THE bending sails shall whiten on the sea,
Guided by hands and eyes made glad for home,
With graven gems and cedar and ebony
From Babylon and Rome.
Guided by hands and eyes made glad for home,
With graven gems and cedar and ebony
From Babylon and Rome.
For here a lover cometh as to his bride,
And there a merchant to his utmost price—
Oh, hearts will leap to see the good ships ride
Safely to Paradise!
And there a merchant to his utmost price—
Oh, hearts will leap to see the good ships ride
Safely to Paradise!
And this that cuts the waves with brazen prow
Hath heard the blizzard groaning through her spars;
Battered with honour swings she nobly now
Back from her bitter wars.
Hath heard the blizzard groaning through her spars;
Battered with honour swings she nobly now
Back from her bitter wars.
And that doth bring her silver work and spice,
Peacocks and apes from Tarshish, and from Tyre
Great cloaks of velvet stiff with gold device,
Coloured with sunset fire....
Peacocks and apes from Tarshish, and from Tyre
Great cloaks of velvet stiff with gold device,
Coloured with sunset fire....
And one, serenely through the golden gate,
Shall sail and anchor by the ultimate shore,
Who, plundered of her gold by pirate Fate,
Still keeps her richer store
Shall sail and anchor by the ultimate shore,
Who, plundered of her gold by pirate Fate,
Still keeps her richer store
Unrifled when her perilous journey ends
And the strong cable holds her safe again:
Laughter and memories and the songs of friends
And the sword edge of pain.
And the strong cable holds her safe again:
Laughter and memories and the songs of friends
And the sword edge of pain.
LAUGHTER
OH, not a poet lives but knows
The laughing beauty of the rose,
The heyday humour of the noon,
The solemn smiling of the moon,—
When night, as happy as a lover,
Doth kiss and kiss the earth, and cover
His face with all her tender hair.
The laughing beauty of the rose,
The heyday humour of the noon,
The solemn smiling of the moon,—
When night, as happy as a lover,
Doth kiss and kiss the earth, and cover
His face with all her tender hair.
Sweet bride and bridegroom everywhere,
And mothers, who so softly sing
Upon their babies’ slumbering,
Know joy upon their lips, and laughter
At Joy’s heels that comes tumbling after.
And mothers, who so softly sing
Upon their babies’ slumbering,
Know joy upon their lips, and laughter
At Joy’s heels that comes tumbling after.
But who shall shake his sides to hear
That sacred laughter, fraught with fear,
That laughter strange and mystical—
The hero laughing in his fall;
Whene’er a man goes out alone,
Is thrown and is not overthrown?
That sacred laughter, fraught with fear,
That laughter strange and mystical—
The hero laughing in his fall;
Whene’er a man goes out alone,
Is thrown and is not overthrown?
The fates shall never bow the head
That irony hath comforted,
Nor thrust him down with shameful scars
Who towers above the reeling stars.
That irony hath comforted,
Nor thrust him down with shameful scars
Who towers above the reeling stars.
Thus God, Who shaketh roof and rafter
Of highest heaven with holy laughter;
Who made fantastic, foolish trees
Shadow the floors of tropic seas,
Where finny gargoyles, goggle-eyed,
Grin monstrously beneath the tide;
Who made for some titanic joke
Out of the acorn grow the oak;
From buried seed and riven rocks,
Brings death and life—a paradox!
Who breaks great Kingdoms, and their Kings,
Upon the knees of helpless things....
So flesh the Word was made Who gave
His body to a human grave,
While devils gnashed their teeth at loss
To see Him triumph on the cross....
Of highest heaven with holy laughter;
Who made fantastic, foolish trees
Shadow the floors of tropic seas,
Where finny gargoyles, goggle-eyed,
Grin monstrously beneath the tide;
Who made for some titanic joke
Out of the acorn grow the oak;
From buried seed and riven rocks,
Brings death and life—a paradox!
Who breaks great Kingdoms, and their Kings,
Upon the knees of helpless things....
So flesh the Word was made Who gave
His body to a human grave,
While devils gnashed their teeth at loss
To see Him triumph on the cross....
Thus God, Who shaketh roof and rafter
Of highest heaven with holy laughter!
Of highest heaven with holy laughter!
VOCATION
THOUGH God has put me in the world to praise
Each beetle’s burnished wing, each blade of grass,
To track the manifold and marvellous ways
Whereon His bright creative footsteps pass;
Each beetle’s burnished wing, each blade of grass,
To track the manifold and marvellous ways
Whereon His bright creative footsteps pass;
To glory in the poplars’ summer green,
To guard the sunset’s glittering hoard of gold,
To gladden when the fallen leaves careen
On fairy keels upon the windy wold.
To guard the sunset’s glittering hoard of gold,
To gladden when the fallen leaves careen
On fairy keels upon the windy wold.
For this, for this, my eager mornings broke,
For this came sunshine and the lonely rain,
For this the stiff and sleepy woods awoke
And every hawthorn hedge along the lane.
