Poems By The Way & Love Is Enough
Chapter 3
Round thine eyes and round thy mouth Passeth no murmur of the south, When my lips a little while Leave thy quivering tender smile, As we twain, hand holding hand, Once again together stand.
Sweet is that, as all is sweet; For the white drift shalt thou meet, Kind and cold-cheeked and mine own, Wrapped about with deep-furred gown In the broad-wheeled chariot: Then the north shall spare us not; The wide-reaching waste of snow Wilder, lonelier yet shall grow As the reddened sun falls down. But the warders of the town, When they flash the torches out O'er the snow amid their doubt, And their eyes at last behold Thy red-litten hair of gold; Shall they open, or in fear Cry, "Alas! what cometh here? Whence hath come this Heavenly One To tell of all the world undone?"
They shall open, and we shall see The long street litten scantily By the long stream of light before The guest-hall's half-open door; And our horses' bells shall cease As we reach the place of peace; Thou shalt tremble, as at last The worn threshold is o'er-past, And the fire-light blindeth thee: Trembling shalt thou cling to me As the sleepy merchants stare At thy cold hands slim and fair Thy soft eyes and happy lips Worth all lading of their ships.
O my love, how sweet and sweet That first kissing of thy feet, When the fire is sunk alow, And the hall made empty now Groweth solemn, dim and vast! O my love, the night shall last Longer than men tell thereof Laden with our lonely love!
THE TWO SIDES OF THE RIVER
THE YOUTHS
O winter, O white winter, wert thou gone, No more within the wilds were I alone, Leaping with bent bow over stock and stone!
No more alone my love the lamp should burn, Watching the weary spindle twist and turn, Or o'er the web hold back her tears and yearn: O winter, O white winter, wert thou gone!
THE MAIDENS
Sweet thoughts fly swiftlier than the drifting snow, And with the twisting threads sweet longings grow, And o'er the web sweet pictures come and go, For no white winter are we long alone.
THE YOUTHS
O stream so changed, what hast thou done to me, That I thy glittering ford no more can see Wreathing with white her fair feet lovingly?
See, in the rain she stands, and, looking down With frightened eyes upon thy whirlpools brown, Drops to her feet again her girded gown. O hurrying turbid stream, what hast thou done?
THE MAIDENS
The clouds lift, telling of a happier day When through the thin stream I shall take my way, Girt round with gold, and garlanded with may, What rushing stream can keep us long alone?
THE YOUTHS
O burning Sun, O master of unrest, Why must we, toiling, cast away the best, Now, when the bird sleeps by her empty nest?
See, with my garland lying at her feet, In lonely labour stands mine own, my sweet, Above the quern half-filled with half-ground wheat. O red taskmaster, that thy flames were done!
THE MAIDENS
O love, to-night across the half-shorn plain Shall I not go to meet the yellow wain, A look of love at end of toil to gain? What flaming sun can keep us long alone?
THE YOUTHS
To-morrow, said I, is grape gathering o'er; To-morrow, and our loves are twinned no more. To-morrow came, to bring us woe and war.
What have I done, that I should stand with these Hearkening the dread shouts borne upon the breeze, While she, far off, sits weeping 'neath her trees? Alas, O kings, what is it ye have done?
THE MAIDENS
Come, love, delay not; come, and slay my dread! Already is the banquet table spread; In the cool chamber flower-strewn is my bed: Come, love, what king shall keep us long alone?
THE YOUTHS
O city, city, open thou thy gate! See, with life snatched from out the hand of fate! How on thy glittering triumph I must wait!
Are not her hands stretched out to me? Her eyes, Grow they not weary as each new hope dies, And lone before her still the long road lies? O golden city, fain would I be gone!
THE MAIDENS
And thou art happy, amid shouts and songs, And all that unto conquering men belongs. Night hath no fear for me, and day no wrongs. What brazen city gates can keep us, lone?
THE YOUTHS
O long, long road, how bare thou art, and grey! Hill after hill thou climbest, and the day Is ended now, O moonlit endless way!
