On Christmas Eve the brute Creation
Lift up their heads and speak with human voices;
The Ox roars out his song of jubilation
And the Ass rejoices.
Lift up their heads and speak with human voices;
The Ox roars out his song of jubilation
And the Ass rejoices.
They dance for mirth in simple credence
That man from devildom this day was saved,
That of his froward spirit he has found riddance;
They hymn the Son of David.
That man from devildom this day was saved,
That of his froward spirit he has found riddance;
They hymn the Son of David.
Ox and Ass cloistered in stable,
Break bounds to-night and see what shall astound you,
A second Fall, a second death of Abel,
Wars renewed around you.
Break bounds to-night and see what shall astound you,
A second Fall, a second death of Abel,
Wars renewed around you.
Cabals of great men against small men,
Mobs, murders, informations, the packed jury,
While Ignorance, the lubber prince of all men,
Glowers with old-time fury.
Mobs, murders, informations, the packed jury,
While Ignorance, the lubber prince of all men,
Glowers with old-time fury.
THE SNAKE AND THE BULL
Snake Bull, my namesake, man of wrath,
By no expense of knives or cloth,
Only by work of muttered charms
Could draw all woman to his arms;
None whom he summoned might resist
Nor none recall whom once he kissed
And loosed them from his kiss, by whom
This mother-shame had come.
By no expense of knives or cloth,
Only by work of muttered charms
Could draw all woman to his arms;
None whom he summoned might resist
Nor none recall whom once he kissed
And loosed them from his kiss, by whom
This mother-shame had come.
The power of his compelling flame
Was bound in virtue of our name,
But when in secret he taught me
Like him a thief of love to be,
For half his secret I had found
And half explored the wizard ground
Of words, and when giving consent
Out at his heels I went.
Was bound in virtue of our name,
But when in secret he taught me
Like him a thief of love to be,
For half his secret I had found
And half explored the wizard ground
Of words, and when giving consent
Out at his heels I went.
Then Fessé, jungle-god whose shape
Is one part man and three parts ape,
Avenger of misuse by man
Of lust that by his art began,
And master of all mimicries
Made tittering laughter in the trees.
With girlish whispers, sighs and giggling
Set the Bull prancing, the Snake wriggling;
Where leaves were broadest and light dim,
Fessé ambushed him.
Is one part man and three parts ape,
Avenger of misuse by man
Of lust that by his art began,
And master of all mimicries
Made tittering laughter in the trees.
With girlish whispers, sighs and giggling
Set the Bull prancing, the Snake wriggling;
Where leaves were broadest and light dim,
Fessé ambushed him.
Up through the air I saw him swung
To bridal bowers with red flowers hung;
He choked for mercy like a maid
By his own violent whim betrayed;
Blood broke in fountains from his neck,
I heard his hugged ribs creak and break,
But what the tree-top rites might be
How should I stay to see?
To bridal bowers with red flowers hung;
He choked for mercy like a maid
By his own violent whim betrayed;
Blood broke in fountains from his neck,
I heard his hugged ribs creak and break,
But what the tree-top rites might be
How should I stay to see?
In terror of the Ape God’s power
I changed my person in that hour,
Cast off the livery of my clan,
Over unlawful hills I ran,
I soiled me with forbidden earth.
In nakedness of second birth
I scorched away the Snake’s red eyes
Tattoed for name about my thighs,
And slew the Sacred Bull oppressed
With passion on my breast.
I changed my person in that hour,
Cast off the livery of my clan,
Over unlawful hills I ran,
I soiled me with forbidden earth.
In nakedness of second birth
I scorched away the Snake’s red eyes
Tattoed for name about my thighs,
And slew the Sacred Bull oppressed
With passion on my breast.
The girls of my new tribe are cold,
Amazon, scarred, not soft to hold.
They seek not men, nor are they sought,
Whose children are not theirs, but bought
From outlaw tribes who dwell in trees—
Tamed apes suckle these.
Amazon, scarred, not soft to hold.
They seek not men, nor are they sought,
Whose children are not theirs, but bought
From outlaw tribes who dwell in trees—
Tamed apes suckle these.
The young men of the tribe are such
That knife or bow they dare not touch,
But in close watching of the skies
And reckoning counts they dim their eyes.
Closed, each by each, in thoughtful bars
They plot the circuits of the stars,
And frozen music dulls their need
Of drink and man-flesh greed.
That knife or bow they dare not touch,
But in close watching of the skies
And reckoning counts they dim their eyes.
Closed, each by each, in thoughtful bars
They plot the circuits of the stars,
And frozen music dulls their need
Of drink and man-flesh greed.
They hold that virtue from them slips
When eye greets eye or lips touch lips;
Down to the knee their broad beards fall
And hardly are they men at all.
Possessions they have none, nor schools
For tribal duties, nor close rules,
No gods, no rites, no totem beasts,
No friendships, no love feasts.
When eye greets eye or lips touch lips;
Down to the knee their broad beards fall
And hardly are they men at all.
Possessions they have none, nor schools
For tribal duties, nor close rules,
No gods, no rites, no totem beasts,
No friendships, no love feasts.
