Remote, and bitter-cold,
Who were too passionless to thrill,
Being so wise and old?
Second Voices.
A leap of silver fire,
Did ye not see it sear the night
And die of its own desire?
First Voices.
Locked in a chilly dream
Which banished the awakened one
Beyond their frozen scheme?
Second Voices.
Fade in the morning-gold,
Who long had ceased to understand,
Being so bitter-old?
All the Voices.
Was there not chaos once?
Ye did not keep your ordered zones
When ye were raging suns!
And the wild hairs of your brow—
Once ye were life, once ye were death!
Ye are not either now.
PEACE.
I.
I am the sudden silence after clamour.
I am the face that shows the seamy scar
When blood has lost its frenzy and its glamour.
Men in my pause shall know the cost at last
That is not to be paid in triumphs or tears,
Men will begin to judge the thing that’s past
As men will judge it in a hundred years.
Endlessly with the father and the son,
My naked light upon your darkness, dread!—
By which ye shall behold what ye have done:
Whereon, more like a vulture than a dove,
Ye set my seal in hatred, not in love.
II.
My single virtue is the end of crimes,
I only am the period of unrest,
The ceasing of the horrors of the times;
My good is but the negative of ill,
Such ill as bends the spirit with despair,
Such ill as makes the nations’ soul stand still
And freeze to stone beneath its Gorgon glare.
Wherein the active soul is free to move,
And nations only show as mean or great
According to the spirit then they prove.—
O which of ye whose battle-cry is Hate
Will first in peace dare shout the name of Love?
NOW THAT YOU TOO
Which in these bloodshot years uncounted men
Have gone in vanishing armies day by day,
And in their numbers will not come again:
I must not strain the moments of our meeting
Striving each look, each accent, not to miss,
Or question of our parting and our greeting,
Is this the last of all? is this—or this?
Last touch, last hearing, since eyes, hands, and ears,
Even serving love, are our mortalities,
And cling to what they own in mortal fears:—
But oh, let end what will, I hold you fast
By immortal love, which has no first or last.
POETRY BY PROVED HANDS, WAS PRINTED
IN OXFORD AT THE VINCENT WORKS,
AND FINISHED IN APRIL, MCMXVIII.
PUBLISHED BY B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD
STREET, OXFORD, AND SOLD IN AMERICA
BY LONGMANS, GREEN & CO., NEW YORK.
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| I. | IN THE VALLEY OF VISION BY GEOFFREY FABER, AUTHOR OF “INTERFLOW.” |
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SONGS AND SAYINGS OF WALTHER VON DER VOGELWEIDE, MINNESAENGER ENGLISHED BY FRANK BETTS.
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| I. | THE ESCAPED PRINCESS, AND OTHER POEMS. By Wilfred Rowland Childe. [Out of print]. |
| II. | THURSDAY’S CHILD. By Elizabeth Rendall. [Out of print]. |
| III. | BOHEMIAN GLASS. By Esther Lilian Duff. [Out of print]. |
| IV. | CONTACTS, AND OTHER POEMS. By T. W. Earp. [Out of print]. |
| V. | THE IRON AGE. By Frank Betts. With an Introduction by Gilbert Murray. |
| VI. | THE TWO WORLDS. By Sherard Vines. |
| VII. | THE BURNING WHEEL. By A. L. Huxley. |
| VIII. | A VAGABOND’S WALLET. By Stephen Reid-Heyman. |
| IX. | OP. I. By Dorothy L. Sayers. [Out of print]. |
| X. | LYRICAL POEMS. By Dorothy Plowman. |
| XI. | THE WITCHES’ SABBATH. By E. H. W. Meyerstein. |
| XII. | A SCALLOP SHELL OF QUIET. Poems by Four Women. Introduced by Margaret L. Woods. |
| XIII. | AT A VENTURE. Poems by Eight Young Writers. |
| XIV. | ALDEBARAN. By M. St. Clare Byrne. |
| XV. | LIADAIN AND CURITHIR. By Moireen Fox. |
| XVI. | LINNETS IN THE SLUMS. By Marion Pryce. |
| XVII. | OUT OF THE EAST. By Vera and Margaret Larminie. |
| XVIII. | DUNCH. By Susan Miles. |
| XIX. | DEMETER AND OTHER POEMS. By Eleanor Hill. |
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| XX. | CARGO. By S. B. Gates. |
| XXI. | DREAMS AND JOURNEYS. By Fredegond Shove. |
| XXII. | THE PEOPLE’S PALACE. By Sacheverell Sitwell. |
OXFORD B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD STREET