For this came sunshine and the lonely rain,
For this the stiff and sleepy woods awoke
And every hawthorn hedge along the lane.
For this God gave me all my joy of verse
That I might shout beneath exultant skies,
And meet, as one delivered from a curse,
The pardon and the pity in your eyes.
That I might shout beneath exultant skies,
And meet, as one delivered from a curse,
The pardon and the pity in your eyes.
BLINDNESS
OPEN the casement! From my room,
Perched high upon this dizzy spire,
My blinded eyes behold the bloom
Of gardens in their golden fire.
Perched high upon this dizzy spire,
My blinded eyes behold the bloom
Of gardens in their golden fire.
Oh deep, mysterious recompense—
Time static to my ardent gaze!
No longer mortal veils of sense
Conceal the blissful ray of rays!
Time static to my ardent gaze!
No longer mortal veils of sense
Conceal the blissful ray of rays!
Fantastic forests toss their heads
For my immortal youth; on grass
Brighter than jewels do the reds
Of riotous summer roses pass.
For my immortal youth; on grass
Brighter than jewels do the reds
Of riotous summer roses pass.
I traffic in abysmal seas,
And dive for pearls and coloured shells,
Where, over seaweeds tall as trees,
The waters boom like tenor bells;
And dive for pearls and coloured shells,
Where, over seaweeds tall as trees,
The waters boom like tenor bells;
Where bearded goblin-fish and sharks,
With fins as large as eagles’ wings,
Throw phosphorescent trails of sparks
Which glitter on drowned Spaniards’ rings.
With fins as large as eagles’ wings,
Throw phosphorescent trails of sparks
Which glitter on drowned Spaniards’ rings.
From star to star I pilgrimage,
Undaunted in ethereal space;
And laugh because the sun in rage
Shoots harmless arrows at my face.
Undaunted in ethereal space;
And laugh because the sun in rage
Shoots harmless arrows at my face.
For even if the skies should flare
In God’s last catastrophic blaze,
My happy, blinded eyes would stare
Only upon the ray of rays.
In God’s last catastrophic blaze,
My happy, blinded eyes would stare
Only upon the ray of rays.
DRINKING SONG
WHEN Horace wrote his noble verse,
His brilliant, glowing line,
He must have gone to bed the worse
For good Falernian wine.
No poet yet could praise the rose
In verse that so serenely flows
Unless he dipped his Roman nose
In good Falernian wine.
His brilliant, glowing line,
He must have gone to bed the worse
For good Falernian wine.
No poet yet could praise the rose
In verse that so serenely flows
Unless he dipped his Roman nose
In good Falernian wine.
Shakespeare and Jonson too
Drank deep of barley brew—
Drank deep of barley brew, my boys,
Drank deep of barley brew!
Drank deep of barley brew—
Drank deep of barley brew, my boys,
Drank deep of barley brew!
When Alexander led his men
Against the Persian King,
He broached a hundred hogsheads, then
They drank like anything.
They drank by day, they drank by night,
And when they marshalled for the fight
Each put a score of foes to flight—
They drank like anything!
Against the Persian King,
He broached a hundred hogsheads, then
They drank like anything.
They drank by day, they drank by night,
And when they marshalled for the fight
Each put a score of foes to flight—
They drank like anything!
No warrior worth his salt
But quaffs the mighty malt—
But quaffs the mighty malt, my boys,
But quaffs the mighty malt!
But quaffs the mighty malt—
But quaffs the mighty malt, my boys,
But quaffs the mighty malt!
When Patrick into Ireland went
The works of God to do,
It was his excellent intent
To teach men how to brew.
The holy saint had in his train
A man of splendid heart and brain—
A brewer was this worthy swain—
To teach men how to brew.
The works of God to do,
It was his excellent intent
To teach men how to brew.
The holy saint had in his train
A man of splendid heart and brain—
A brewer was this worthy swain—
To teach men how to brew.
The snakes he drove away
Were teetotallers they say—
Teetotallers they say, my boys,
Teetotallers they say!
Were teetotallers they say—
Teetotallers they say, my boys,
Teetotallers they say!
THREE TRIOLETS
I
OF AN IMPROBABLE STORY
I HEARD a story from an oak
As I was walking in the wood—
I, of the stupid human-folk,
I heard a story from an oak.
Though larches into laughter broke
I hardly think I understood.
I heard a story from an oak
As I was walking in the wood.
As I was walking in the wood—
I, of the stupid human-folk,
I heard a story from an oak.
Though larches into laughter broke
I hardly think I understood.
I heard a story from an oak
As I was walking in the wood.
II
OF DEPLORABLE SENTIMENTS
I WOULDN’T sell my noble thirst
For half-a-dozen bags of gold;
I’d like to drink until I burst.
I wouldn’t sell my noble thirst
For lucre filthy and accurst—
Such treasures can’t be bought and sold!