Now quit, as they, of gong-roused lust,
The leap of breasts, the scattering dust,
In hermit splendour at my glass
I watch the skies’ procession pass,
Tracing my figures on the floor
Of planets’ paths and comets’ lore;
In calm amaze I cloak my will,
I gaze, I count, until
The leap of breasts, the scattering dust,
In hermit splendour at my glass
I watch the skies’ procession pass,
Tracing my figures on the floor
Of planets’ paths and comets’ lore;
In calm amaze I cloak my will,
I gaze, I count, until
THE RED RIBBON DREAM
As I stood by the stair-head in the upper hall
The rooms to left and right were locked as before.
It was senseless to hammer at an unreal door
Painted on the plaster of a ten-foot wall.
The rooms to left and right were locked as before.
It was senseless to hammer at an unreal door
Painted on the plaster of a ten-foot wall.
There was half-light here, piled darkness beyond
Rising up sheer as the mountain of Time,
The blank rock-face that no thought can climb,
Girdled around with the Slough of Despond.
Rising up sheer as the mountain of Time,
The blank rock-face that no thought can climb,
Girdled around with the Slough of Despond.
I stood quite dumb, sunk fast in the mire,
Lonely as the first man, or the last man,
Chilled to despair since evening began,
Dazed for the memory of a lost desire.
Lonely as the first man, or the last man,
Chilled to despair since evening began,
Dazed for the memory of a lost desire.
But a voice said “Easily,” and a voice said “Come!”
Easily I followed with no thought of doubt,
Turned to the right hand, and the way stretched out;
The ground held firmly; I was no more dumb.
Easily I followed with no thought of doubt,
Turned to the right hand, and the way stretched out;
The ground held firmly; I was no more dumb.
For that was the place where I longed to be,
And past all hope there the kind lamp shone,
The carpet was holy that my feet were on,
And logs on the fire lay hissing for me.
And past all hope there the kind lamp shone,
The carpet was holy that my feet were on,
And logs on the fire lay hissing for me.
The cushions were friendship and the chairs were love,
Shaggy with love was the great wolf skin,
The clock ticked “Easily” as I entered in,
“Come,” called the bullfinch from his cage above.
Shaggy with love was the great wolf skin,
The clock ticked “Easily” as I entered in,
“Come,” called the bullfinch from his cage above.
Love went before me; it was shining now
From the eyes of a girl by the window wall,
Whose beauty I knew to be fate and all
By the thin red ribbon on her calm brow.
From the eyes of a girl by the window wall,
Whose beauty I knew to be fate and all
By the thin red ribbon on her calm brow.
Then I was a hero and a bold boy
Kissing the hand I had never yet kissed;
I felt red ribbon like a snake twist
In my own thick hair, so I laughed for joy.
. . . . . . . . . .
I stand by the stair-head in the upper hall;
The rooms to the left and right are locked as before.
Once I found entrance, but now never more,
And Time leans forward with his glassy wall.
Kissing the hand I had never yet kissed;
I felt red ribbon like a snake twist
In my own thick hair, so I laughed for joy.
. . . . . . . . . .
I stand by the stair-head in the upper hall;
The rooms to the left and right are locked as before.
Once I found entrance, but now never more,
And Time leans forward with his glassy wall.
IN PROCESSION
Donne (for example’s sake),
Keats, Marlowe, Spenser, Blake,
Shelley and Milton,
Shakespeare and Chaucer, Skelton—
We love them as we know them,
But who could dare outgo them
At their several arts,
At their particular parts
Of wisdom, power and knowledge?
In the Poets’ College 10
Are no degrees nor stations,
Comparisons, rivals,
Stern examinations,
Class declarations,
Senior survivals;
No creeds, religions, nations
Combatant together
With mutual damnations.
Or tell me whether
Shelley’s hand could take 20
The laurel wreath from Blake?
Could Shakespeare make the less
Chaucer’s goodliness?
Keats, Marlowe, Spenser, Blake,
Shelley and Milton,
Shakespeare and Chaucer, Skelton—
We love them as we know them,
But who could dare outgo them
At their several arts,
At their particular parts
Of wisdom, power and knowledge?
In the Poets’ College 10
Are no degrees nor stations,
Comparisons, rivals,
Stern examinations,
Class declarations,
Senior survivals;
No creeds, religions, nations
Combatant together
With mutual damnations.
Or tell me whether
Shelley’s hand could take 20
The laurel wreath from Blake?
Could Shakespeare make the less
Chaucer’s goodliness?
The poets of old,
Each with his pen of gold
Gloriously writing,
Found no need for fighting,
In common being so rich;
None need take the ditch,
Unless this Chaucer beats 30
That Chaucer, or this Keats
With other Keats is flyting:
See Donne deny Donne’s feats,
Shelley take Shelley down,
Blake snatch at his own crown.
Without comparison aiming high,
Watching with no jealous eye
A neighbour’s renown,
Each in his time contended,
But with a mood late ended, 40
Some manner now put by,
Or force expended,
Sinking a new well when the old ran dry.
Each with his pen of gold
Gloriously writing,
Found no need for fighting,
In common being so rich;
None need take the ditch,
Unless this Chaucer beats 30
That Chaucer, or this Keats
With other Keats is flyting:
See Donne deny Donne’s feats,
Shelley take Shelley down,
Blake snatch at his own crown.
