Part 4

I never quite saw mermaids rise Above the twilight sea, When sands, left wet,'neath sunset skies, Are blushing rosily: But--all alone, those rocks amid-- _One night I very nearly did!_

I never quite saw Goblin Grim Who haunts our lumber room And pops his head above the rim Of that oak chest's deep gloom: But once--when Mother raised the lid-- _I very, very nearly did!_

QUEENIE SCOTT-HOPPER

WHAT THE THRUSH SAYS

Come and see! Come and see!" The Thrush pipes out of the hawthorn-tree: And I and Dicky on tiptoe go To see what treasures he wants to show. His call is clear as a call can be-- And "Come and see!" he says:

"Come and see!"

_"Come and see! Come and see!"_ His house is there in the hawthorn-tree: The neatest house that ever you saw, Built all of mosses and twigs and straw: The folk who built were his wife and he-- And "Come and see!" he says:

"Come and see!"

_"Come and see! Come and see!"_ Within this house there are treasures three: So warm and snug in its curve they lie-- Like three bright bits out of Spring's blue sky. We would not hurt them, he knows; not we! So "Come and see!" he says: "Come and see!"

_"Come and see! Come and see!"_ No thrush was ever so proud as he! His bright-eyed lady has left those eggs For just five minutes to stretch her legs. He's keeping guard in the hawthorn-tree, And "Come and see!" he says: "Come and see!"

_"Come and see! Come and see!"_ He has no fear of the boys and me. He came and shared in our meals, you know, In hungry times of the frost and snow. So now we share in his Secret Tree Where "Come and see!" he says: "Come and see!"

QUEENIE SCOTT-HOPPER

THE SUNSET GARDEN

I can see from the window a little brown house, And the garden goes up to the top of the hill. And the sun comes each day, And slips down away At the end of the garden an' sleeps there ... until The daylight comes climbing up over the hill.

I do wish I lived in the little brown house, Then at night I'd go out to the garden, an' creep Up ... up ... then I'd stop, An' lean over the top, At the end of the garden, an' so I could peep, And see what the sun looks like when it's asleep.

MARION ST JOHN WEBB

SWEET AS THE BREATH OF THE WHIN

Sweet as the breath of the whin Is the thought of my love-- Sweet as the breath of the whin In the noonday sun-- Sweet as the breath of the whin In the sun after rain.

Glad as the gold of the whin Is the thought of my love-- Glad as the gold of the whin Since wandering's done-- Glad as the gold of the whin Is my heart, home again.

WILFRID WILSON GIBSON

THE LAW THE LAWYERS KNOW ABOUT

The law the lawyers know about Is property and land; But why the leaves are on the trees, And why the winds disturb the seas, Why honey is the food of bees, Why horses have such tender knees, Why winters come and rivers freeze, Why Faith is more than what one sees, And Hope survives the worst disease, And Charity is more than these, They do not understand.

H. D. C. PEPLER

ALL IS SPIRIT AND PART OF ME.

A greater lover none can be, And all is spirit and part of me. I am sway of the rolling hills, And breath from the great wide plains; I am born of a thousand storms, And grey with the rushing rains; I have stood with the age-long rocks, And flowered with the meadow sweet; I have fought with the wind-worn firs, And bent with the ripening wheat; I have watched with the solemn clouds, And dreamt with the moorland pools; I have raced with the water's whirl, And lain where their anger cools; I have hovered as strong-winged bird, And swooped as I saw my prey; I have risen with cold grey dawn, And flamed in the dying day; For all is spirit and part of me, And greater lover none can be.

L. D'O. WALTERS

STREET LANTERNS

Country roads are yellow and brown. We mend the roads in London Town.

Never a hansom dare come nigh, Never a cart goes rolling by.

An unwonted silence steals In between the turning wheels.

Quickly ends the autumn day, And the workman goes his way,

Leaving, midst the traffic rude, One small isle of solitude,

Lit, throughout the lengthy night, By the little lantern's light.

Jewels of the dark have we, Brighter than the rustic's be.

Over the dull earth are thrown Topaz, and the ruby stone.

MARY E. COLERIDGE

TO BETSEY-JANE, ON HER DESIRING TO GO INCONTINENTLY TO HEAVEN

My Betsey-Jane, it would not do, For what would Heaven make of you, A little, honey-loving bear, Among the Blessed Babies there?

Nor do you dwell with us in vain Who tumble and get up again. And try, with bruised knees, to smile--. Sweet, you are blessed all the-while

And we in you: so wait, they'll come To take your hand and fetch you home, In Heavenly leaves to play at tents With all the Holy Innocents.

HELEN PARRY EDEN

THE BRIDGE

Here, with one leap, The bridge that spans the cutting; on its back The load Of the main-road, And under it the railway-track.

