Part 4

Sleep first, And let the storm and winter do their worst; Let all the garden lie Bare to the angry sky, The shed leaves shiver and die Above your bed; Let the white coverlet Of sunlit snow be set Over your sleeping head, While in the earth you sleep Where dreams are dear and deep, And heed nor wind nor snow, Nor how the dark moons go. In this sad upper world where Winter’s hand Has bound with chains of ice the weary land. Then wake To see the whole world lovely for Spring’s sake; The garden fresh and fair With green things everywhere, And winter’s want and care Banished and fled; Primrose and violet In every border set, With rain and sunshine fed. Then bless the fairy song That cradled you so long, And bless the fairy kiss That wakened you to this-- A world where Winter’s dead and Spring doth reign And lovers whisper in the budding lane.

FEBRUARY

The trees stand brown against the gray, The shivering gray of field and sky; The mists wrapt round the dying day The shroud poor days wear as they die: Poor day, die soon, who lived in vain, Who could not bring my Love again!

Down in the garden breezes cold Dead rustling stalks blow chill between; Only, above the sodden mould, The wallflower wears his heartless green As though still reigned the rose-crowned year And summer and my Love were here.

The mists creep close about the house, The empty house, all still and chill; The desolate and trembling boughs Scratch at the dripping window sill: Poor day lies drowned in floods of rain, And ghosts knock at the window pane.

THE PROMISE OF SPRING

Just a whisper, half-heard, But our heart knows the word; Caresses that seem Like love’s lips in a dream; Yet we know she is here, The desirèd, the dear, The love of the year! In the murmur of boughs, In the softening of skies, In the sun on the house, In the daffodil’s green (Half an inch, half-unseen Mid the mournful brown mould Where the rotten leaf lies) Her story is told.

O Spring, darling Spring, O sweet days of blue weather! The thrushes shall sing, Fields shall grow green again, Daisies be seen again, Hedges grow white; Then down the lane, Grown leafy again, Shall go lovers together-- Lovers who see again Sunshine and showers, Perfume and flowers, Dewy dear hours, Dream and delight.

Warm shall nests be again, Winter’s behind us; Springtime shall find us, Taking our hands, Lead us away from the cold and the snow, Into the green world where primroses grow. Winter, hard winter, forgotten, forgiven; All the old pain paid, to seventy times seven, All the new glory a-glow. Love, when Spring calls, will you still turn away? Winter has wooed you in vain, and shall May? Love, when Spring calls, will you go?

MEDWAY SONG

(_Air: Carnaval de Venise_)

Let Housman sing of Severn shore, Of Thames let Arnold sing, But we will sing no river more Save this where crowbars ring. Let others sing of Henley, Of fashion and renown, But we will sing the thirteen locks That lead to Tonbridge town! Then sing the Kentish river, The Kentish fields and flowers, We waste no dreams on other streams Who call the Medway ours.

When on the level golden meads The evening sunshine lies, The little voles among the reeds Look out with wondering eyes. The patient anglers linger The placid stream beside, Where still with towering tarry prow The stately barges glide. Then sing the Kentish river, The Kentish fields and flowers, We waste no dreams on other streams Who call the Medway ours.

On Medway banks the May droops white, The wild rose blossoms fair, O’er meadow-sweet and loosestrife bright, For water nymphs to wear. And mid the blowing rushes Pan pipes a joyous song, And woodland things peep from the shade As soft we glide along. Then sing the Kentish river, The Kentish fields and flowers, We waste no dreams on other streams Who call the Medway ours.

You see no freight on Medway boats Of fashions fine and rare, But happy men in shabby coats, And girls with wind-kissed hair. The world’s a pain forgotten, And very far away, The stream that flows, the boat that goes-- These are our world to-day. Then sing the Kentish river, The Kentish fields and flowers, We waste no dreams on other streams Who call the Medway ours.

CHAINS INVISIBLE

The lilies in my garden grow, Wide meadows ring my garden round, In that green copse wild violets blow, And pale, frail cuckoo flowers are found. For all you see and all you hear, The city might be miles away, And yet you feel the city near Through all the quiet of the day.

Sweet smells the earth--wet with sweet rain-- Sweet lilac waves in moonlight pale, And from the wood beyond the lane I hear the hidden nightingale. Though field and wood about me lie, Hushed soft in dew and deep delight, Yet can I hear the city’s sigh Through all the silence of the night.