I wouldn’t sell my noble thirst
For half-a-dozen bags of gold.
For half-a-dozen bags of gold;
I’d like to drink until I burst.
I wouldn’t sell my noble thirst
For lucre filthy and accurst—
Such treasures can’t be bought and sold!
I wouldn’t sell my noble thirst
For half-a-dozen bags of gold.
III
OF LOVE AND LAUGHTER
You scattered joy about my way
And filled my lips with love and laughter
In white and yellow fields of May
You scattered joy about my way.
Though Winter come with skies of grey
And grisly death come stalking after,
You scattered joy about my way
And filled my lips with love and laughter.
And filled my lips with love and laughter
In white and yellow fields of May
You scattered joy about my way.
Though Winter come with skies of grey
And grisly death come stalking after,
You scattered joy about my way
And filled my lips with love and laughter.
A NEW CANTERBURY TALE
IN Italie a mony yeer ago
There lived a little childë Catharine,
With yongë, merrie hertë clere as snow.
From hir first youthful hour she did entwyne
Roses both whyt and reed—Godis columbine
She was. And for hir holy gaiety
Was by hir neighbours clept Euphrosyne.
There lived a little childë Catharine,
With yongë, merrie hertë clere as snow.
From hir first youthful hour she did entwyne
Roses both whyt and reed—Godis columbine
She was. And for hir holy gaiety
Was by hir neighbours clept Euphrosyne.
Ech stepp she took upon hir fadirs staires,
Kneeling she did an Ave Mary say;
With ful devocioun she seid hir prayers
Ere that she wentë forth ech day to play;
Our Blessid Queen was in hir thought alway—
Our Modir Mary whose humility
Hath raiséd hir to hevinës magesté.
Kneeling she did an Ave Mary say;
With ful devocioun she seid hir prayers
Ere that she wentë forth ech day to play;
Our Blessid Queen was in hir thought alway—
Our Modir Mary whose humility
Hath raiséd hir to hevinës magesté.
When only sevin was this childës age
She vowed hirself to sweet virginity,
Forsweering eny erthly marriáge,
That she the clenë bride of Crist schuld be,
Who on the heavy cross ful cruelly
The Jewës nailéd, hevin to open wide—
Crist for hir husëbond, she Cristës bride.
She vowed hirself to sweet virginity,
Forsweering eny erthly marriáge,
That she the clenë bride of Crist schuld be,
Who on the heavy cross ful cruelly
The Jewës nailéd, hevin to open wide—
Crist for hir husëbond, she Cristës bride.
Swich was the litle innocentes intent,
Hirself unspotted from the world to kepe,
Al hidden in hir fadirs hous she went.
Whether in waking or in purë sleep
She builded hir a closë cellë deep—
Where Lordë Cristë colde walk with hir,
And hold alway His sweetë convers there.
Hirself unspotted from the world to kepe,
Al hidden in hir fadirs hous she went.
Whether in waking or in purë sleep
She builded hir a closë cellë deep—
Where Lordë Cristë colde walk with hir,
And hold alway His sweetë convers there.
So ful she was of gentil charity,
She diddë tend upon the sick ech day;
To beggars in their grete necessity
She gave hir cloke and petticoat away;
To no poor wightë did she sayë nay—
And when reprovéd merrily she spoke,
“God loveth Charity more than my cloke.”
She diddë tend upon the sick ech day;
To beggars in their grete necessity
She gave hir cloke and petticoat away;
To no poor wightë did she sayë nay—
And when reprovéd merrily she spoke,
“God loveth Charity more than my cloke.”
An oldë widow lay al striken sore
With leprosé, that dreed and foul disease;
And to hir (filléd to the hertë core
With love of God) that she schuld bring hir ease
Did Catharine come, nor did hit hir displese
That she schuld wash the woundës tenderly,
And bind hem up for Goddës charity.
With leprosé, that dreed and foul disease;
And to hir (filléd to the hertë core
With love of God) that she schuld bring hir ease
Did Catharine come, nor did hit hir displese
That she schuld wash the woundës tenderly,
And bind hem up for Goddës charity.
And though the pacient waxéd querulous,
The blessid seintë wearied neer a whit,
For hir upbrading tong so slanderous,
Nor even when upon hir handës lit
The leprosé corrupt and foul—for hit
Is nothing to the shamë Goddë bore
When nailes and speares His smoothë flesch y-tore.
The blessid seintë wearied neer a whit,
For hir upbrading tong so slanderous,
Nor even when upon hir handës lit
The leprosé corrupt and foul—for hit
Is nothing to the shamë Goddë bore
When nailes and speares His smoothë flesch y-tore.
But now behold a woundrous miracle!
For al that Seintë Catharine colde do,
Hir pacient died and was y-carried wel
Unto hir gravë by stout men and true.
When they upon hir corse the cloddës threw,
Then new as eny childës gan to shine
The shrivvelled handes of holy Catharine!
