Foliage: Various Poems Part 5

'Twas then I broke that awful hush: E'en as a mother, who does come Running in haste back to her home, And looks at once, and lo, the child She left asleep is gone; and wild She shrieks and loud--so did I break With a mad cry that dream, and wake.

CHILDREN AT PLAY

I hear a merry noise indeed: Is it the geese and ducks that take Their first plunge in a quiet pond That into scores of ripples break-- Or children make this merry sound?

I see an oak tree, its strong back Could not be bent an inch though all Its leaves were stone, or iron even: A boy, with many a l.u.s.ty call, Rides on a bough bareback through Heaven.

I see two children dig a hole And plant in it a cherry-stone: "We'll come to-morrow," one child said-- "And then the tree will be full grown, And all its boughs have cherries red."

Ah, children, what a life to lead: You love the flowers, but when they're past No flowers are missed by your bright eyes; And when cold winter comes at last, Snowflakes shall be your b.u.t.terflies.

WHEN THE CUCKOO SINGS

In summer, when the Cuckoo sings, And clouds like greater moons can s.h.i.+ne; When every leafy tree doth hold A loving heart that beats with mine: Now, when the Brook has cresses green, As well as stones, to check his pace; And, if the Owl appears, he's forced By small birds to some hiding-place: Then, like red Robin in the spring, I shun those haunts where men are found; My house holds little joy until Leaves fall and birds can make no sound; Let none invade that wilderness Into whose dark green depths I go-- Save some fine lady, all in white, Comes like a pillar of pure snow.

RETURN TO NATURE

My song is of that city which Has men too poor and men too rich; Where some are sick, too richly fed, While others take the sparrows' bread: Where some have beds to warm their bones, While others sleep on hard, cold stones That suck away their bodies' heat.

Where men are drunk in every street; Men full of poison, like those flies That still attack the horses' eyes.

Where some men freeze for want of cloth, While others show their jewels' worth And dress in satin, fur or silk; Where fine rich ladies wash in milk, While starving mothers have no food To make them fit in flesh and blood; So that their watery b.r.e.a.s.t.s can give Their babies milk and make them live.

Where one man does the work of four, And dies worn out before his hour; While some seek work in vain, and grief Doth make their fretful lives as brief.

Where ragged men are seen to wait For charity that's small and late; While others haunt in idle leisure, Theatre doors to pay for pleasure.

No more I'll walk those crowded places And take hot dreams from harlots' faces; I'll know no more those pa.s.sions' dreams, While musing near these quiet streams; That biting state of savage l.u.s.t Which, true love absent, burns to dust.

Gold's rattle shall not rob my ears Of this sweet music of the spheres.

I'll walk abroad with fancy free; Each leafy, summer's morn I'll see The trees, all legs or bodies, when They vary in their shapes like men.

I'll walk abroad and see again How quiet pools are p.r.i.c.ked by rain; And you shall hear a song as sweet As when green leaves and raindrops meet.

I'll hear the Nightingale's fine mood, Rattling with thunder in the wood, Made bolder by each mighty crash; Who drives her notes with every flash Of lightning through the summer's night.

No more I'll walk in that pale light That shows the homeless man awake, Ragged and cold; harlot and rake, That have their hearts in rags, and die Before that poor wretch they pa.s.s by.

Nay, I have found a life so fine That every moment seems divine; By shunning all those pleasures full, That bring repentance cold and dull.

Such misery seen in days gone by, That, made a coward, now I fly To green things, like a bird. Alas!

In days gone by I could not pa.s.s Ten men but what the eyes of one Would burn me for no kindness done; And wretched women I pa.s.sed by Sent after me a moan or sigh.

Ah, wretched days: for in that place My soul's leaves sought the human face, And not the Sun's for warmth and light-- And so was never free from blight.