Without comparison aiming high,
Watching with no jealous eye
A neighbour’s renown,
Each in his time contended,
But with a mood late ended, 40
Some manner now put by,
Or force expended,
Sinking a new well when the old ran dry.
So like my masters I
Voice my ambition loud,
In prospect proud,
Treading the poet’s road,
In retrospect most humble,
For I stumble and tumble,
I spill my load. 50
Voice my ambition loud,
In prospect proud,
Treading the poet’s road,
In retrospect most humble,
For I stumble and tumble,
I spill my load. 50
But often,
Half-way to sleep,
On a mountain shagged and steep,
The sudden moment on me comes
With terrible roll of dream drums,
Reverberations, cymbals, horns replying,
When with standards flying,
A cloud of horsemen behind,
The coloured pomps unwind
The Carnival wagons
With their saints and their dragons 60
On the screen of my teeming mind,
The Creation and Flood
With our Saviour’s Blood
And fat Silenus’ flagons,
With every rare beast
From the South and East,
Both greatest and least,
On and on,
In endless variable procession.
I stand at the top rungs 70
Of a ladder reared in the air,
And I speak with strange tongues
So the crowds murmur and stare,
Then volleys again the blare
Of horns, and summer flowers
Fly scattering in showers,
And the Sun rolls in the sky,
While the drums thumping by
Proclaim me....
Oh, then, when I wake
Could I recovering take 80
And propose on this page
The words of my rage
And my blandishing speech
Steadfast and sage,
Could I stretch and reach
The flowers and the ripe fruit
Laid out at the ladder’s foot,
Could I rip a silken shred
From the banner tossed ahead,
Could I call a double flam 90
From the drums, could the Goat
Horned with gold, could the Ram
With a flank like a barn-door,
The dwarf, the blackamoor,
Could Jonah and the Whale
And the Holy Grail
With the Sacking of Rome
And Lot at his home,
The Ape with his platter,
Going clitter-clatter, 100
The Nymphs and the Satyr,
And every other such matter
Come before me here
Standing and speaking clear
With a “How do ye do?”
And “Who are ye, who?”
Could I show them so to you
That you saw them with me,
Oh then, then I could be
The Prince of all Poetry 110
With never a peer,
Seeing my way so clear
To unveil mystery.
Half-way to sleep,
On a mountain shagged and steep,
The sudden moment on me comes
With terrible roll of dream drums,
Reverberations, cymbals, horns replying,
When with standards flying,
A cloud of horsemen behind,
The coloured pomps unwind
The Carnival wagons
With their saints and their dragons 60
On the screen of my teeming mind,
The Creation and Flood
With our Saviour’s Blood
And fat Silenus’ flagons,
With every rare beast
From the South and East,
Both greatest and least,
On and on,
In endless variable procession.
I stand at the top rungs 70
Of a ladder reared in the air,
And I speak with strange tongues
So the crowds murmur and stare,
Then volleys again the blare
Of horns, and summer flowers
Fly scattering in showers,
And the Sun rolls in the sky,
While the drums thumping by
Proclaim me....
Oh, then, when I wake
Could I recovering take 80
And propose on this page
The words of my rage
And my blandishing speech
Steadfast and sage,
Could I stretch and reach
The flowers and the ripe fruit
Laid out at the ladder’s foot,
Could I rip a silken shred
From the banner tossed ahead,
Could I call a double flam 90
From the drums, could the Goat
Horned with gold, could the Ram
With a flank like a barn-door,
The dwarf, the blackamoor,
Could Jonah and the Whale
And the Holy Grail
With the Sacking of Rome
And Lot at his home,
The Ape with his platter,
Going clitter-clatter, 100
The Nymphs and the Satyr,
And every other such matter
Come before me here
Standing and speaking clear
With a “How do ye do?”
And “Who are ye, who?”
Could I show them so to you
That you saw them with me,
Oh then, then I could be
The Prince of all Poetry 110
With never a peer,
Seeing my way so clear
To unveil mystery.
Telling you of land and sea,
Of Heaven blithe and free,
How I know there to be
Such and such Castles built in Spain,
Telling also of Cockaigne,
Of that glorious kingdom, Cand,
Of the Delectable Land, 120
The land of Crooked Stiles,
The Fortunate Isles,
Of the more than three score miles
That to Babylon lead,
A pretty city indeed
Built on a four-square plan,
Of the land of the Gold Man
Whose eager horses whinny
In their cribs of gold,
Of the lands of Whipperginny, 130
Of the land where none grow old.
Of Heaven blithe and free,
How I know there to be
Such and such Castles built in Spain,
Telling also of Cockaigne,
Of that glorious kingdom, Cand,
Of the Delectable Land, 120
The land of Crooked Stiles,
The Fortunate Isles,
Of the more than three score miles
That to Babylon lead,
A pretty city indeed
Built on a four-square plan,
Of the land of the Gold Man
Whose eager horses whinny
In their cribs of gold,
Of the lands of Whipperginny, 130
Of the land where none grow old.