For al that Seintë Catharine colde do,
Hir pacient died and was y-carried wel
Unto hir gravë by stout men and true.
When they upon hir corse the cloddës threw,
Then new as eny childës gan to shine
The shrivvelled handes of holy Catharine!
There livéd there a youth clept Nicholas,
Who made in that citee seditioun,
Causing a gretë riot in that place,
So that the magistratës of the toun
Hent him and cast him in a strong prisoun;
And thilkë wightë they anon did try,
And for his sin condemnéd him to die.
Who made in that citee seditioun,
Causing a gretë riot in that place,
So that the magistratës of the toun
Hent him and cast him in a strong prisoun;
And thilkë wightë they anon did try,
And for his sin condemnéd him to die.
And Catharine y-waxéd piteous
To see him brought unto this sorry case,
And went to him unto the prisoun hous
To move his soul to Jhesu Cristës grace.
So yong he was and fresh and faire of face,
Hir hertë movéd was as to a son,
And he by hir sweet, gracious wordes was won.
To see him brought unto this sorry case,
And went to him unto the prisoun hous
To move his soul to Jhesu Cristës grace.
So yong he was and fresh and faire of face,
Hir hertë movéd was as to a son,
And he by hir sweet, gracious wordes was won.
That for his deth he made a good accord,
And was y-shriven wel of his assoyl,
And with a humble soul received our Lord
From the prestes hands. His hertë that did boil
But little whyles ago—was freed from toil,
And fixéd on our Lordës precious blood,
Which for our sak He spilléd on the rood.
And was y-shriven wel of his assoyl,
And with a humble soul received our Lord
From the prestes hands. His hertë that did boil
But little whyles ago—was freed from toil,
And fixéd on our Lordës precious blood,
Which for our sak He spilléd on the rood.
And when he came to executioun,
No feer had he nor eny bitter care,
But walked among the guardës thurgh the toun
In joy so hye as if he trod on air.
Seint Catharine she was y-waiting there
To cheer his soul against the dreedful end,
When unto God his soul at last most wend.
No feer had he nor eny bitter care,
But walked among the guardës thurgh the toun
In joy so hye as if he trod on air.
Seint Catharine she was y-waiting there
To cheer his soul against the dreedful end,
When unto God his soul at last most wend.
And there thilke holy virgin welcomed him;
“Come, Nicholas,” she said, “my sonnë deere.
The boul of glorious life is at the brim—
Come, Nicholas—your nuptials are neer;
The bridegroom calleth, be you of good cheer.”
And whyl they madë redy, on hir brest
She kept the hed of Nicholas at rest.
“Come, Nicholas,” she said, “my sonnë deere.
The boul of glorious life is at the brim—
Come, Nicholas—your nuptials are neer;
The bridegroom calleth, be you of good cheer.”
And whyl they madë redy, on hir brest
She kept the hed of Nicholas at rest.
And when that al in ordre had been set,
She stretchéd out his nekkë tenderly,
“This day your soulës bridegroom shal be met.
Hark! how He calleth, sweet and winsomely.”
And Nicholas spak to hir ful of glee—
“Jhesu” and “Catharine” the wordes he seid;
Then fel the ax and severed off his hed.
She stretchéd out his nekkë tenderly,
“This day your soulës bridegroom shal be met.
Hark! how He calleth, sweet and winsomely.”
And Nicholas spak to hir ful of glee—
“Jhesu” and “Catharine” the wordes he seid;
Then fel the ax and severed off his hed.
And even as his bloody hed did fall,
She caught hit in her lap and handës faire,
Nor reckéd that the blood was over al
Hir robës, but she kissed hit sitting there,
And smoothéd doun the rough and ragged hair.
God wot that gretë peace was in hir herte
That Nicholas in hevin had found his part.
She caught hit in her lap and handës faire,
Nor reckéd that the blood was over al
Hir robës, but she kissed hit sitting there,
And smoothéd doun the rough and ragged hair.
God wot that gretë peace was in hir herte
That Nicholas in hevin had found his part.
O holy Catharine, pray for us then,
Be to our soules a modir and a frend;
We are poor wandering and sinful men,
And al unstable through the world we wend.
Pray for us, Catharine, unto the end,
That filléd with thy gretë charity
In Goddës love we schuldë live and die.
Be to our soules a modir and a frend;
We are poor wandering and sinful men,
And al unstable through the world we wend.
Pray for us, Catharine, unto the end,
That filléd with thy gretë charity
In Goddës love we schuldë live and die.
IN MEMORIAM F. H. M.
Killed in Action, April 9th, 1917
THOUGH now we see, as through the battle smoke,
The image of your young uplifted face
Surprised by death, and broken as it broke
The hearts of those who loved your eager grace,
Your noble air and magnanimity—
A summer perfect in its flowers and leaves,
Brave promises of fruitfulness to be,
Which now no hand may bind in goodly sheaves—
No hand but God’s.... Yet your remembered ways,
Your eyes alight with gentleness and mirth,
The lovely honour of your shortened days,
A new grave gladness on the furrowed earth
Shall sow for us, a new pride wide and deep—
And we shall see the corn—and reap, and reap.