For me the skylark builds and sings, For me the vine her garland weaves; The swallow folds her glossy wings To build beneath my cottage eaves. But I can feel the giant near, Can hear his slaves by daylight weep, And, when at last the night is here, I hear him moaning in his sleep.

Oh! for a little space of ground, Though not a flower should make it gay, Where miles of meadows wrapped me round, And leagues and leagues of silence lay. Oh! for a wind-lashed, treeless down, A black night and a rising sea, And never a thought of London town, To steal the world’s delight from me.

AT EVENING TIME THERE SHALL BE LIGHT

The day was wild with wind and rain, One grey wrapped sky and sea and shore, It seemed our marsh would never again Wear the rich robes that once it wore. The scattered farms looked sad and chill, Their sheltering trees writhed all awry, And waves of mist broke on the hill Where once the great sea thundered by.

Then God remembered this His land, This little land that is our own, He caught the rain up in His hand, He hid the winds behind His throne, He soothed the fretful waves to rest, He called the clouds to come away, And, by blue pathways, to the west, They went, like children tired of play.

And then God bade our marsh put on Its holy vestment of fine gold; From marge to marge the glory shone On lichened farm and fence and fold; In the gold sky that walled the west, In each transfigured stone and tree, The glory of God was manifest, Plain for a little child to see!

MAIDENHOOD

Through her fair world of blossoms fresh and bright, Veiled with her maiden innocence, she goes; Not all the splendour of the waxing light She sees, nor all the colour of the rose; And yet who knows what finer hues she sees, Hid by our wisdom from our longing eyes? Who knows what light she sees in skies and seas Which is withholden from our seas and skies?

Shod with her youth the thorny paths she treads And feels not yet the treachery of the thorn, Her crown of lilies still its perfume sheds Where Love, the thorny crown, not yet is borne. Yet in the mystery of her peaceful way Who knows what fears beset her innocence, Who, trembling, learns that thorns will wound some day, And wonders what thorns are, and why, and whence?

V

THE MONK

When in my narrow cell I lie, The long day’s penance done at last, I see the ghosts of days gone by, And hear the voices of the past.

I see the blue-gray wood-smoke curled From hearths where life has rhymed to love, I see the kingdoms of the world-- The glory and the power thereof, And cry, “Ah, vainly have I striven!” And then a voice calls, soft and low: “Thou gavest My Earth to win My Heaven; But Heaven-on-Earth thou mayest not know!”

It is not for Thy Heaven, O Lord, That I renounced Thy pleasant earth-- The ship, the furrow, and the sword-- The dreams of death, the dreams of birth!

Weary of vigil, fast, and prayer, Weak in my hope and in my faith-- O Christ, for whom this cross I bear, Meet me beside the gate of Death!

When the night comes, then let me rest (O Christ, who sanctifiest pain!) Falling asleep upon Thy breast, And, if Thou wilt, wake never again!

THE CROWN OF LIFE

The days, the doubts, the dreams of pain Are over, not to come again, And from the menace of the night Has dawned the day-star of delight: My baby lies against me pressed-- Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed!

His little head upon my arm, His little body soft and warm, His little feet that cannot stand Held in the heart of this, my hand. His little mouth close on my breast-- Thus, Mary’s Son, are mothers blessed.

All dreams of deeds, all deeds of day Are very faint and far away, Yet you some day will stand upright And fight God’s foes, in manhood’s might, You--tiny, worshipped, clasped, caressed-- Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed.

Whatever grief may come to be This hour divine goes on for me. All glorious is my little span, Since I, like God, have made a man, A little image of God’s best-- Thus, Mary’s Son, are mothers blessed.

Come change, come loss, come worlds of tears, Come endless chain of empty years; They cannot take away the hour That gives me You--my bird, my flower! Thank God for this! Leave God the rest!-- Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed.

MAGNIFICAT

This is Christ’s birthday: long ago He lay upon His Mother’s knee, Who kissed and blessed Him soft and low-- God’s gift to her, as you to me.

My baby dear, my little one, The love that rocks this cradling breast Is such as Mary gave her Son: She was more honoured, not more blest.

He smiled as you smile: not more sweet Than your eyes were those eyes of His, And just such little hands and feet As yours Our Lady used to kiss.

The world’s desire that Mother bore: She held a King upon her knee: O King of all my world, and more Than all the world’s desire to me!

I thank God on the Christmas morn, For He has given me all things good: This body which a child has borne, This breast, made holy for his food.