And she is standing where the rushes grow, And still with white hand shades her anxious brow, Though 'neath the world the sun is fallen now, O dreary road, when will thy leagues be done?
THE MAIDENS
O tremblest thou, grey road, or do my feet Tremble with joy, thy flinty face to meet? Because my love's eyes soon mine eyes shall greet? No heart thou hast to keep us long alone.
THE YOUTHS
O wilt thou ne'er depart, thou heavy night? When will thy slaying bring on the morning bright, That leads my weary feet to my delight?
Why lingerest thou, filling with wandering fears My lone love's tired heart; her eyes with tears For thoughts like sorrow for the vanished years? Weaver of ill thoughts, when wilt thou be gone?
THE MAIDENS
Love, to the east are thine eyes turned as mine, In patient watching for the night's decline? And hast thou noted this grey widening line? Can any darkness keep us long alone?
THE YOUTHS
O day, O day, is it a little thing That thou so long unto thy life must cling, Because I gave thee such a welcoming?
I called thee king of all felicity, I praised thee that thou broughtest joy so nigh; Thine hours are turned to years, thou wilt not die; O day so longed for, would that thou wert gone!
THE MAIDENS
The light fails, love; the long day soon shall be Nought but a pensive happy memory Blessed for the tales it told to thee and me. How hard it was, O love, to be alone.
LOVE FULFILLED
Hast thou longed through weary days For the sight of one loved face? Hast thou cried aloud for rest, Mid the pain of sundering hours; Cried aloud for sleep and death, Since the sweet unhoped for best Was a shadow and a breath? O, long now, for no fear lowers O'er these faint feet-kissing flowers. O, rest now; and yet in sleep All thy longing shalt thou keep.
Thou shalt rest and have no fear Of a dull awaking near, Of a life for ever blind, Uncontent and waste and wide. Thou shalt wake and think it sweet That thy love is near and kind. Sweeter still for lips to meet; Sweetest that thine heart doth hide Longing all unsatisfied With all longing's answering Howsoever close ye cling.
Thou rememberest how of old E'en thy very pain grew cold, How thou might'st not measure bliss E'en when eyes and hands drew nigh. Thou rememberest all regret For the scarce remembered kiss. The lost dream of how they met, Mouths once parched with misery. Then seemed Love born but to die, Now unrest, pain, bliss are one, Love, unhidden and alone.
THE KING OF DENMARK'S SONS
In Denmark gone is many a year, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,_ Two sons of Gorm the King there were, _So grey is the sea when day is done._
Both these were gotten in lawful bed Of Thyrre Denmark's Surety-head.
Fair was Knut of face and limb As the breast of the Queen that suckled him.
But Harald was hot of hand and heart As lips of lovers ere they part.
Knut sat at home in all men's love, But over the seas must Harald rove.
And for every deed by Harald won, Gorm laid more love on Knut alone.
On a high-tide spake the King in hall, "Old I grow as the leaves that fall.
"Knut shall reign when I am dead, So shall the land have peace and aid.
"But many a ship shall Harald have, For I deem the sea well wrought for his grave."
Then none spake save the King again, "If Knut die all my days be vain.
"And whoso the tale of his death shall tell, Hath spoken a word to gain him hell.
"Lo here a doom I will not break," _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun._ "For life or death or any man's sake," _So grey is the sea when day is done._
O merry days in the summer-tide! _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun._ When the ships sail fair and the young men ride, _So grey is the sea when day is done._
Now Harald has got him east away, And each morrow of fight was a gainful day.
But Knut is to his fosterer gone To deal in deeds of peace alone.
So wear the days, and well it is Such lovely lords should dwell in bliss.
O merry in the winter-tide When men to Yule-feast wend them wide.
And here lieth Knut in the Lima-firth When the lift is low o'er the Danish earth.
"Tell me now, Shipmaster mine, What are yon torches there that shine?"
"Lord, no torches may these be But golden prows across the sea.
