaf for His passage, His shadow is cast On all for us to scan.

Ah listen, for Silence is not lonely: Imitate the magnificent trees That speak no word of their rapture, but only Breathe largely the luminous breeze.

MORNING WORK

A gang of labourers on the piled wet timber That shines blood-red beside the railway siding Seem to be making out of the blue of the morning Something faery and fine, the shuttles sliding,

The red-gold spools of their hands and faces shuttling Hither and thither across the morn's crystalline frame Of blue: trolls at the cave of ringing cerulean mining, And laughing with work, living their work like a game.

TRANSFORMATIONS

I

=The Town=

Oh you stiff shapes, swift transformation seethes About you: only last night you were A Sodom smouldering in the dense, soiled air; To-day a thicket of sunshine with blue smoke-wreaths.

To-morrow swimming in evening's vague, dim vapour Like a weeded city in shadow under the sea, Beneath an ocean of shimmering light you will be: Then a group of toadstools waiting the moon's white taper.

And when I awake in the morning, after rain, To find the new houses a cluster of lilies glittering In scarlet, alive with the birds' bright twittering, I'll say your bond of ugliness is vain.

II

=The Earth=

Oh Earth, you spinning clod of earth, And then you lamp, you lemon-coloured beauty; Oh Earth, you rotten apple rolling downward, Then brilliant Earth, from the burr of night in beauty As a jewel-brown horse-chestnut newly issued:-- You are all these, and strange, it is my duty To take you all, sordid or radiant tissued.

III

=Men=

Oh labourers, oh shuttles across the blue frame of morning, You feet of the rainbow balancing the sky! Oh you who flash your arms like rockets to heaven, Who in lassitude lean as yachts on the sea-wind lie! You who in crowds are rhododendrons in blossom, Who stand alone in pride like lighted lamps; Who grappling down with work or hate or passion, Take strange lithe form of a beast that sweats and ramps: You who are twisted in grief like crumpled beech-leaves, Who curl in sleep like kittens, who kiss as a swarm Of clustered, vibrating bees; who fall to earth At last like a bean-pod: what are you, oh multiform?

RENASCENCE

We have bit no forbidden apple, Eve and I, Yet the splashes of day and night Falling round us no longer dapple The same Eden with purple and white.

This is our own still valley Our Eden, our home, But day shows it vivid with feeling And the pallor of night does not tally With dark sleep that once covered its ceiling.

My little red heifer, to-night I looked in her eyes, --She will calve to-morrow: Last night when I went with the lantern, the sow was grabbing her litter With red, snarling jaws: and I heard the cries Of the new-born, and after that, the old owl, then the bats that flitter.

And I woke to the sound of the wood-pigeons, and lay and listened, Till I could borrow A few quick beats of a wood-pigeon's heart, and when I did rise The morning sun on the shaken iris glistened, And I saw that home, this valley, was wider than Paradise.

I learned it all from my Eve This warm, dumb wisdom. She's a finer instructress than years; She has taught my heart-strings to weave Through the web of all laughter and tears.

And now I see the valley Fleshed all like me With feelings that change and quiver: And all things seem to tally With something in me, Something of which she's the giver.

DOG-TIRED

If she would come to me here, Now the sunken swaths Are glittering paths To the sun, and the swallows cut clear Into the low sun--if she came to me here!

If she would come to me now, Before the last mown harebells are dead, While that vetch clump yet burns red; Before all the bats have dropped from the bough Into the cool of night--if she came to me now!

The horses are untackled, the chattering machine Is still at last. If she would come, I would gather up the warm hay from The hill-brow, and lie in her lap till the green Sky ceased to quiver, and lost its tired sheen.

I should like to drop On the hay, with my head on her knee And lie stone still, while she Breathed quiet above me--we could stop Till the stars came out to see.

I should like to lie still As if I was dead--but feeling Her hand go stealing Over my face and my hair until This ache was shed.

MICHAEL-ANGELO

God shook thy roundness in His finger's cup, He sunk His hands in firmness down thy sides, And drew the circle of His grasp, O Man, Along thy limbs delighted, thine, His bride's.

And so thou wert God-shapen: His finger Curved thy mouth for thee, and His strong shoulder Planted thee upright: art not proud to see In the curve of thine exquisite form the joy of the Moulder?