The image of your young uplifted face
Surprised by death, and broken as it broke
The hearts of those who loved your eager grace,
Your noble air and magnanimity—
A summer perfect in its flowers and leaves,
Brave promises of fruitfulness to be,
Which now no hand may bind in goodly sheaves—
No hand but God’s.... Yet your remembered ways,
Your eyes alight with gentleness and mirth,
The lovely honour of your shortened days,
A new grave gladness on the furrowed earth
Shall sow for us, a new pride wide and deep—
And we shall see the corn—and reap, and reap.
TO THE IRISH DEAD
YOU who have died as royally as kings,
Have seen with eyes ablaze with beauty, eyes
Nor gold nor ease nor comfort could make wise,
The glory of imperishable things.
Have seen with eyes ablaze with beauty, eyes
Nor gold nor ease nor comfort could make wise,
The glory of imperishable things.
Despite your shame and loneliness and loss—
Your broken hopes, the hopes that shall not cease,
Endure in dreams as terrible as peace;
Your naked folly nailed upon the cross
Your broken hopes, the hopes that shall not cease,
Endure in dreams as terrible as peace;
Your naked folly nailed upon the cross
Has given us more than bread unto our dearth
And more than water to our aching drouth;
Though death has been as wormwood in your mouth
Your blood shall fructify the barren earth.
And more than water to our aching drouth;
Though death has been as wormwood in your mouth
Your blood shall fructify the barren earth.
JOHN REDMOND
SHALL it be told in tragic song and story
Of two who went embittered all their days,
Two lovely Queens divided in their ways
Until their hearts grew hard, their tresses hoary?
Or shall the flying wings of oratory
Of him who bore a great hope on his face
Bring from the grave reunion to the grace
That men call Ireland and to England’s glory?
Of two who went embittered all their days,
Two lovely Queens divided in their ways
Until their hearts grew hard, their tresses hoary?
Or shall the flying wings of oratory
Of him who bore a great hope on his face
Bring from the grave reunion to the grace
That men call Ireland and to England’s glory?
Courageous soul, not yet the work is ended:
The perfect pact you never lived to see,
The peace between the warring sisters mended
Must of your patient labours come to be,
When in a noise of trumpets loud and splendid
The Gael hears blown the name of liberty.
The perfect pact you never lived to see,
The peace between the warring sisters mended
Must of your patient labours come to be,
When in a noise of trumpets loud and splendid
The Gael hears blown the name of liberty.
BEAUTY
I
(RELATIVE)
HOW many are the forms that beauty shows;
To what dim shrines of sweet, forgotten art
She calls; on what wide seas her strong wind blows
The proud and perilous passion of the heart!
To what dim shrines of sweet, forgotten art
She calls; on what wide seas her strong wind blows
The proud and perilous passion of the heart!
How many are the forms of her decay;
The blood that stains the dying of the sun,
The love and loveliness that pass away
Like roses’ petals scattered one by one.
The blood that stains the dying of the sun,
The love and loveliness that pass away
Like roses’ petals scattered one by one.
But there shall issue through the ivory gate,
Amid a mist of dreams, one dream-come-true,
Beauty immortal, mighty of estate,
The beauty that a poet loved in you;
The goodness God has set as aureole
Upon the naked meekness of your soul.
Amid a mist of dreams, one dream-come-true,
Beauty immortal, mighty of estate,
The beauty that a poet loved in you;
The goodness God has set as aureole
Upon the naked meekness of your soul.
BEAUTY
II
(ABSOLUTE)
WHO shall take Beauty in her citadel?
Her gates will splinter not to battering days;
Her slender spires can bear the onslaught well.
Shall any track her through her secret ways
To snare the pinions of the golden bird?
A feather falling through the jewelled air,
Only the echo of a lovely word—
Nowhere her being is, and everywhere.
Her gates will splinter not to battering days;
Her slender spires can bear the onslaught well.
Shall any track her through her secret ways
To snare the pinions of the golden bird?
A feather falling through the jewelled air,
Only the echo of a lovely word—
Nowhere her being is, and everywhere.
But one may come at last through many woes
And pain and hunger to his resting place,
The watered garden of the Mystic Rose,
The contemplation of the Bruisèd Face—
The quest of all his wild, adventurous pride;
And, seeing Beauty, shall be satisfied.
And pain and hunger to his resting place,
The watered garden of the Mystic Rose,
The contemplation of the Bruisèd Face—
The quest of all his wild, adventurous pride;
And, seeing Beauty, shall be satisfied.