"For over there the sun shines now And the gold worms gape from every prow."
The sun and the wind came down o'er the sea, "Tell them over how many they be!"
"Ten I tell with shield-hung sides. Nought but a fool his death abides."
"Ten thou tellest, and we be three, Good need that we do manfully.
"Good fellows, grip the shield and spear For Harald my brother draweth near.
"Well breakfast we when night is done, And Valhall's cock crows up the sun."
Up spoke Harald in wrathful case: "I would have word with this waxen face!
"What wilt thou pay, thou huckstered That I let thee live another year?
"For oath that thou wilt never reign Will I let thee live a year or twain."
"Kisses and love shalt thou have of me If yet my liegeman thou wilt be.
"But stroke of sword, and dint of axe, Or ere thou makest my face as wax."
As thick the arrows fell around As fall sere leaves on autumn ground.
In many a cheek the red did wane No maid might ever kiss again.
"Lay me aboard," Lord Harald said, "The winter day will soon be dead!
"Lay me aboard the bastard's ship, And see to it lest your grapnels slip!"
Then some they knelt and some they drowned, And some lay dead Lord Knut around.
"Look here at the wax-white corpse of him, As fair as the Queen in face and limb!
"Make now for the shore, for the moon is bright, And I would be home ere the end of night.
"Two sons last night had Thyrre the Queen, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun._ And both she may lack ere the woods wax green," _So grey is the sea when day is done._
A little before the morning tide, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,_ Queen Thyrre looked out of her window-side, _So grey is the sea when day is done._
"O men-at-arms, what men be ye?" "Harald thy son come over the sea."
"Why is thy face so pale, my son?" "It may be red or day is done."
"O evil words of an evil hour! Come, sweet son, to thy mother's bower!"
None from the Queen's bower went that day Till dark night over the meadows lay.
None thenceforth heard wail or cry Till the King's feast was waxen high.
Then into the hall Lord Harald came When the great wax lights were all aflame.
"What tidings, son, dost thou bear to me? Speak out before I drink with thee."
"Tidings small for a seafarer. Two falcons in the sea-cliffs were;
"And one was white and one was grey, And they fell to battle on a day;
"They fought in the sun, they fought in the wind, No boot the white fowl's wounds to bind.
"They fought in the wind, they fought in the sun, And the white fowl died when the play was done."
"Small tidings these to bear o'er the sea! Good hap that nothing worser they be!
"Small tidings for a travelled man! Drink with me, son, whiles yet ye can!
"Drink with me ere thy day and mine, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,_ Be nought but a tale told over the wine." _So grey is the sea when day is done._
Now fareth the King with his men to sleep, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,_ And dim the maids from the Queen's bower creep, _So grey is the sea when day is done._
And in the hall is little light, And there standeth the Queen with cheeks full white.
And soft the feet of women fall From end to end of the King's great hall.
These bear the gold-wrought cloths away, And in other wise the hall array;
Till all is black that hath been gold So heavy a tale there must be told.
The morrow men looked on King Gorm and said, "Hath he dreamed a dream or beheld the dead?
"Why is he sad who should be gay? Why are the old man's lips so grey?"
Slow paced the King adown the hall, Nor looked aside to either wall,
Till in high-seat there he sat him down, And deadly old men deemed him grown.
"O Queen, what thrall's hands durst do this, To strip my hall of mirth and bliss?"
"No thrall's hands in the hangings were, No thrall's hands made the tenters bare.
"King's daughters' hands have done the deed, The hands of Denmark's Surety-head."
"Nought betters the deed thy word unsaid. Tell me that Knut my son is dead!"
She said: "The doom on thee, O King! For thine own lips have said the thing."
Men looked to see the King arise, The death of men within his eyes.
Men looked to see his bitter sword That once cleared ships from board to board.
But in the hall no sword gleamed wide, His hand fell down along his side.
No red there came into his cheek, He fell aback as one made weak.