But seek me now, and you will find Me on some soft green bank reclined; Watching the stately deer close by, That in a great deep hollow lie Shaking their tails with all the ease That lambs can. First, look for the trees, Then, if you seek me, find me quick.

Seek me no more where men are thick, But in green lanes where I can walk A mile, and still no human folk Tread on my shadow. Seek me where The strange oak tree is, that can bear One white-leaved branch among the green-- Which many a woodman has not seen.

If you would find me, go where cows And sheep stand under shady boughs; Where furious squirrels shake a tree As though they'd like to bury me Under a leaf shower heavy, and I laugh at them for spite, and stand.

Seek me no more in human ways-- Who am a coward since those days My mind was burned by poor men's eyes, And frozen by poor women's sighs.

Then send your pearls across the sea, Your feathers, scent and ivory, You distant lands--but let my bales Be brought by Cuckoos, Nightingales, That come in spring from your far sh.o.r.es; Sweet birds that carry richer stores Than men can dream of, when they prize Fine silks and pearls for merchandise; And dream of s.h.i.+ps that take the floods Sunk to their decks with such vain goods; Bringing that traitor silk, whose soft Smooth tongue persuades the poor too oft From sweet content; and pearls, whose fires Make ashes of our best desires.

For I have heard the sighs and whines Of rich men that drink costly wines And eat the best of fish and fowl; Men that have plenty, and still growl Because they cannot like kings live-- "Alas!" they whine, "we cannot save."

Since I have heard those rich ones sigh, Made poor by their desires so high, I cherish more a simple mind; That I am well content to find My pictures in the open air, And let my walls and floors go bare; That I with lovely things can fill My rooms, whene'er sweet Fancy will.

I make a fallen tree my chair, And soon forget no cus.h.i.+on's there; I lie upon the gra.s.s or straw, And no soft down do I sigh for; For with me all the time I keep Sweet dreams that, do I wake or sleep, Shed on me still their kindly beams; Aye, I am richer with my dreams Than banks where men dull-eyed and cold Without a tremble shovel gold.

A happy life is this. I walk And hear more birds than people talk; I hear the birds that sing unseen, On boughs now smothered with leaves green; I sit and watch the swallows there, Making a circus in the air; That speed around straight-going crow, As sharks around a s.h.i.+p can go; I hear the skylark out of sight, Hid perfectly in all this light.

The dappled cows in fields I pa.s.s, Up to their bosoms in deep gra.s.s; Old oak trees, with their bowels gone, I see with spring's green finery on.

I watch the buzzing bees for hours, To see them rush at laughing flowers-- And b.u.t.terflies that lie so still.

I see great houses on the hill, With s.h.i.+ning roofs; and there s.h.i.+nes one, It seems that heaven has dropped the sun.

I see yon cloudlet sail the skies, Racing with clouds ten times its size.

I walk green pathways, where love waits To talk in whispers at old gates; Past stiles--on which I lean, alone-- Carved with the names of lovers gone; I stand on arches whose dark stones Can turn the wind's soft sighs to groans.

I hear the Cuckoo when first he Makes this green world's discovery, And re-creates it in my mind, Proving my eyes were growing blind.

I see the rainbow come forth clear And wave her coloured scarf to cheer The sun long swallowed by a flood-- So do I live in lane and wood.

Let me look forward to each spring As eager as the birds that sing; And feed my eyes on spring's young flowers Before the bees by many hours, My heart to leap and sing her praise Before the birds by many days.

Go white my hair and skin go dry-- But let my heart a dewdrop lie Inside those leaves when they go wrong, As fresh as when my life was young.

A STRANGE CITY

A wondrous city, that had temples there More rich than that one built by David's son, Which called forth Ophir's gold, when Israel Made Lebanon half naked for her sake.

I saw white towers where so-called traitors died-- True men whose tongues were bells to honest hearts, And rang out boldly in false monarch's ears.

Saw old black gateways, on whose arches crouched Stone lions with their bodies gnawed by age.