Especially I could tell
Of the Town of Hell,
A huddle of dirty woes
And houses in endless rows
Straggling across all space;
Hell has no market-place,
Nor point where four ways meet,
Nor principal street,
Nor barracks, nor Town Hall, 140
Nor shops at all,
Nor rest for weary feet,
Nor theatre, square, or park,
Nor lights after dark,
Nor churches nor inns,
Nor convenience for sins,
Hell nowhere begins,
Hell nowhere ends,
But over the world extends
Rambling, dreary, limitless, hated well: 150
The suburbs of itself, I say, is Hell.
Of the Town of Hell,
A huddle of dirty woes
And houses in endless rows
Straggling across all space;
Hell has no market-place,
Nor point where four ways meet,
Nor principal street,
Nor barracks, nor Town Hall, 140
Nor shops at all,
Nor rest for weary feet,
Nor theatre, square, or park,
Nor lights after dark,
Nor churches nor inns,
Nor convenience for sins,
Hell nowhere begins,
Hell nowhere ends,
But over the world extends
Rambling, dreary, limitless, hated well: 150
The suburbs of itself, I say, is Hell.
But back to the sweets
Of Spenser and Keats
And the calm joy that greets
The chosen of Apollo!
Here let me mope, quirk, holloa
With a gesture that meets
The needs that I follow
In my own fierce way.
Let me be grave-gay 160
Or merry-sad,
Who rhyming here have had
Marvellous hope of achievement
And deeds of ample scope,
Then deceiving and bereavement
Of this same hope.
Of Spenser and Keats
And the calm joy that greets
The chosen of Apollo!
Here let me mope, quirk, holloa
With a gesture that meets
The needs that I follow
In my own fierce way.
Let me be grave-gay 160
Or merry-sad,
Who rhyming here have had
Marvellous hope of achievement
And deeds of ample scope,
Then deceiving and bereavement
Of this same hope.
HENRY AND MARY
Henry was a worthy king,
Mary was his queen,
He gave to her a snowdrop,
Upon a stalk of green.
Mary was his queen,
He gave to her a snowdrop,
Upon a stalk of green.
Then all for his kindness
And all for his care
She gave him a new-laid egg
In the garden there.
And all for his care
She gave him a new-laid egg
In the garden there.
AN ENGLISH WOOD
This valley wood is hedged
With the set shape of things.
Here sorrows come not edged,
Here are no harpies fledged,
No roc has clapped his wings,
No gryphons wave their stings;
Here, poised in quietude
Calm elementals brood
On the set shape of things,
They fend away alarms
From this green wood.
Here nothing is that harms,
No bull with lungs of brass,
No toothed or spiny grass,
No tree whose clutching arms
Drink blood when travellers pass,
No mount of Glass.
No bardic tongues unfold
Satires or charms.
Only the lawns are soft,
The tree-stems, grave and old.
Slow branches sway aloft,
The evening air comes cold,
The sunset scatters gold.
Small grasses toss and bend,
Small pathways idly tend
Towards no certain end.
With the set shape of things.
Here sorrows come not edged,
Here are no harpies fledged,
No roc has clapped his wings,
No gryphons wave their stings;
Here, poised in quietude
Calm elementals brood
On the set shape of things,
They fend away alarms
From this green wood.
Here nothing is that harms,
No bull with lungs of brass,
No toothed or spiny grass,
No tree whose clutching arms
Drink blood when travellers pass,
No mount of Glass.
No bardic tongues unfold
Satires or charms.
Only the lawns are soft,
The tree-stems, grave and old.
Slow branches sway aloft,
The evening air comes cold,
The sunset scatters gold.
Small grasses toss and bend,
Small pathways idly tend
Towards no certain end.
MIRROR, MIRROR!
WHAT DID I DREAM?
What did I dream? I do not know.
The fragments fly like chaff.
Yet, strange, my mind was tickled so
I cannot help but laugh.
The fragments fly like chaff.
Yet, strange, my mind was tickled so
I cannot help but laugh.
Pull the curtains close again,
Tuck my blanket in;
Must a glorious humour wane
Because birds begin
Tuck my blanket in;
Must a glorious humour wane
Because birds begin
INTERLUDE: ON PRESERVING A POETICAL FORMULA
(I)
“There’s less and less cohesion
In each collection
Of my published poetries?”
You are taking me to task?
And “What were my last Royalties?
Reckoned in pounds, were they, or shillings,
Or even perhaps in pence?”
No, do not ask!
I’m lost, in buyings and sellings.
But please permit only once more for luck
Irreconcilabilities in my book....
In each collection
Of my published poetries?”
You are taking me to task?
And “What were my last Royalties?
Reckoned in pounds, were they, or shillings,
Or even perhaps in pence?”
No, do not ask!
I’m lost, in buyings and sellings.
But please permit only once more for luck
Irreconcilabilities in my book....
For these are all the same stuff really,
The obverse and reverse, if you look closely,
Of busy Imagination’s new-coined money;
And if you watch the blind
Phototropisms of my fluttering mind,
Whether, growing strong, I wrestle Jacob-wise
With fiendish darkness blinking threatfully
Its bale-fire eyes,
Or whether childishly
The obverse and reverse, if you look closely,
Of busy Imagination’s new-coined money;
And if you watch the blind
Phototropisms of my fluttering mind,
Whether, growing strong, I wrestle Jacob-wise
With fiendish darkness blinking threatfully
Its bale-fire eyes,
Or whether childishly
I dart to Mother-skirts of love and peace
To play with toys until those horrors leave me—
Yet note, whichever way I find release,
By fight or flight
By being harsh or tame,
The SPIRIT’S the same, the Pen-and-Ink’s the same.