His wan cheek brushed the high-seat's side, And in the noon of day he died.
So lieth King Gorm beneath the grass, But from mouth to mouth this tale did pass.
And Harald reigned and went his way, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun._ And still is the story told to-day, _So grey is the sea when day is done._
ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS
PUELLÆ
Whence comest thou, and whither goest thou? Abide! abide! longer the shadows grow; What hopest thou the dark to thee will show?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Why should I name the land across the sea Wherein I first took hold on misery? Why should I name the land that flees from me?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
What wilt thou do within the desert place Whereto thou turnest now thy careful face? Stay but a while to tell us of thy case.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
What, nigh the journey's end shall I abide, When in the waste mine own love wanders wide, When from all men for me she still doth hide?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Nay, nay; but rather she forgetteth thee, To sit upon the shore of some warm sea, Or in green gardens where sweet fountains be.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Will ye then keep me from the wilderness, Where I at least, alone with my distress, The quiet land of changing dreams may bless?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Forget the false forgetter and be wise, And 'mid these clinging hands and loving eyes, Dream, not in vain, thou knowest paradise.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Ah! with your sweet eyes shorten not the day, Nor let your gentle hands my journey stay! Perchance love is not wholly cast away.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Pluck love away as thou wouldst pluck a thorn From out thy flesh; for why shouldst thou be born To bear a life so wasted and forlorn?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Yea, why then was I born, since hope is pain, And life a lingering death, and faith but vain, And love the loss of all I seemed to gain?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Dost thou believe that this shall ever be, That in our land no face thou e'er shalt see, No voice thou e'er shalt hear to gladden thee?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
No longer do I know of good or bad, I have forgotten that I once was glad; I do but chase a dream that I have had.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Stay! take one image for thy dreamful night; Come, look at her, who in the world's despite Weeps for delaying love and lost delight.
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Mock me not till to-morrow. Mock the dead, They will not heed it, or turn round the head, To note who faithless are, and who are wed.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
We mock thee not. Hast thou not heard of those Whose faithful love the loved heart holds so close, That death must wait till one word lets it loose?
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
I hear you not: the wind from off the waste Sighs like a song that bids me make good haste The wave of sweet forgetfulness to taste.
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Come back! like such a singer is the wind, As to a sad tune sings fair words and kind, That he with happy tears all eyes may blind!
Abide! abide! for we are happy here.
AMANS
Did I not hear her sweet voice cry from far, That o'er the lonely waste fair fields there are, Fair days that know not any change or care?
Let me depart, since ye are happy here.
PUELLÆ
Oh, no! not far thou heardest her, but nigh; Nigh, 'twixt the waste's edge and the darkling sky. Turn back again, too soon it is to die.
Abide! a little while be happy here.
AMANS
How with the lapse of lone years could I strive, And can I die now that thou biddest live? What joy this space 'twixt birth and death can give.
Can we depart, who are so happy here?
A GARDEN BY THE SEA
I know a little garden-close, Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy morn to dewy night, And have one with me wandering.
And though within it no birds sing, And though no pillared house is there, And though the apple-boughs are bare Of fruit and blossom, would to God Her feet upon the green grass trod, And I beheld them as before.
There comes a murmur from the shore, And in the close two fair streams are, Drawn from the purple hills afar, Drawn down unto the restless sea: Dark hills whose heath-bloom feeds no bee, Dark shore no ship has ever seen, Tormented by the billows green Whose murmur comes unceasingly Unto the place for which I cry.
For which I cry both day and night, For which I let slip all delight, Whereby I grow both deaf and blind, Careless to win, unskilled to find, And quick to lose what all men seek.
Yet tottering as I am and weak, Still have I left a little breath To seek within the jaws of death An entrance to that happy place, To seek the unforgotten face, Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me Anigh the murmuring of the sea.