High in high heaven Our Lady’s throne Beside her Son’s stands up apart: I sit on heaven’s steps alone And hold my king against my heart.

Across dark depths she hears your cry; She sees your smile, through worlds of blue Who was a mother, even as I, And loved her Child, as I love you.

And to her heart my babe is dear, Because she bore the Babe Divine, And all my soul to hers draws near, And loves Him for the sake of mine!

EVENING PRAYER

Not to the terrible God, avenging, bright, Whose altars struck their roots in flame and blood, Not to the jealous God, whose merciless might The infamy of unclean years withstood; But to the God who lit the evening star, Who taught the flower to blossom in delight, Who taught His world what love and worship are We pray, we two, to-night.

To no vast Presence too immense to love, To no enthronèd King too great to care, To no strange Spirit human needs above We bring our little, intimate, heart-warm prayer; But to the God who is a Father too, The Father who loved and gave His only Son We pray across the cradle, I and you, For ours, our little one!

CHRISTMAS HYMN

O Christ, born on the holy day, I have no gift to give my King; No flowers grow by my weary way; I have no birthday song to sing.

How can I sing Thy name and praise, Who never saw Thy face divine; Who walk in darkness all my days, And see no Eastern stars a-shine?

Yet, when their Christmas gifts they bring, How can I leave Thy praise unsung? How stay from homage to the King, And hold a silent, grudging tongue?

Lord, I found many a song to sing, And many a humble hymn of praise For Thy great Miracle of Spring, The wonder of the waxing days.

When I beheld Thy days and years, Did I not sing Thy pleasant earth? The moons of love, the years of tears, The mysteries of death and birth?

Have I not sung with all my soul While soul and song were mine to yield, Thy lightning crown, Thy cloud-control, The dewy clover of Thy field?

Have I not loved Thy birds and beasts, Thy streams and woods, Thy sun and shade; Have I not made me holy feasts Of all the beauty Thou hast made?

What though my tear-tired eyes, alas! Won never grace Thy face to see? I heard Thy footstep on the grass, Thy voice in every wind-blown tree.

No music now I make or win, Yet, Lord, remember I have been The lover of Thy world, wherein I found nought common or unclean.

Grown old and blind, I sing no more, Thy saints in heaven sing sweet and strong, Yet take the songs I made of yore For echoes to Thy birthday song.

ABSOLUTION

Unbind thine eyes, with thine own soul confer, Look on the sins that made thy life unclean, Behold how poor thy vaunted virtues were, How weak thy faith, thy deeds how small and mean, How far from thy high dreams thy life hath been, How poor thy use of all thou hast received, How little of all God’s glory thou hast seen, How misconstrued that which thou hast perceived.

Turn not thine eyes away from thine unworth, The cup of shame drink to the bitter lees; And when thou art lowerèd to the least on earth, And in the dust makest common cause with these, Then shall kind arms enfold thee, bringing peace, The Earth, thy Mother, shall assuage thy pain, Her woods and fields, Her quiet streams and seas Shall touch thy soul, and make thee whole again.

But if thy heart holds fast one secret sin, If one vile script thy soul shrinks to erase, The mighty Mother cannot bring thee in Unto the happy, holy, healing place; But thou shalt weep in darkness, out of grace, And miss the light of beauty undefiled; For he who would behold Her, face to face, Must be in spirit as a little child.

* * * * *

NOW BEING PUBLISHED

The New Popular Edition

OF THE

Works of George Meredith

_Crown 8vo, 6s. each._

With Frontispieces by BERNARD PARTRIDGE, HARRISON MILLER, and others.

THE ORDEAL OF RICHARD FEVEREL EVAN HARRINGTON SANDRA BELLONI VITTORIA RHODA FLEMING THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY RICHMOND BEAUCHAMP’S CAREER THE EGOIST DIANA OF THE CROSSWAYS ONE OF OUR CONQUERORS LORD ORMONT AND HIS AMINTA THE AMAZING MARRIAGE THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT THE TRAGIC COMEDIANS SHORT STORIES SELECTED POEMS

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In the Tideway

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Dracula

BY BRAM STOKER

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The Folly of Pen Harrington

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A Re-telling of Old Stories of the Celtic Wonderworld.

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Odd Stories

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The Dark Way of Love

_From the French of M. Charles le Goffic._

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Some Observations of a Foster Parent

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The Amazing Marriage

BY GEORGE MEREDITH

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London City Churches

BY

A. E. DANIELL

WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY

LEONARD MARTIN

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