To play with toys until those horrors leave me—
Yet note, whichever way I find release,
By fight or flight
By being harsh or tame,
The SPIRIT’S the same, the Pen-and-Ink’s the same.
(II)
Epitaph on an Unfortunate Artist
A HISTORY OF PEACE
(Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant)
Here rest in peace the bones of Henry Reece,
Dead through his bitter championship of Peace
Against all eagle-nosed and cynic lords
Who keep the Pax Romana with their swords.
Dead through his bitter championship of Peace
Against all eagle-nosed and cynic lords
Who keep the Pax Romana with their swords.
THE ROCK BELOW
Comes a muttering from the earth
Where speedwell grows and daisies grow,
“Pluck these weeds up, root and all,
Search what hides below.”
Where speedwell grows and daisies grow,
“Pluck these weeds up, root and all,
Search what hides below.”
Root and all I pluck them out;
There, close under, I have found
Stumps of thorn with ancient crooks
Grappled in the ground.
There, close under, I have found
Stumps of thorn with ancient crooks
Grappled in the ground.
I wrench the thorn-stocks from their hold
To set a rose-bush in that place;
Love has pleasure in my roses
For a summer space.
To set a rose-bush in that place;
Love has pleasure in my roses
For a summer space.
Yet the bush cries out in grief:
“Our lowest rootlets turn on rock,
We live in terror of the drought
Withering crown and stock.”
“Our lowest rootlets turn on rock,
We live in terror of the drought
Withering crown and stock.”
I grow angry with my creature,
Tear it out and see it die;
Far beneath I strike the stone,
Jarring hatefully.
Tear it out and see it die;
Far beneath I strike the stone,
Jarring hatefully.
Impotently must I mourn
Roses never to flower again?
Are heart and back too slightly built
For a heaving strain?
Roses never to flower again?
Are heart and back too slightly built
For a heaving strain?
AN IDYLL OF OLD AGE
Two gods once visited a hermit couple,
Philemon and his Baucis, old books tell;
They sampled elder-wine and called it nectar,
Though nectar is the tastier drink by far.
They made ambrosia of pot-herb and lentil,
They ate pease-porridge even, with a will.
Why, and so forth....
But that night in the spare bedroom
Where they lay shivering in the musty gloom,
Hermes and Zeus overheard conversation,
Behind the intervening wall, drag on
In thoughtful snatches through the night. They idly
Listened, and first they heard Philemon sigh:—
Philemon and his Baucis, old books tell;
They sampled elder-wine and called it nectar,
Though nectar is the tastier drink by far.
They made ambrosia of pot-herb and lentil,
They ate pease-porridge even, with a will.
Why, and so forth....
But that night in the spare bedroom
Where they lay shivering in the musty gloom,
Hermes and Zeus overheard conversation,
Behind the intervening wall, drag on
In thoughtful snatches through the night. They idly
Listened, and first they heard Philemon sigh:—
Phi. “Since two souls meet and merge at time of marriage,
Conforming to one stature and one age,
An honest token each with each exchanging
Of Only Love unbroken as a ring—
What signified my boyhood’s ideal friendship
That stared its ecstasy at eye and lip,
But dared not touch because love seemed too holy
For flesh with flesh in real embrace to lie?”
Conforming to one stature and one age,
An honest token each with each exchanging
Of Only Love unbroken as a ring—
What signified my boyhood’s ideal friendship
That stared its ecstasy at eye and lip,
But dared not touch because love seemed too holy
For flesh with flesh in real embrace to lie?”
Bau. Then Baucis sighed in answer to Philemon,
“Many’s the young man that my eye rests on
(Our younger guest to-night provides the instance)
Whose body brings my heart hotter romance
Than your dear face could ever spark within me;
Often I wish my heart from yours set free.”
“Many’s the young man that my eye rests on
(Our younger guest to-night provides the instance)
Whose body brings my heart hotter romance
Than your dear face could ever spark within me;
Often I wish my heart from yours set free.”
Phi. “In this wild medley round us of Bought Love,
Free Love and Forced Love and pretentious No-Love,
Let us walk upright, yet with care consider
Whether, in living thus, we do not err.
Why might we not approve adulterous licence
Increasing pleasurable experience?
What could the soul lose through the body’s rapture
With a body not its mate, where thought is pure?”
Free Love and Forced Love and pretentious No-Love,
Let us walk upright, yet with care consider
Whether, in living thus, we do not err.
Why might we not approve adulterous licence
Increasing pleasurable experience?
What could the soul lose through the body’s rapture
With a body not its mate, where thought is pure?”
Bau. “Are children bonds of love? But even children
Grow up too soon as women and as men,
And in the growing find their own love private,
Meet parent-love with new suspicious hate.
Our favourites run the surest to the Devil
In spite of early cares and all good will.”
Grow up too soon as women and as men,
And in the growing find their own love private,
Meet parent-love with new suspicious hate.
Our favourites run the surest to the Devil
In spite of early cares and all good will.”
Phi. “Sweetheart, you know that you have my permission
To go your own way and to take love on
Wherever love may signal.”