He took a handful of light and rolled a ball, Compressed it till its beam grew wondrous dark, Then gave thee thy dark eyes, O Man, that all He made had doorway to thee through that spark.

God, lonely, put down His mouth in a kiss of creation, He kissed thee, O Man, in a passion of love, and left The vivid life of His love in thy mouth and thy nostrils; Keep then the kiss from the adultress' theft.

VIOLETS

Sister, tha knows while we was on the planks Aside o' th' grave, while th' coffin wor lyin' yet On th' yaller clay, an' th' white flowers top of it Tryin' to keep off 'n him a bit o' th' wet,

An' parson makin' haste, an' a' the black Huddlin' close together a cause o' th' rain, Did t' 'appen ter notice a bit of a lass away back By a head-stun, sobbin' an' sobbin' again?

--How should I be lookin' round An' me standin' on the plank Beside the open ground, Where our Ted 'ud soon be sank?

Yi, an' 'im that young, Snapped sudden out of all His wickedness, among Pals worse n'r ony name as you could call.

Let be that; there's some o' th' bad as we Like better nor all your good, an' 'e was one. --An' cos I liked him best, yi, bett'r nor thee, I canna bide to think where he is gone.

Ah know tha liked 'im bett'r nor me. But let Me tell thee about this lass. When you had gone Ah stopped behind on t' pad i' th' drippin wet An' watched what 'er 'ad on.

Tha should ha' seed her slive up when we'd gone, Tha should ha' seed her kneel an' look in At th' sloppy wet grave--an' 'er little neck shone That white, an' 'er shook that much, I'd like to begin

Scraïghtin' my-sen as well. 'En undid her black Jacket at th' bosom, an' took from out of it Over a double 'andful of violets, all in a pack Ravelled blue and white--warm, for a bit

O' th' smell come waftin' to me. 'Er put 'er face Right intil 'em and scraïghted out again, Then after a bit 'er dropped 'em down that place, An' I come away, because o' the teemin' rain.

WHETHER OR NOT

I

Dunna thee tell me its his'n, mother, Dunna thee, dunna thee. --Oh ay! he'll be comin' to tell thee his-sèn Wench, wunna he?

Tha doesna mean to say to me, mother, He's gone wi that-- --My gel, owt'll do for a man i' the dark, Tha's got it flat.

But 'er's old, mother, 'er's twenty year Older nor him-- --Ay, an' yaller as a crowflower, an' yet i' the dark Er'd do for Tim.

Tha niver believes it, mother, does ter? It's somebody's lies. --Ax him thy-sèn wench--a widder's lodger; It's no surprise.

II

A widow of forty-five With a bitter, swarthy skin, To ha' 'ticed a lad o' twenty-five An' 'im to have been took in!

A widow of forty-five As has sludged like a horse all her life, Till 'er's tough as whit-leather, to slive Atween a lad an' 'is wife!

A widow of forty-five. A tough old otchel wi' long Witch teeth, an' 'er black hawk-eyes as I've Mistrusted all along!

An' me as 'as kep my-sen Shut like a daisy bud, Clean an' new an' nice, so's when He wed he'd ha'e summat good!

An' 'im as nice an' fresh As any man i' the force, To ha'e gone an' given his white young flesh To a woman that coarse!

III

You're stout to brave this snow, Miss Stainwright, Are you makin' Brinsley way? --I'm off up th' line to Underwood Wi' a dress as is wanted to-day.

Oh are you goin' to Underwood? 'Appen then you've 'eered? --What's that as 'appen I've 'eered-on, Missis, Speak up, you nedna be feared.

Why, your young man an' Widow Naylor, Her as he lodges wi', They say he's got her wi' childt; but there, It's nothing to do wi' me.

Though if it's true they'll turn him out O' th' p'lice force, without fail; An' if it's not true, I'd back my life They'll listen to _her_ tale.

Well, I'm believin' no tale, Missis, I'm seein' for my-sen; An' when I know for sure, Missis, I'll talk _then_.

IV

Nay robin red-breast, tha nedna Sit noddin' thy head at me; My breast's as red as thine, I reckon, Flayed red, if tha could but see.

