PART I.--Poems Mostly Written at Charterhouse--1910-1914
STAR-TALK
"Are you awake, Gemelli, This frosty night?" "We'll be awake till reveillé, Which is Sunrise," say the Gemelli, "It's no good trying to go to sleep: If there's wine to be got we'll drink it deep, But sleep is gone to to-night, But sleep is gone for to-night."
"Are you cold too, poor Pleiads, This frosty night?" "Yes, and so are the Hyads: See us cuddle and hug," say the Pleiads, "All six in a ring: it keeps us warm: We huddle together like birds in a storm: It's bitter weather to-night, It's bitter weather to-night."
"What do you hunt, Orion, This starry night?" "The Ram, the Bull and the Lion, And the Great Bear," says Orion, "With my starry quiver and beautiful belt I am trying to find a good thick pelt To warm my shoulders to-night, To warm my shoulders to-night."
"Did you hear that, Great She-bear, This frosty night?" "Yes, he's talking of stripping _me_ bare Of my own big fur," says the She-bear, "I'm afraid of the man and his terrible arrow: The thought of it chills my bones to the marrow, And the frost so cruel to-night! And the frost so cruel to-night!"
"How is your trade, Aquarius, This frosty night?" "Complaints is many and various And my feet are cold," says Aquarius, "There's Venus objects to Dolphin-scales, And Mars to Crab-spawn found in my pails, And the pump has frozen to-night, And the pump has frozen to-night."
THE DYING KNIGHT AND THE FAUNS
Through the dreams of yesternight My blood brother great in fight I saw lying, slowly dying Where the weary woods were sighing With the rustle of the birches, With the quiver of the larches.... Woodland fauns with hairy haunches Grin in wonder through the branches Woodland fauns that know no fear. Wondering, they wander near Munching mushrooms red as coral, Bunches, too, of rue and sorrel; Wonder at his radiant fairness, At his dinted, shattered harness, With uncouth and bestial sounds, Knowing nought of war or wounds: But the crimson life-blood oozes And make roses of the daisies, Persian carpets of the mosses-- Softly now his spirit passes As the bee forsakes the lily, As the berry leaves the holly; But the fauns still think him living, And with bay leaves they are weaving Crowns to deck him. Well they may! He was worthy of the Bay.
WILLAREE
On the rough mountain wind That blows so free Rides a little storm-sprite Whose name is Willaree.
The fleecy cloudlets are not his, No shepherd is he, For he drives the shaggy thunderclouds Over land and sea.
His home is on the mountain-top Where I love to be, Amid grey rocks and brambles And the red rowan-tree.
He whistles down the chimney, He whistles to me, And I send greeting back to him Whistling cheerily.
The great elms are battling, Waves are on the sea, Loud roars the mountain-wind-- God rest you, Willaree!
THE FACE OF THE HEAVENS
Little winds in a hurry, Great winds over the sky, Clouds sleek or furry, Storms that rage and die,
The whole cycle of weather From calm to hurricane Of four gales wroth together, Thunder, lightning, rain,
The burning sun, snowing, Hailstones pattering down, Blue skies and red skies showing, Skies with a black frown,
By these signs and wonders You may tell God's mood: He shines, rains, thunders, But all His works are good.
JOLLY YELLOW MOON
Oh, now has faded from the West A sunset red as wine, And beast and bird are hushed to rest When the jolly yellow moon doth shine.
Come comrades, roam we round the mead Where couch the sleeping kine; The breath of night blows soft indeed, And the jolly yellow moon doth shine.
And step we slowly, friend with friend, Let arm with arm entwine. And voice with voice together blend, For the jolly yellow moon doth shine.
Whether we loudly sing or soft, The tune goes wondrous fine; Our chorus sure will float aloft Where the jolly yellow moon doth shine.