To go your own way and to take love on
Wherever love may signal.”
She replying
Bau. Said, “I allow you, dearest, the same thing.”
Bau. Said, “I allow you, dearest, the same thing.”
Zeus was struck dumb at this unholy compact,
But Hermes knew the shadow from the fact
And took an oath that for whole chests of money
Neither would faithless to the other be,
Would not and could not, being twined together
In such close love that he for want of her
Removed one night-time from his side, would perish,
And she was magnet-drawn by his least wish.
But Hermes knew the shadow from the fact
And took an oath that for whole chests of money
Neither would faithless to the other be,
Would not and could not, being twined together
In such close love that he for want of her
Removed one night-time from his side, would perish,
And she was magnet-drawn by his least wish.
Eternal Gods deny the sense of humour,
That well might prejudice their infallible power,
So Hermes and King Zeus not once considered,
In treating of this idyll overheard,
That love rehearses after life’s defeat
Remembered conflicts of an earlier heat,
Baucis, kind soul, was palsied, withered and bent,
Philemon, too, was ten years impotent.
That well might prejudice their infallible power,
So Hermes and King Zeus not once considered,
In treating of this idyll overheard,
That love rehearses after life’s defeat
Remembered conflicts of an earlier heat,
Baucis, kind soul, was palsied, withered and bent,
Philemon, too, was ten years impotent.
THE LORD CHAMBERLAIN TELLS OF A FAMOUS MEETING
Unknown to each other in a hostile camp,
Spies of two empire nations unallied,
These heroes met, princes of East and West,
Over a ragged pack of cards, by chance.
Never believe what credulous annalists
Record you in good faith of that encounter.
I was there myself, East’s man, and witnessed all.
In the main camp of the Middle Kingdom’s army
At a soldier’s mess, shortly before Retreat,
East, a pretended trooper, stepping in 10
Glanced round the room, shortly discerning West,
Who sat dejected at a corner table.
East moved by curiosity or compassion
Pulled out his cards, offering West the cut,
And West, disguised as a travelling ballad-man,
Took and cut; they played together then
For half an hour or more; then went their ways.
Spies of two empire nations unallied,
These heroes met, princes of East and West,
Over a ragged pack of cards, by chance.
Never believe what credulous annalists
Record you in good faith of that encounter.
I was there myself, East’s man, and witnessed all.
In the main camp of the Middle Kingdom’s army
At a soldier’s mess, shortly before Retreat,
East, a pretended trooper, stepping in 10
Glanced round the room, shortly discerning West,
Who sat dejected at a corner table.
East moved by curiosity or compassion
Pulled out his cards, offering West the cut,
And West, disguised as a travelling ballad-man,
Took and cut; they played together then
For half an hour or more; then went their ways.
Never believe such credulous annalists
As tell you, West for sign of recognition,
Greatness to greatness, wit to dexterous wit, 20
With sleight of magic most extraordinary
Alters the Duty on his Ace of Spades,
Making three-pence three-halfpence; East, it’s said,
For a fantastic sly acknowledgment,
While his grave eyes betoken no surprise,
Makes magic too; presto, the Knave of Hearts
Nims the Queen’s rose and cocks it in his cap
Furtively, so that only West remarks it.
But such was not the fact; contrariwise,
When Proteus meets with Proteus, each annuls 30
The variability of the other’s mind.
Single they stand, casting their mutable cloaks.
So for this present chance, I take my oath
That leaning across and watching the cards close
I caught no hint of prestidigitation.
As tell you, West for sign of recognition,
Greatness to greatness, wit to dexterous wit, 20
With sleight of magic most extraordinary
Alters the Duty on his Ace of Spades,
Making three-pence three-halfpence; East, it’s said,
For a fantastic sly acknowledgment,
While his grave eyes betoken no surprise,
Makes magic too; presto, the Knave of Hearts
Nims the Queen’s rose and cocks it in his cap
Furtively, so that only West remarks it.
But such was not the fact; contrariwise,
When Proteus meets with Proteus, each annuls 30
The variability of the other’s mind.
Single they stand, casting their mutable cloaks.
So for this present chance, I take my oath
That leaning across and watching the cards close
I caught no hint of prestidigitation.
Never believe approved biographers
Who’ll show a sequence of the games then played,
Explaining that the minds of these two princes
Were of such subtlety and such nimbleness
That Whipperginny on the fall of a card 40
Changed to Bézique or Cribbage or Piquet,
Euchre or Écarté, then back once more,
Each comprehending with no signal shown
The opposing fancies of the other’s mind.
It’s said, spectators of this play grew dazed,
They turned away, thinking the gamesters drunk.
But I, who sat there watching, keeping score,
Say they observed the rules of but one game
The whole bout, playing neither well nor ill
But slowly, with their thoughts in other channels, 50
Serene and passionless like wooden men.
Who’ll show a sequence of the games then played,
Explaining that the minds of these two princes
Were of such subtlety and such nimbleness
That Whipperginny on the fall of a card 40
Changed to Bézique or Cribbage or Piquet,
Euchre or Écarté, then back once more,
Each comprehending with no signal shown
The opposing fancies of the other’s mind.
It’s said, spectators of this play grew dazed,
They turned away, thinking the gamesters drunk.