FAITH’S DIFFICULTY
Not these appal
The soul tip-toeing to belief:
The ribald call,
The last black anguish of the thief;
The soul tip-toeing to belief:
The ribald call,
The last black anguish of the thief;
The fellowship
Of publican and Pharisee,
The harlot’s lip
Passionate with humility;
Of publican and Pharisee,
The harlot’s lip
Passionate with humility;
Or the feet kissed
By her who was the Magdalen—
The sensualist
Is one among a world of men!
By her who was the Magdalen—
The sensualist
Is one among a world of men!
Oh, I can look
Upon another’s drama; read
As in a book
Things unrelated to my need;
Upon another’s drama; read
As in a book
Things unrelated to my need;
Give faith’s assent
To that abysmal love outpoured—
But why was rent
Thy seamless coat for me, dear Lord?
To that abysmal love outpoured—
But why was rent
Thy seamless coat for me, dear Lord?
Why didst Thou bow
Thy bleeding brows for my heart’s good?
How shall I now
Reach to the mystic hardihood
Thy bleeding brows for my heart’s good?
How shall I now
Reach to the mystic hardihood
Where I can take
For personal treasure all Thy loss,
When for my sake,
My sake, Thou didst endure the cross?
For personal treasure all Thy loss,
When for my sake,
My sake, Thou didst endure the cross?
For my soul’s worth
Was “It is finished!” loudly cried?
For me the birth,
The sorrows of the Crucified?
Was “It is finished!” loudly cried?
For me the birth,
The sorrows of the Crucified?
CHRISTMAS ON CRUSADE
HERE shall we bivouac beneath the stars;
Gather the remnant of our chivalry
About the crackling fires, and nurse our scars,
And speak no more as fools must, bitterly.
Gather the remnant of our chivalry
About the crackling fires, and nurse our scars,
And speak no more as fools must, bitterly.
The roads familiar to His feet we trod;
We saw the lonely hills whereon He wept,
Prayed, agonised—dear God of very God!—
And watched the whole world while the whole world slept.
We saw the lonely hills whereon He wept,
Prayed, agonised—dear God of very God!—
And watched the whole world while the whole world slept.
We speak no more in anger; Christian men
Our armies rolled upon you, wave and wave:
But crooked words and swords, O Saracen,
Can only hold what they have given—a grave!
Our armies rolled upon you, wave and wave:
But crooked words and swords, O Saracen,
Can only hold what they have given—a grave!
We know Him, know that gibbet whence was torn
The pardon that a felon spoke on sin:
There is more life in His dead crown of thorn
Than in your sweeping horsemen, Saladin!
The pardon that a felon spoke on sin:
There is more life in His dead crown of thorn
Than in your sweeping horsemen, Saladin!
We speak no more in anger, we will ride
Homeless to our own homes. His bruised head
Had never resting place. Each Christmas-tide
Blossoms the thorn and we are comforted.
Homeless to our own homes. His bruised head
Had never resting place. Each Christmas-tide
Blossoms the thorn and we are comforted.
Yea, of the sacred cradle of our creed
We are despoiled; the kindly tavern door
Is shut against us in our utmost need—
We know the awful patience of the poor.
We are despoiled; the kindly tavern door
Is shut against us in our utmost need—
We know the awful patience of the poor.
We speak no more in anger, for we share
His homelessness. We will forget your scorn.
The bells are ringing in the Christmas air;
God homeless in our homeless homes is born.
His homelessness. We will forget your scorn.
The bells are ringing in the Christmas air;
God homeless in our homeless homes is born.
THE ASCETIC
A WILD wind blows from out the angry sky
And all the clouds are tossed like thistle-down
Above the groaning branches of the trees;
For on this steel-cold night the earth is stirred
To shake away its rottenness; the leaves
Are shed like secret unremembered sins
In the great scourge of the great love of God....
And all the clouds are tossed like thistle-down
Above the groaning branches of the trees;
For on this steel-cold night the earth is stirred
To shake away its rottenness; the leaves
Are shed like secret unremembered sins
In the great scourge of the great love of God....
Ere I was learned in the ways of love
I looked for it in green and pleasant lands,
In apple orchards and the poppy fields,
And peered among the silences of woods,
And meditated the shy notes of birds
But found it not.
I looked for it in green and pleasant lands,
In apple orchards and the poppy fields,
And peered among the silences of woods,
And meditated the shy notes of birds
But found it not.
Oh, many a goodly joy
Of grace and gentle beauty came to me
On many a clear and cleansing night of stars.
But when I sat among my happy friends
(Singing their songs and drinking of their ale,
Warming my limbs before their kindly hearth)
My loneliness would seize me like a pain,
A hunger strong and alien as death.
Of grace and gentle beauty came to me
On many a clear and cleansing night of stars.
But when I sat among my happy friends
(Singing their songs and drinking of their ale,
Warming my limbs before their kindly hearth)
My loneliness would seize me like a pain,
A hunger strong and alien as death.
No comfort stays with such a man as I,
No resting place amid the dew and dusk,
Whose head is filled with perilous enterprise
The endless quest of my wild fruitless love.