I looked with awe on iron gates that could Tell b.l.o.o.d.y stones if they had our tongues.

I saw tall mounted spires s.h.i.+ne in the sun, That stood amidst their army of low streets.

I saw in buildings pictures, statues rare, Made in those days when Rome was young, and new In marble quarried from Carrara's hills; Statues by sculptors that could almost make Fine cobwebs out of stone--so light they worked.

Pictures that breathe in us a living soul, Such as we seldom feel come from that life The artist copies. Many a lovely sight-- Such as the half sunk barge with bales of hay, Or sparkling coals--employed my wondering eyes.

I saw old Thames, whose ripples swarmed with stars Bred by the sun on that fine summer's day; I saw in fancy fowl and green banks there, And Liza's barge rowed past a thousand swans.

I walked in parks and heard sweet music cry In solemn courtyards, midst the men-at-arms; Which suddenly would leap those stony walls And spring up with loud laughter into trees.

I walked in busy streets where music oft Went on the march with men; and ofttimes heard The organ in cathedral, when the boys Like nightingales sang in that thunderstorm; The organ, with its rich and solemn tones-- As near a G.o.d's voice as a man conceives; Nor ever dreamt the silent misery That solemn organ brought to homeless men.

I heard the drums and soft bra.s.s instruments, Led by the silver cornets clear and high-- Whose sounds turned playing children into stones.

I saw at night the City's lights s.h.i.+ne bright, A greater milky way; how in its spell It fascinated with ten thousand eyes; Like those sweet wiles of an enchantress who Would still detain her knight gone cold in love; It was an iceberg with long arms unseen, That felt the deep for vessels far away.

All things seemed strange, I stared like any child That pores on some old face and sees a world Which its familiar granddad and his dame Hid with their love and laughter until then.

My feet had not yet felt the cruel rocks Beneath the pleasant moss I seemed to tread.

But soon my ears grew weary of that din, My eyes grew tired of all that flesh and stone; And, as a snail that crawls on a smooth stalk, Will reach the end and find a sharpened thorn-- So did I reach the cruel end at last.

I saw the starving mother and her child, Who feared that Death would surely end its sleep, And cursed the wolf of Hunger with her moans.

And yet, methought, when first I entered there, Into that city with my wondering mind, How marvellous its many sights and sounds; The traffic with its sound of heavy seas That have and would again unseat the rocks.

How common then seemed Nature's hills and fields Compared with these high domes and even streets, And churches with white towers and bodies black.

The traffic's sound was music to my ears; A sound of where the white waves, hour by hour, Attack a reef of coral rising yet; Or where a mighty wars.h.i.+p in a fog, Steams into a large fleet of little boats.

Aye, and that fog was strange and wonderful, That made men blind and grope their way at noon.

I saw that City with fierce human surge, With millions of dark waves that still spread out To swallow more of their green boundaries.

Then came a day that noise so stirred my soul, I called them h.e.l.lish sounds, and thought red war Was better far than peace in such a town.

To hear that din all day, sometimes my mind Went crazed, and it seemed strange, as I were lost In some vast forest full of chattering apes.

How sick I grew to hear that lasting noise, And all those people forced across my sight, Knowing the acres of green fields and woods That in some country parts outnumbered men; In half an hour ten thousand men I pa.s.sed-- More than nine thousand should have been green trees.

There on a summer's day I saw such crowds That where there was no man man's shadow was; Millions all cramped together in one hive, Storing, methought, more bitter stuff than sweet.

The air was foul and stale; from their green homes Young blood had brought its fresh and rosy cheeks, Which soon turned colour, like blue streams in flood.

Aye, solitude, black solitude indeed, To meet a million souls and know not one; This world must soon grow stale to one compelled To look all day at faces strange and cold.

Oft full of smoke that town; its summer's day Was darker than a summer's night at sea; Poison was there, and still men rushed for it, Like cows for acorns that have made them sick.