Nay, you blessed pee-whips, You nedna screet at me! I'm screetin' my-sen, but are-na goin' To let iv'rybody see.

Tha _art_ smock-ravelled, bunny, Larropin' neck an' crop I' th' snow: but I's warrant thee, bunny, _I'm_ further ower th' top.

V

Now sithee theer at th' railroad crossin' Warmin' his-sen at the stool o' fire Under the tank as fills the ingines, If there isn't my dearly-beloved liar!

My constable wi' 'is buttoned breast As stout as the truth, my sirs!--An' 'is face As bold as a robin! It's much he cares For this nice old shame and disgrace.

Oh but he drops his flag when 'e sees me, Yes, an' 'is face goes white ... oh yes Tha can stare at me wi' thy fierce blue eyes, But tha doesna stare me out, I guess!

VI

Whativer brings thee out so far In a' this depth o' snow? --I'm takin' 'ome a weddin' dress If tha maun know.

Why, is there a weddin' at Underwood, As tha ne'd trudge up here? --It's Widow Naylor's weddin'-dress, An' 'er's wantin it, I hear.

_'Er_ doesna want no weddin-dress ... What--but what dost mean? --Doesn't ter know what I mean, Tim?--Yi, Tha must' a' been hard to wean!

Tha'rt a good-un at suckin-in yet, Timmy; But tell me, isn't it true As 'er'll be wantin' _my_ weddin' dress In a week or two?

Tha's no occasions ter ha'e me on Lizzie--what's done is done! --_Done_, I should think so--Done! But might I ask when tha begun?

It's thee as 'as done it as much as me, Lizzie, I tell thee that. --"Me gotten a childt to thy landlady--!" Tha's gotten thy answer pat,

As tha allers hast--but let me tell thee Hasna ter sent me whoam, when I Was a'most burstin' mad o' my-sen An' walkin' in agony;

After thy kisses, Lizzie, after Tha's lain right up to me Lizzie, an' melted Into me, melted into me, Lizzie, Till I was verily swelted.

An' if my landlady seed me like it, An' if 'er clawkin', tiger's eyes Went through me just as the light went out Is it any cause for surprise?

No cause for surprise at all, my lad, After lickin' and snuffin' at me, tha could Turn thy mouth on a woman like her-- Did ter find her good?

Ay, I did, but afterwards I should like to ha' killed her! --Afterwards!--an' after how long Wor it tha'd liked to 'a killed her?

Say no more, Liz, dunna thee, I might lose my-sen. --I'll only say good-bye to thee, Timothy, An' gi'e her thee back again.

I'll ta'e thy word 'Good-bye,' Liz, But I shonna marry her, I shonna for nobody.--It is Very nice on you, Sir.

The childt maun ta'e its luck, it maun, An' she maun ta'e _her_ luck, For I tell ye I shonna marry her-- What her's got, her took.

That's spoken like a man, Timmy, That's spoken like a man ... "He up an' fired off his pistol An' then away he ran."

I damn well shanna marry 'er, So chew at it no more, Or I'll chuck the flamin' lot of you-- --You nedn't have swore.

VII

That's his collar round the candle-stick An' that's the dark blue tie I bought 'im, An' these is the woman's kids he's so fond on, An' 'ere comes the cat that caught 'im.

I dunno where his eyes was--a gret Round-shouldered hag! My sirs, to think Of him stoopin' to her! You'd wonder he could Throw hisself in that sink.

I expect you know who I am, Mrs Naylor! --Who yer are?--yis, you're Lizzie Stainwright. 'An 'appen you might guess what I've come for? --'Appen I mightn't, 'appen I might.

You knowed as I was courtin' Tim Merfin. --Yis, I knowed 'e wor courtin' thee. An' yet you've been carryin' on wi' him. --Ay, an' 'im wi' me.

Well, now you've got to pay for it, --An' if I han, what's that to thee? For 'e isn't goin' to marry you. --Is it a toss-up 'twixt thee an' me?

It's no toss-up 'twixt thee an' me. --Then what art colleyfoglin' for? I'm not havin' your orts an' slarts. --Which on us said you wor?