Into the plains they sweep, Into the solitary plains asleep, The flowing lines, the parallel lines of steel-- Fringed with their narrow grass, Into the plains they pass, The flowing lines, like arms of mute appeal.

A cry Prolonged across the earth--a call To the remote horizons and the sky; The whole east-rushes down them with its light, And the whole west receives them, with its pall Of stars and night-- The flowing lines, the parallel lines of steel.

And with the fall Of darkness, see! the red, Bright anger of the signal, where it flares Like a huge eye that stares On some hid danger in the dark ahead. A twang of wire--unseen The signal drops; and now, instead Of a red eye, a green.

Out of the silence grows An iron thunder--grows, and roars, and sweeps, Menacing! The plain Suddenly leaps, Startled, from its repose-- Alert and listening. Now, from the gloom Of the soft distance, loom Three lights and, over them, a brush Of tawny flame and flying spark-- Three pointed lights that rush, Monstrous, upon the cringing dark.

And nearer, nearer rolls the sound, Louder the throb and roar of wheels, The shout of speed, the shriek of steam; The sloping bank, Cut into flashing squares, gives back the clank

And grind of metal, while the ground Shudders and the bridge reels-- As, with a scream, The train, A rage of smoke, a laugh of fire, A lighted anguish of desire, A dream Of gold and iron, of sound and flight, Tumultuous roars across the night.

The train roars past--and, with a cry, Drowned in a flying howl of wind, Half-stifled in the smoke and blind, The plain, Shaken, exultant, unconfined, Rises, flows on, and follows, and sweeps by, Shrieking, to lose itself in distance and the sky.

J. REDWOOD ANDERSON

FEBRUARY

The robin on my lawn He was the first to tell How, in the frozen dawn, This miracle befell, Waking the meadows white With hoar, the iron road Agleam with splintered light, And ice where water flowed: Till, when the low sun drank Those milky mists that cloak Hanger and hollied bank, The winter world awoke To hear the feeble bleat Of lambs on downland farms: A blackbird whistled sweet; Old beeches moved their arms Into a mellow haze Aerial, newly-born: And I, alone, agaze, Stood waiting for the thorn To break in blossom white, Or burst in a green flame.... So, in a single night, Fair February came, Bidding my lips to sing Or whisper their surprise, With all the joy of spring And morning in her eyes.

FRANCIS BRETT YOUNG

SEA-FOAM

A fleck of foam on the shining sand, Left by the ebbing sea, But richer than man may understand In magic and mystery-- Transient bubbles rainbow-bright, Myriad-hued and strange, Tremble and throb in the noonday light, Flower and flush and change.

A million tides have come and gone, Great gales of autumn and spring, A million summoning moons have shone To bring to birth this thing-- A foam-fleck left on the ribbed wet sand By the wave of an outgoing sea, With all the colour of Faeryland, Wonder and mystery.

TERESA HOOLEY

A PETITION

All that a man might ask, thou hast given me, England, Birth-right and happy childhood's long heart's-ease, And love whose range is deep beyond all sounding And wider than all seas.

A heart to front the world and find God in it, Eyes blind enow, but not too blind to see The lovely things behind the dross and darkness, And lovelier things to be.

And friends whose loyalty time nor death shall weaken, And quenchless hope and laughter's golden store; All that a man might ask thou hast given me, England, Yet grant thou one thing more:

That now when envious foes would spoil thy splendour, Unversed in arms, a dreamer such as I May in thy ranks be deemed not all unworthy, England, for thee to die.

R. E. VERNÈDE

BLACK AND WHITE

I met a man along the road To Withernsea; Was ever anything so dark, so pale As he? His hat, his clothes, his tie, his boots Were black as black Could be, And midst of all was a cold white face, And eyes that looked wearily.

The road was bleak and straight and flat To Withernsea, Gaunt poles with shrilling wires their weird Did dree; On the sky stood out, on the swollen sky The black blood veins Of tree After tree, as they beat from the face Of the wind which they could not flee.

And in the fields along the road To Withernsea,

"MIDST OF ALL WAS A COLD WHITE FACE"

Swart crows sat huddled on the ground Disconsolately, While overhead the seamews wheeled, and skirled In glee; But the black cows stood, and cropped where they stood, And never heeded thee, O dark pale man, with the weary eyes, On the road to Withernsea.

H. H. ABBOTT

THE OXEN

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock. "Now they are all on their knees," An elder said as we sat in a flock By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where They dwelt in their strawy pen, Nor did it occur to one of us there To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few believe In these years! Yet, I feel, If someone said on Christmas Eve "Come; see the oxen kneel

In the lonely barton by yonder coomb Our childhood used to know," I should go with him in the gloom, Hoping it might be so.

THOMAS HARDY