But I, who sat there watching, keeping score,
Say they observed the rules of but one game
The whole bout, playing neither well nor ill
But slowly, with their thoughts in other channels, 50
Serene and passionless like wooden men.
Neither believe those elegant essayists
Who reconstruct the princes’ conversation
From grotesque fabrics of their own vain brains.
I only know that East gave West a nod,
Asking him careless questions about trade;
West gave the latest rumours from the front,
Raising of sieges, plots and pillages.
He told a camp-fire yarn to amuse the soldiers
Whereat they all laughed emptily (East laughed too). 60
He sang a few staves of the latest catch,
And pulling out his roll of rhymes, unfurled it,
Ballads and songs, measured by the yard-rule.
But do not trust the elegant essayists
Who’d have you swallow all they care to tell
Of the riddling speech in painful double entendre
That West and East juggled across the cards,
So intricate, so exquisitely resolved
In polished antithetical periods
That by comparison, as you must believe, 70
Solomon himself faced with the Queen of Sheba
And Bishop Such, preaching before the King,
Joined in one person would have seemed mere trash.
I give my testimony beyond refutal,
Nailing the lie for all who ask the facts.
Who reconstruct the princes’ conversation
From grotesque fabrics of their own vain brains.
I only know that East gave West a nod,
Asking him careless questions about trade;
West gave the latest rumours from the front,
Raising of sieges, plots and pillages.
He told a camp-fire yarn to amuse the soldiers
Whereat they all laughed emptily (East laughed too). 60
He sang a few staves of the latest catch,
And pulling out his roll of rhymes, unfurled it,
Ballads and songs, measured by the yard-rule.
But do not trust the elegant essayists
Who’d have you swallow all they care to tell
Of the riddling speech in painful double entendre
That West and East juggled across the cards,
So intricate, so exquisitely resolved
In polished antithetical periods
That by comparison, as you must believe, 70
Solomon himself faced with the Queen of Sheba
And Bishop Such, preaching before the King,
Joined in one person would have seemed mere trash.
I give my testimony beyond refutal,
Nailing the lie for all who ask the facts.
Pay no heed to those vagabond dramatists
Who, to present this meeting on the stage,
Would make my Prince, stealthily drawing out
A golden quill and stabbing his arm for blood,
Scratch on a vellum slip some hasty sentence 80
And pass it under the table; which West signs
With his blood, so the treaty’s made between them
All unobserved and two far nations wedded
While enemy soldiers loll, yawning, around.
I was there myself, I say, seeing everything.
Truly, this is what passed, that East regarding
West with a steady look and knowing him well,
For an instant let the heavy soldier-mask,
His best protection, a dull cast of face,
Light up with joy, and his eyes shoot out mirth. 90
West then knew East, checked, and misdealt the cards.
Nothing at all was said, on went the game.
But East bought from West’s bag of ballads, after,
Two sombre histories, and some songs for dancing.
Who, to present this meeting on the stage,
Would make my Prince, stealthily drawing out
A golden quill and stabbing his arm for blood,
Scratch on a vellum slip some hasty sentence 80
And pass it under the table; which West signs
With his blood, so the treaty’s made between them
All unobserved and two far nations wedded
While enemy soldiers loll, yawning, around.
I was there myself, I say, seeing everything.
Truly, this is what passed, that East regarding
West with a steady look and knowing him well,
For an instant let the heavy soldier-mask,
His best protection, a dull cast of face,
Light up with joy, and his eyes shoot out mirth. 90
West then knew East, checked, and misdealt the cards.
Nothing at all was said, on went the game.
But East bought from West’s bag of ballads, after,
Two sombre histories, and some songs for dancing.
Also distrust those allegorical
Painters who treating of this famous scene
Are used to splash the skies with lurching Cupids,
Goddesses with loose hair, and broad-cheeked Zephyrs;
They burnish up the soldiers’ breastplate steel
Rusted with languor of their long campaign, 100
To twinkling high-lights of unmixed white paint,
Giving them buskins and tall plumes to wear,
While hard by, in a wanton imagery,
Aquatic Triton thunders on his conch
And Satyrs gape from behind neighbouring trees.
I who was there, sweating in my shirt-sleeves,
Felt no divinity brooding in that mess,
For human splendour gave the gods rebuff.
Painters who treating of this famous scene
Are used to splash the skies with lurching Cupids,
Goddesses with loose hair, and broad-cheeked Zephyrs;
They burnish up the soldiers’ breastplate steel
Rusted with languor of their long campaign, 100
To twinkling high-lights of unmixed white paint,
Giving them buskins and tall plumes to wear,
While hard by, in a wanton imagery,
Aquatic Triton thunders on his conch
And Satyrs gape from behind neighbouring trees.
I who was there, sweating in my shirt-sleeves,
Felt no divinity brooding in that mess,
For human splendour gave the gods rebuff.
Do not believe them, seem they never so wise,
Credibly posted with all new research, 110
Those elegant essayists, vagabond dramatists,
Authentic and approved biographers,
Solemn annalists, allegorical
Painters, each one misleading or misled.