I want you to know 'e's non _marryin'_ you. --Tha wants 'im thy-sen too bad. Though I'll see as 'e pays you, an' comes to the scratch. --Tha'rt for doin' a lot wi' th' lad.

VIII

To think I should ha'e to haffle an' caffle Wi' a woman, an' pay 'er a price For lettin' me marry the lad as I thought To marry wi' cabs an' rice.

But we'll go unbeknown to the registrar, An' give _'er_ what money there is, For I won't be beholden to such as her For anythink of his.

IX

Take off thy duty stripes, Tim, An' come wi' me in here, Ta'e off thy p'lice-man's helmet An' look me clear.

I wish tha hadna done it, Tim, I do, an' that I do! For whenever I look thee i' th' face, I s'll see Her face too.

I wish tha could wesh 'er off'n thee, For I used to think that thy Face was the finest thing that iver Met my eye....

X

Twenty pound o' thy own tha hast, and fifty pound ha'e I, Thine shall go to pay the woman, an' wi' my bit we'll buy All as we shall want for furniture when tha leaves this place, An' we'll be married at th' registrar--now lift thy face.

Lift thy face an' look at me, man, up an' look at me: Sorry I am for this business, an' sorry if I ha'e driven thee To such a thing: but it's a poor tale, that I'm bound to say, Before I can ta'e thee I've got a widow of forty-five to pay.

Dunnat thee think but what I love thee--I love thee well, But 'deed an' I wish as this tale o' thine wor niver my tale to tell; Deed an' I wish as I could stood at the altar wi' thee an' been proud o' thee, That I could ha' been first woman to thee, as thou'rt first man to me.

But we maun ma'e the best on't--I'll rear thy childt if 'er'll yield it to me, An' then wi' that twenty pound we gi'e 'er I s'd think 'er wunna be So very much worser off than 'er wor before--An' now look up An' answer me--for I've said my say, an' there's no more sorrow to sup.

Yi, tha'rt a man, tha'rt a fine big man, but niver a baby had eyes As sulky an' ormin' as thine. Hast owt to say otherwise From what I've arranged wi' thee? Eh man, what a stubborn jackass thou art, Kiss me then--there!--ne'er mind if I scraight--I wor fond o' thee, Sweetheart.

A COLLIER'S WIFE

Somebody's knocking at the door Mother, come down and see. --I's think it's nobbut a beggar, Say, I'm busy.

Its not a beggar, mother,--hark How hard he knocks ... --Eh, tha'rt a mard-'arsed kid, 'E'll gi'e thee socks!

Shout an' ax what 'e wants, I canna come down. --'E says "Is it Arthur Holliday's?" Say "Yes," tha clown.

'E says, "Tell your mother as 'er mester's Got hurt i' th' pit." What--oh my sirs, 'e never says that, That's niver it.

Come out o' the way an' let me see, Eh, there's no peace! An' stop thy scraightin', childt, Do shut thy face.

"Your mester's 'ad an accident, An' they're ta'ein 'im i' th' ambulance To Nottingham,"--Eh dear o' me If 'e's not a man for mischance!

Wheers he hurt this time, lad? --I dunna know, They on'y towd me it wor bad-- It would be so!

Eh, what a man!--an' that cobbly road, They'll jolt him a'most to death, I'm sure he's in for some trouble Nigh every time he takes breath.

Out o' my way, childt--dear o' me, wheer Have I put his clean stockings and shirt; Goodness knows if they'll be able To take off his pit dirt.

An' what a moan he'll make--there niver Was such a man for a fuss If anything ailed him--at any rate _I_ shan't have him to nuss.

I do hope it's not very bad! Eh, what a shame it seems As some should ha'e hardly a smite o' trouble An' others has reams.

It's a shame as 'e should be knocked about Like this, I'm sure it is! He's had twenty accidents, if he's had one; Owt bad, an' it's his.

There's one thing, we'll have peace for a bit, Thank Heaven for a peaceful house; An' there's compensation, sin' it's accident, An' club money--I nedn't grouse.

An' a fork an' a spoon he'll want, an' what else; I s'll never catch that train-- What a trapse it is if a man gets hurt-- I s'd think he'll get right again.