No resting place amid the dew and dusk,
Whose head is filled with perilous enterprise
The endless quest of my wild fruitless love.
But these can tell how they have heard His voice,
Have seen His face in pure untroubled sleep,
Or when the twilight gathered on the hills
Or when the moon shone out beyond the sea!
Have seen His face in pure untroubled sleep,
Or when the twilight gathered on the hills
Or when the moon shone out beyond the sea!
Have I not seen them? Yet I pilgrimage
In desolation seeking after peace,
Learning how hard a thing it is to love.
There is a love that men find easily,
Familiar as the latch upon the door,
Dear as the curling smoke above the thatch—
But I have loved unto the uttermost
And know love in the desperate abyss,
In dereliction and in blasphemy!
And fly from God to find him, fill my eyes
With road-dust and with tears and starry hopes,
Ere I may search out Love unsearchable,
Eternal Truth and Goodness infinite,
And the ineffable Beauty that is God.
In desolation seeking after peace,
Learning how hard a thing it is to love.
There is a love that men find easily,
Familiar as the latch upon the door,
Dear as the curling smoke above the thatch—
But I have loved unto the uttermost
And know love in the desperate abyss,
In dereliction and in blasphemy!
And fly from God to find him, fill my eyes
With road-dust and with tears and starry hopes,
Ere I may search out Love unsearchable,
Eternal Truth and Goodness infinite,
And the ineffable Beauty that is God.
Empty of scorn and ceasing not to praise
The meanest stick and stone upon the earth,
I strive unto the stark Reality,
The Absolute grasped roundly in my hands.
Bitter and pitiless it is to love,
To feel the darkness gather round the soul,
Love’s abnegation for the sake of love,
To see my Templed symbols’ slow decay
Become of every ravenous weed the food,
Where bats beat hideous wings about the arch
And ruined roof, where ghosts of tragic kings
And sleek ecclesiastics come and go
Upon the shattered pavements of my creed.
The meanest stick and stone upon the earth,
I strive unto the stark Reality,
The Absolute grasped roundly in my hands.
Bitter and pitiless it is to love,
To feel the darkness gather round the soul,
Love’s abnegation for the sake of love,
To see my Templed symbols’ slow decay
Become of every ravenous weed the food,
Where bats beat hideous wings about the arch
And ruined roof, where ghosts of tragic kings
And sleek ecclesiastics come and go
Upon the shattered pavements of my creed.
Yet Mercy at the last shall lead me in,
The Bride immaculate and mystical
Tenderly guide my wayward feet to peace,
And show me love the likeness of a Man,
The Slave obedient unto death, the Lamb
Slain from the first foundations of the world,
The Word made flesh, the tender new-born Child
That is the end of all my heart’s desire.
The Bride immaculate and mystical
Tenderly guide my wayward feet to peace,
And show me love the likeness of a Man,
The Slave obedient unto death, the Lamb
Slain from the first foundations of the world,
The Word made flesh, the tender new-born Child
That is the end of all my heart’s desire.
Then shall my spirit, naked of its hopes,
Stripped of its love unto the very bone,
Sink simply into Love’s embrace and be
Made consummate of all its burning bliss.
Stripped of its love unto the very bone,
Sink simply into Love’s embrace and be
Made consummate of all its burning bliss.
SONNET FOR THE FIFTH OF OCTOBER
IF I had ridden horses in the lists,
Fought wars, gone pilgrimage to fabled lands,
Seen Pharaoh’s drinking cups of amethysts,
Held dead Queens’ secret jewels in my hands—
I would have laid my triumphs at your feet,
And worn with no ignoble pride my scars....
But I can only offer you, my sweet,
The songs I made on many a night of stars.
Fought wars, gone pilgrimage to fabled lands,
Seen Pharaoh’s drinking cups of amethysts,
Held dead Queens’ secret jewels in my hands—
I would have laid my triumphs at your feet,
And worn with no ignoble pride my scars....
But I can only offer you, my sweet,
The songs I made on many a night of stars.
Yet have I worshipped honour, loving you;
Your graciousness and gentle courtesy,
With ringing and romantic trumpets blew
A mighty music through the heart of me,—
A joy as cleansing as the wind that fills
The open spaces on the sunny hills.
Your graciousness and gentle courtesy,
With ringing and romantic trumpets blew
A mighty music through the heart of me,—
A joy as cleansing as the wind that fills
The open spaces on the sunny hills.
WARFARE
WHEN I consider all thy dignity,
Thy honour which my baseness doth accuse
To my own soul, thy pride which doth refuse
Less than the suffering thou hast given me,
My hope is chilled to fear. How stealthily
Must I dispose my forces! With what ruse
And ambush snatch the bearer of good news,
Ere I can escalade austerity!
Thy honour which my baseness doth accuse
To my own soul, thy pride which doth refuse
Less than the suffering thou hast given me,
My hope is chilled to fear. How stealthily
Must I dispose my forces! With what ruse
And ambush snatch the bearer of good news,
Ere I can escalade austerity!
