Collected Poems Volume II Part 10

XXIV

Sprouting like the milky buds o' hawthorn in the night-time, Pouting like the snowy buds o' roses in July, Spreading in my chrysalist and waiting for the right time, When--I thought--they'd bust to wings and Bill would rise and fly, _Tick, tack, tick, tack_, as if it came in answer, Sweeping o'er my head again the tide o' dreams went by,-- _I must get to Piddinghoe to-morrow if I can, sir,_ _Tick, tack_, a crackle in my chrysalist, a cry!

Then the warm blue sky Bust the sh.e.l.l, and out crept Bill--a blooming b.u.t.terfly!

XXV

Blue as a corn-flower, blazed the zenith: the deepening East like a scarlet poppy Burned while, dazzled with golden bloom, white clouds like daisies, green seas like wheat, Gripping the sign-post, first, I climbs, to sun my wings, which were wrinkled and floppy, Spreading 'em white o'er the words _No Road_, and hanging fast by my six black feet.

XXVI

Still on my head was the battered old beaver, but through it my clubbed antennae slanted, ("Feelers" yourself would probably call 'em) my battered old boots were hardly seen Under the golden fluff of the tail! It was Bill, sir, Bill, though highly enchanted, Spreading his beautiful snow-white pinions, tipped with orange, and veined with green.

XXVII

Yus, old Bill was an Orange-tip, a spirit in glory, a blooming Psyche!

New, it was new from East to West this rummy old world that I dreamed I knew, How can I tell you the things that I saw with my--what shall _I_ call 'em?

--"feelers?"--O, crikey, "FEELERS?" You know how the man born blind described such colours as scarlet or blue.

XXVIII

"Scarlet," he says, "is the sound of a trumpet, blue is a flute,"

for he hasn't a notion!

No, nor n.o.body living on earth can tell it him plain, if he hasn't the sight!

That's how it stands with ragged old Bill, a-drift and a-dream on a measureless ocean, Gifted wi' fifteen new-born senses, and seeing you blind to their new strange light.

XXIX

How can I tell you? Sir, you must wait, till you die like Bill, ere you understand it!

Only--I saw--the same as a bee that strikes to his hive ten leagues away-- Straight as a die, while I winked and blinked on that sun-warmed wood and my wings expanded (Whistler drawings that men call wings)--I saw--and I flew--that's all I can say.

x.x.x

Flew over leagues of whispering wonder, fairy forests and flowery palaces, Love-lorn cas.e.m.e.nts, delicate kingdoms, beautiful flaming thoughts of--Him; Feasts of a million blue-mailed angels lifting their honey-and-wine-brimmed chalices, Throned upon clouds--(which you'd call white clover) down to the world's most rosiest rim.

x.x.xI

New and new and new and new, the white o' the cliffs and the wind in the heather, Yus, and the sea-gulls flying like flakes of the sea that flashed to the new-born day, Song, song, song, song, quivering up in the wild blue weather, Thousands of seraphim singing together, and me just flying and--_knowing my way_.

x.x.xII

Straight as a die to Piddinghoe's dolphin, and there I drops in a cottage garden, There, on a sun-warmed window-sill, I winks and peeps, for the window was wide!

Crumbs, he was there and fast in her arms and a-begging his poor old mother's pardon, There with his lips on her old grey hair, and her head on his breast while she laughed and cried,--

x.x.xIII

"_One and nine-pence that old tramp gave me, or else I should never have reached you, sonny, Never, and you just leaving the village to-day and meaning to cross the sea, One and nine-pence he gave me, I paid for the farmer's lift with half o' the money!

Here's the ten-pence halfpenny, sonny, 'twill pay for our little 'ouse-warming tea._"

x.x.xIV

_Tick, tack, tick, tack_, out into the garden Toddles that old Fairy with his arm about her--so, Cuddling of her still, and still a-begging of her pardon, While she says "I wish the corn-flower king could only know!

Bless him, bless him, once again," she says and softly gazes Up to heaven, a-smiling in her mutch as white as snow, All among her gilly-flowers and stocks and double daisies, Mignonette, forget-me-not,... _Twenty years ago_, All a rosy glow, _This is how it was_, she said, _Twenty years ago_.

x.x.xV

Once again I seemed to wake, the vision it had fled, sir, There I lay upon the downs: the sky was like a peach; Yus, with twelve bokays of corn-flowers blue beside my bed, sir, More than usual 'andsome, so they'd bring me two-pence each.

Easy as a poet's dreams they blossomed round my head, sir, All I had to do was just to lift my hand and reach, Tie 'em with a bit of string, and earn my blooming bread, sir, Selling little nose-gays on the bare-foot Brighton beach, Nose-gays _and_ a speech, All about the bright blue eyes they matched on Brighton beach.

x.x.xVI

Overhead the singing lark and underfoot the heather, Far and blue in front of us the unplumbed sky, Me and stick and bundle, O, we jogs along together, (Changeable the weather? Well, it ain't all pie!) Weather's like a woman, sir, and if she wants to quarrel, If her eyes begin to flash and hair begins to fly, You've to wait a little, then--the story has a moral-- Ain't the sunny kisses all the sweeter by and bye?-- (Crumbs, it's 'ot and dry!

Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir!) the sweeter by and bye.

x.x.xVII

So the world's my sweetheart and I sort of want to squeeze 'er.

Toffs 'ull get no chance of heaven, take 'em in the lump!

Never laid in hay-fields when the dawn came over-sea, sir?

Guess it's true that story 'bout the needle and the hump!

Never crept into a stack because the wind was blowing, Hollered out a nest and closed the door-way with a clump, Laid and heard the whisper of the silence, growing, growing, Watched a thousand wheeling stars and wondered if they'd b.u.mp?

What I say would stump Joshua! But I've done it, sir. Don't think I'm off my chump.

x.x.xVIII

If you try and lay, sir, with your face turned up to wonder, Up to twenty million miles of stars that roll like one, Right across to G.o.d knows where, and you just huddled under Like a little beetle with no business of his own, There you'd hear--like growing gra.s.s--a funny silent sound, sir, Mixed with curious crackles in a steady undertone, Just the sound of twenty billion stars a-going round, sir, Yus, and you beneath 'em like a wise old ant, alone, Ant upon a stone, Waving of his antlers, on the Suss.e.x downs, alone.