One thing is true, that of all sights I have seen
In any quarter of this world of men,
By night, by day, in court, field, tavern, or barn,
That was the noblest, East encountering West,
Their silent understanding and restraint,
Meeting and parting like the Kings they were 120
With plain indifference to all circumstance;
Saying no good-bye, no handclasp and no tears,
But letting speech between them fade away
In casual murmurs and half compliments,
East sauntering out for fresh intelligence,
And West shuffling away, not looking back,
Though each knew well that this chance meeting stood
For turning movement of world history.
And I? I trembled, knowing these things must be.
Credibly posted with all new research, 110
Those elegant essayists, vagabond dramatists,
Authentic and approved biographers,
Solemn annalists, allegorical
Painters, each one misleading or misled.
One thing is true, that of all sights I have seen
In any quarter of this world of men,
By night, by day, in court, field, tavern, or barn,
That was the noblest, East encountering West,
Their silent understanding and restraint,
Meeting and parting like the Kings they were 120
With plain indifference to all circumstance;
Saying no good-bye, no handclasp and no tears,
But letting speech between them fade away
In casual murmurs and half compliments,
East sauntering out for fresh intelligence,
And West shuffling away, not looking back,
Though each knew well that this chance meeting stood
For turning movement of world history.
And I? I trembled, knowing these things must be.
THE SEWING BASKET
(Accompanying a wedding present from Jenny Nicholson to Winifred Roberts)
To Winifred
The day she’s wed
(Having no gold) I send instead
This sewing basket,
And lovingly
Demand that she,
If ever wanting help from me,
Will surely ask it.
The day she’s wed
(Having no gold) I send instead
This sewing basket,
And lovingly
Demand that she,
If ever wanting help from me,
Will surely ask it.
Which being gravely said,
Now to go straight ahead
With a cutting of string,
An unwrapping of paper,
With a haberdasher’s flourish,
The airs of a draper,
To review
And search this basket through.
Now to go straight ahead
With a cutting of string,
An unwrapping of paper,
With a haberdasher’s flourish,
The airs of a draper,
To review
And search this basket through.
Here’s one place full
Of coloured wool,
And various yarn
With which to darn;
A sampler, too,
I’ve worked for you,
Lettered from A to Z,
The text of which
In small cross-stitch
Is Love to Winifred.
Of coloured wool,
And various yarn
With which to darn;
A sampler, too,
I’ve worked for you,
Lettered from A to Z,
The text of which
In small cross-stitch
Is Love to Winifred.
Here’s a rag-doll wherein
To thrust the casual pin.
His name is Benjamin
For his ingenuous face;
Be sure I’ve not forgotten
Black thread or crochet cotton;
While Brussels lace
Has found a place
Behind the needle-case.
(But the case for the scissors?
Empty, as you see;
Love must never be sundered
Between you and me.)
To thrust the casual pin.
His name is Benjamin
For his ingenuous face;
Be sure I’ve not forgotten
Black thread or crochet cotton;
While Brussels lace
Has found a place
Behind the needle-case.
(But the case for the scissors?
Empty, as you see;
Love must never be sundered
Between you and me.)
Winifred Roberts,
Think of me, do,
When the friends I am sending
Are working for you.
The song of the thimble
Is, “Oh, forget her not.”
Says the tape-measure,
“Absent but never forgot.”
Think of me, do,
When the friends I am sending
Are working for you.
The song of the thimble
Is, “Oh, forget her not.”
Says the tape-measure,
“Absent but never forgot.”
Benjamin’s song
He sings all day long,
Though his voice is not strong:
He hoarsely holloas
More or less as follows:—
He sings all day long,
Though his voice is not strong:
He hoarsely holloas
More or less as follows:—
Button boxes
Never have locks-es,
For the keys would soon disappear.
But here’s a linen button
With a smut on,
And a big bone button
With a cut on,
A pearly and a fancy
Of small significancy,
And the badges of a Fireman and a Fusilier.
Which song he’ll alternate
With sounds like a Turkish hubble-bubble
Smoked at a furious rate,
The words are scarcely intelligible:—
Never have locks-es,
For the keys would soon disappear.
But here’s a linen button
With a smut on,
And a big bone button
With a cut on,
A pearly and a fancy
Of small significancy,
And the badges of a Fireman and a Fusilier.
Which song he’ll alternate
With sounds like a Turkish hubble-bubble
Smoked at a furious rate,
The words are scarcely intelligible:—
(Prestissimo) Needles and ribbons and packets of pins,
Prints and chintz and odd bodikins,
They’d never mind whether
You laid ’em together
Or one from the other in pockets and tins.
Prints and chintz and odd bodikins,
They’d never mind whether
You laid ’em together
Or one from the other in pockets and tins.
For packets of pins and ribbons and needles
Or odd bodikins and chintz and prints,
Being birds of a feather.
Would huddle together
Like minnows on billows or pennies in mints.
Or odd bodikins and chintz and prints,
Being birds of a feather.
Would huddle together
Like minnows on billows or pennies in mints.
He’ll learn to sing more prettily
When you take him out to Italy
On your honeymoon,
(Oh come back soon!)
To Florence or to Rome,
The prima donnas’ home,
To Padua or to Genoa
Where tenors all sing tra-la-la....
When you take him out to Italy
On your honeymoon,
(Oh come back soon!)
To Florence or to Rome,
The prima donnas’ home,
To Padua or to Genoa
Where tenors all sing tra-la-la....