YOUTH AND FOLLY
("_Life is a very awful thing! You young fellows are too busy being jolly to realize the folly of your lives._"
--_A Charterhouse Sermon_)
In Chapel often when I bawl The hymns, to show I'm musical, With bright eye and cheery voice Bidding Christian folk rejoice, Shame be it said, I've not a thought Of the One Being whom I ought To worship: with unwitting roar Other godheads I adore. I celebrate the Gods of Mirth And Love and Youth and Springing Earth, Bacchus, beautiful, divine, Gulping down his heady wine, Dear Pan piping in his hollow, Fiery-headed King Apollo And rugged Atlas all aloof Holding up the purple roof. I have often felt and sung, "It's a good thing to be young: Though the preacher says it's folly, Is it foolish to be jolly?" I have often prayed in fear, "Let me never grow austere; Let me never think, I pray, Too much about Judgment Day; Never, never feel in Spring, 'Life's a very awful thing!'" Then I realize and start And curse my arrogant young heart, Bind it over to confess Its horrible ungodliness, Set myself penances, and sigh That I was born in sin, and try To find the whole world vanity.
GHOST MUSIC
Gloomy and bare the organ-loft, Bent-backed and blind the organist. From rafters looming shadowy, From the pipes' tuneful company, Drifted together drowsily, Innumerable, formless, dim, The ghosts of long-dead melodies, Of anthems, stately, thunderous, Of Kyries shrill and tremulous: In melancholy drowsy-sweet They huddled there in harmony, Like bats at noontide rafter-hung.
FREE VERSE
I now delight, In spite Of the might And the right Of classic tradition, In writing And reciting Straight ahead, Without let or omission, Just any little rhyme In any little time That runs in my head: Because, I've said, My rhymes no longer shall stand arrayed Like Prussian soldiers on parade That march, Stiff as starch, Foot to foot, Boot to boot, Blade to blade, Button to button, Cheeks and chops and chins like mutton. No! No! My rhymes must go Turn 'ee, twist 'ee, Twinkling, frosty, Will-o'-the-wisp-like, misty, Rhymes I will make Like Keats and Blake And Christina Rossetti, With run and ripple and shake. How petty To take A merry little rhyme In a jolly little time And poke it, And choke it, Change it, arrange it, Straight-lace it, deface it, Pleat it with pleats, Sheet it with sheets Of empty conceits, And chop and chew, And hack and hew, And weld it into a uniform stanza, And evolve a neat, Complacent, complete, Academic extravaganza!
IN THE WILDERNESS
Christ of his gentleness Thirsting and hungering Walked in the wilderness; Soft words of grace He spoke Unto lost desert-folk That listened wondering. He heard the bitterns call From ruined palace-wall, Answered them brotherly. He held communion With the she-pelican Of lonely piety. Basilisk, cockatrice, Flocked to His homilies, With mail of dread device, With monstrous barbéd stings, With eager dragon-eyes; Great rats on leather wings And poor blind broken things, Foul in their miseries. And ever with Him went, Of all His wanderings Comrade, with ragged coat, Gaunt ribs--poor innocent-- Bleeding foot, burning throat, The guileless old scape-goat; For forty nights and days Followed in Jesus' ways, Sure guard behind Him kept, Tears like a lover wept.
OH, AND OH!
Oh, and oh! The world's a muddle, The clouds are untidy, Moon lopsidey, Shining in a puddle. Down dirty streets in stench and smoke The pale townsfolk Crawl and kiss and cuddle, In doorways hug and huddle; Loutish he And sluttish she In loathsome love together press And unbelievable ugliness. These spiders spin a loathly woof! I walk aloof, Head burning and heart snarling, Tread feverish quick; My love is sick; Far away lives my darling.
CHERRY-TIME
Cherries of the night are riper Than the cherries pluckt at noon: Gather to your fairy piper When he pipes his magic tune: Merry, merry, Take a cherry, Mine are sounder, Mine are rounder, Mine are sweeter For the eater Under the moon. And you'll be fairies soon.
In the cherry pluckt at night, With the dew of summer swelling, There's a juice of pure delight, Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling. Merry, merry, Take a cherry, Mine are sounder, Mine are rounder, Mine are sweeter For the eater In the moonlight. And you'll be fairies quite.
When I sound the fairy call, Gather here in silent meeting, Chin to knee on the orchard wall, Cooled with dew and cherries eating. Merry, merry, Take a cherry, Mine are sounder, Mine are rounder, Mine are sweeter For the eater When the dews fall. And you'll be fairies all.