Easier it were to fling the baleful lord
And the infernal legions of the Pit,
To ride undaunted at that roaring horde:
But who shall armour me with delicate wit
Sufficient for thine overthrow? What sword
Win to the tower where thy perfections sit?
And the infernal legions of the Pit,
To ride undaunted at that roaring horde:
But who shall armour me with delicate wit
Sufficient for thine overthrow? What sword
Win to the tower where thy perfections sit?
TREASON
THOU hast renounced thy proud and royal state;
Deserted thy strong men-at-arms who stand
Attentive to imperious command;
And with a small key at the groaning gate—
Sweet traitress!—met thine enemy. The great
Moon threw a white enchantment o’er the land
When in my hand I caught thy yielded hand,
And laughing kissed thy laughing lips elate.
Deserted thy strong men-at-arms who stand
Attentive to imperious command;
And with a small key at the groaning gate—
Sweet traitress!—met thine enemy. The great
Moon threw a white enchantment o’er the land
When in my hand I caught thy yielded hand,
And laughing kissed thy laughing lips elate.
For of thy queenly folly thou hast laid
In sandalwood thy stiff, embroidered gown;
With happiness apparelled thou hast strayed
Incognita through many a sunlit town,
Heedless of our uncaptained hosts arrayed
Or of the flags their battles shall bring down.
In sandalwood thy stiff, embroidered gown;
With happiness apparelled thou hast strayed
Incognita through many a sunlit town,
Heedless of our uncaptained hosts arrayed
Or of the flags their battles shall bring down.
THERE WAS AN HOUR
THERE was an hour when stars flung out
A magical wild melody,
When all the woods became alive
With elfin dance and revelry.
A magical wild melody,
When all the woods became alive
With elfin dance and revelry.
A holiday for happy hearts!—
The trees shone silver in the moon,
And clapped their gleaming hands to see
Night like a radiant kindled noon!
The trees shone silver in the moon,
And clapped their gleaming hands to see
Night like a radiant kindled noon!
For suddenly a new world woke
At one new touch of wizardry,
When my love from her mirthful mouth
Spoke words of sweet true love to me.
At one new touch of wizardry,
When my love from her mirthful mouth
Spoke words of sweet true love to me.
NOCTURNE
WHEN evening hangs her lamp above the hill
And calls her children to her waiting hearth,
Where pain is shed away and love and wrath,
And every tired head lies white and still—
And calls her children to her waiting hearth,
Where pain is shed away and love and wrath,
And every tired head lies white and still—
Dear heart, will you not light a lamp for me,
And gather up the meaning of the lands,
Silent and luminous within your hands,
Where peace abides and mirth and mystery?
And gather up the meaning of the lands,
Silent and luminous within your hands,
Where peace abides and mirth and mystery?
That I may sit with you beside the fire,
And ponder on the thing no man may guess,
Your soul’s great majesty and gentleness,
Until the last sad tongue of flame expire.
And ponder on the thing no man may guess,
Your soul’s great majesty and gentleness,
Until the last sad tongue of flame expire.
PRIDE
WHO having known through night a great star falling
With half the host of heaven in its wake,
And o’er chaotic seas a dread voice calling,
And a new purple dawn of presage break,
With half the host of heaven in its wake,
And o’er chaotic seas a dread voice calling,
And a new purple dawn of presage break,
Can hope to conquer thee, proud Son of Morning,
Arrayed in mighty lusts of heart and eyes,
With blood-red rubies set for thine adorning
And sorceries wherein men’s souls grow wise?
Arrayed in mighty lusts of heart and eyes,
With blood-red rubies set for thine adorning
And sorceries wherein men’s souls grow wise?
Who shall withstand the onslaught of thy chariot,
Who ride to battle with thy gorgeous kings?
Dost thou not count the silver to Iscariot,
And Tyrian scarlet and the marvellous rings?
Who ride to battle with thy gorgeous kings?
Dost thou not count the silver to Iscariot,
And Tyrian scarlet and the marvellous rings?
But ivory limbs and the flung festal roses,
The maddening music and the Chian wine,
Are overpast when one glad heart discloses
A pride more strange and terrible than thine!
The maddening music and the Chian wine,
Are overpast when one glad heart discloses
A pride more strange and terrible than thine!
That looked unsatisfied upon thy splendour,
And turned, all shaken with his love, away
To one dear face that holds him true and tender
Until the trumpets of the Judgment Day.
And turned, all shaken with his love, away
To one dear face that holds him true and tender
Until the trumpets of the Judgment Day.
A pride that binds him till the last fierce ember
Shall fade from pride’s tall roaring pyre in hell;
The gentleness and grace he shall remember,
The flower she gave, the love that she did tell.
Shall fade from pride’s tall roaring pyre in hell;
The gentleness and grace he shall remember,
The flower she gave, the love that she did tell.