THE DRAINED CUP

The snow is witherin' off'n th' gress Love, should I tell thee summat? The snow is witherin' off'n th' gress An' a thick mist sucks at the clots o' snow, An' the moon above in a weddin' dress Goes fogged an' slow-- Love, should I tell thee summat?

Tha's been snowed up i' this cottage wi' me, Nay, I'm tellin' thee summat.-- Tha's bin snowed up i' this cottage wi' me While th' clocks has a' run down an' stopped An' the short days withering silently Unbeknown have dropped. --Yea, but I'm tellin' thee summat.

How many days dost think has gone?-- Now I'm tellin' thee summat. How many days dost think has gone? How many days has the candle-light shone On us as tha got more white an' wan? --Seven days, or none-- Am I not tellin' thee summat?

Tha come to bid farewell to me-- Tha'rt frit o' summat. To kiss me and shed a tear wi' me, Then off and away wi' the weddin' ring For the girl who was grander, and better than me For marrying-- Tha'rt frit o' summat?

I durstna kiss thee tha trembles so, Tha'rt frit o' summat. Tha arena very flig to go, 'Appen the mist from the thawin' snow Daunts thee--it isna for love, I know, That tha'rt loath to go. --Dear o' me, say summat.

Maun tha cling to the wa' as tha goes, So bad as that? Tha'lt niver get into thy weddin' clothes At that rate--eh, theer goes thy hat; Ne'er mind, good-bye lad, now I lose My joy, God knows, --An' worse nor that.

The road goes under the apple tree; Look, for I'm showin' thee summat. An' if it worn't for the mist, tha'd see The great black wood on all sides o' thee Wi' the little pads going cunningly To ravel thee. So listen, I'm tellin' thee summat.

When tha comes to the beechen avenue, I'm warnin' thee o' summat. Mind tha shall keep inwards, a few Steps to the right, for the gravel pits Are steep an' deep wi' watter, an' you Are scarce o' your wits. Remember, I've warned the o' summat.

An' mind when crossin' the planken bridge, Again I warn ye o' summat. Ye slip not on the slippery ridge Of the thawin' snow, or it'll be A long put-back to your gran' marridge, I'm tellin' ye. Nay, are ter scared o' summat?

In kep the thick black curtains drawn, Am I not tellin' thee summat? Against the knockin' of sevenfold dawn, An' red-tipped candles from morn to morn Have dipped an' danced upon thy brawn Till thou art worn-- Oh, I have cost thee summat.

Look in the mirror an' see thy-sen, --What, I am showin' thee summat. Wasted an' wan tha sees thy-sen, An' thy hand that holds the mirror shakes Till tha drops the glass and tha shudders when Thy luck breaks. Sure, tha'rt afraid o' summat.

Frail thou art, my saucy man, --Listen, I'm tellin' thee summat. Tottering and tired thou art, my man, Tha came to say good-bye to me, An' tha's done it so well, that now I can Part wi' thee. --Master, I'm givin' thee summat.

THE SCHOOLMASTER

I

=A Snowy Day in School=

All the slow school hours, round the irregular hum of the class, Have pressed immeasurable spaces of hoarse silence Muffling my mind, as snow muffles the sounds that pass Down the soiled street. We have pattered the lessons ceaselessly--

But the faces of the boys, in the brooding, yellow light Have shone for me like a crowded constellation of stars, Like full-blown flowers dimly shaking at the night, Like floating froth on an ebbing shore in the moon.

Out of each star, dark, strange beams that disquiet: In the open depths of each flower, dark restless drops: Twin bubbles, shadow-full of mystery and challenge in the foam's whispering riot: --How can I answer the challenge of so many eyes!

The thick snow is crumpled on the roof, it plunges down Awfully. Must I call back those hundred eyes?--A voice Wakes from the hum, faltering about a noun-- My question! My God, I must break from this hoarse silence

That rustles beyond the stars to me.--There, I have startled a hundred eyes, and I must look Them an answer back. It is more than I can bear.

The snow descends as if the dull sky shook In flakes of shadow down; and through the gap Between the ruddy schools sweeps one black rook.

The rough snowball in the playground stands huge and still With fair flakes settling down on it.--Beyond, the town Is lost in the shadowed silence the skies distil.