MOTHER AND SON
Now sleeps the land of houses, and dead night holds the street, And there thou liest, my baby, and sleepest soft and sweet; My man is away for awhile, but safe and alone we lie, And none heareth thy breath but thy mother, and the moon looking down from the sky On the weary waste of the town, as it looked on the grass-edged road Still warm with yesterday's sun, when I left my old abode; Hand in hand with my love, that night of all nights in the year; When the river of love o'erflowed and drowned all doubt and fear, And we two were alone in the world, and once if never again, We knew of the secret of earth and the tale of its labour and pain.
Lo amidst London I lift thee, and how little and light thou art, And thou without hope or fear thou fear and hope of my heart! Lo here thy body beginning, O son, and thy soul and thy life; But how will it be if thou livest, and enterest into the strife, And in love we dwell together when the man is grown in thee, When thy sweet speech I shall hearken, and yet 'twixt thee and me Shall rise that wall of distance, that round each one doth grow, And maketh it hard and bitter each other's thought to know.
Now, therefore, while yet thou art little and hast no thought of thine own, I will tell thee a word of the world; of the hope whence thou hast grown; Of the love that once begat thee, of the sorrow that hath made Thy little heart of hunger, and thy hands on my bosom laid. Then mayst thou remember hereafter, as whiles when people say All this hath happened before in the life of another day; So mayst thou dimly remember this tale of thy mother's voice, As oft in the calm of dawning I have heard the birds rejoice, As oft I have heard the storm-wind go moaning through the wood; And I knew that earth was speaking, and the mother's voice was good.
Now, to thee alone will I tell it that thy mother's body is fair, In the guise of the country maidens Who play with the sun and the air; Who have stood in the row of the reapers in the August afternoon, Who have sat by the frozen water in the high day of the moon, When the lights of the Christmas feasting were dead in the house on the hill, And the wild geese gone to the salt-marsh had left the winter still. Yea, I am fair, my firstling; if thou couldst but remember me! The hair that thy small hand clutcheth is a goodly sight to see; I am true, but my face is a snare; soft and deep are my eyes, And they seem for men's beguiling fulfilled with the dreams of the wise. Kind are my lips, and they look as though my soul had learned Deep things I have never heard of. My face and my hands are burned By the lovely sun of the acres; three months of London town And thy birth-bed have bleached them indeed, "But lo, where the edge of the gown" (So said thy father) "is parting the wrist that is white as the curd From the brown of the hand that I love, bright as the wing of a bird."
Such is thy mother, O firstling, yet strong as the maidens of old, Whose spears and whose swords were the warders of homestead, of field, and of fold. Oft were my feet on the highway, often they wearied the grass; From dusk unto dusk of the summer three times in a week would I pass To the downs from the house on the river through the waves of the blossoming corn. Fair then I lay down in the even, and fresh I arose on the morn, And scarce in the noon was I weary. Ah, son, in the days of thy strife, If thy soul could but harbour a dream of the blossom of my life! It would be as the sunlit meadows beheld from a tossing sea, And thy soul should look on a vision of the peace that is to be.
Yet, yet the tears on my cheek! and what is this doth move My heart to thy heart, beloved, save the flood of yearning love? For fair and fierce is thy father, and soft and strange are his eyes That look on the days that shall be with the hope of the brave and the wise. It was many a day that we laughed, as over the meadows we walked, And many a day I hearkened and the pictures came as he talked; It was many a day that we longed, and we lingered late at eve Ere speech from speech was sundered, and my hand his hand could leave. Then I wept when I was alone, and I longed till the daylight came; And down the stairs I stole, and there was our housekeeping dame (No mother of me, the foundling) kindling the fire betimes Ere the haymaking folk went forth to the meadows down by the limes; All things I saw at a glance; the quickening fire-tongues leapt Through the crackling heap of sticks, and the sweet smoke up from it crept, And close to the very hearth the low sun flooded the floor, And the cat and her kittens played in the sun by the open door. The garden was fair in the morning, and there in the road he stood Beyond the crimson daisies and the bush of southernwood. Then side by side together through the grey-walled place we went, And O the fear departed, and the rest and sweet content!