The Deluge and Other Poems Part 4

A JANUARY MORNING

How strangely shone the crescent of the moon In the grey twilight dawning o'er the sea; A star, that seemed of stars a memory, (As faint as lilies on a sultry noon) Ebbed in the chilly waxing of the morn; The sea was rest in motion; hardly stirred Its waves upon the beach; there was no bird To break its undersong of silence born.

The misty shadows lay upon the trees, Whose colour was but echo of the tone That earth and sky were wrapped in, harmonies Of wedded hue were visible alone, --And over all a breath of memory blown, Of other dawnings upon other seas.

FEBRUARY

Can there be aught to touch the sleeping dead To consciousness; can love still call to love Across that dark abyss; can feeling move Dead heart and brain, that once with blood were fed, To stir and quicken in their narrow bed, For that which yet is living? We believe Such force has love, that it may still retrieve Its heart's Eurydice among the dead.

I shall awake, then, shall awake my soul-- Not when full summer beautifies the earth, But with the first sweet stirring of the sap, Ere yet the fields are green or leaves unroll: I shall but sleep awhile in Nature's lap, To be reborn with February's rebirth.

TO APRIL

I

'Tis not alone the loveliness of spring That makes spring lovely; there's a sense behind Of wonders, deeper than the eye can find In daffodils, or swallows on the wing; A subtler pleasure than the sense can bind When on the dusty roads the rain-drops sing As March turns April, and the hours bring Songs to deaf ears, and beauty to the blind.

April is secret nature's treasure room, Which she unlocks to us who love her well In magic moments; then indeed we see The wonder of all spring-times, from the gloom Of world-beginnings, long ere Adam fell-- And all the beauty of all springs to be.

TO APRIL

II

There will be other days as fair as these Which I shall never see; for other eyes The lyric loveliness of cherry trees Shall bloom milk-white against the windy skies And I not praise them; where upon the stream The faery tracery of willows lies I shall not see the sunlight's flying gleam, Nor watch the swallows sudden dip and rise.

Most mutable the forms of beauty are, Yet Beauty most eternal and unchanged, Perfect for us, and for posterity Still perfect; yearly is the pageant ranged.

And dare we wish that our poor dust should mar The wonder of such immortality?

TO DANIEL MANIN

If that most n.o.ble soul, which, here on earth, Was known as Manin, yet have consciousness Of what is, and what is not, being not less Than here he was, in courage and in worth, Seeing the world whereon we sweat and strive; Shall he not know his Italy, and bless, And in his own heart praise the steadfastness That held him to his purpose when alive?

Shall he not have reward for all his pain, Who, dying with his incompleted aim, Saw failure only, and the bitter toll Of loved ones lost, and lost, it seemed, in vain?

Must not that heart still keep his country's name, Though o'er him all death's waters heave and roll?

TO THE LEADERS OF BOTH PARTIES

January 1910

"A people's voice, we are a people yet."

--TENNYSON'S _Ode on Death of the Duke of Wellington._

Think on your birthright, England! On that voice Which sounded first the ringing clarion note Of freedom, and the ears of mankind smote With that brave speech, whose hearing does rejoice The angels (in his starry sphere remote Each sitting). Think upon your past, my land; The heart to wish, the will to dare, the hand To do the right, though round the senses float The Protean shapes of evil. We have struck To free the slave, against a world in doubt; Have raised the grovelling from their muddy ruck And made them men; our foes once put to rout We give them justice; we have scorned to truck In gold for blood, and fatten on such spoil-- To others be the gain, to us the toil.

Oh, once more, England, let that voice ring out!

Alas! thou now dost hide thy t.i.tan self In a drab's clothing, lies; whilst, false and shrill, Thy people squabble for the dirty pelf Of office, at the hustings; while they fill Our streets with lies, that, from the naked walls, Mouth blatantly upon us, open shame; While throughout Europe goes thy honoured name, Grimacing in a mask of Party brawls.

Bethink you, Leaders! How will history place Your name beside her others, if you fight With such-like weapons? Oh, be bold to face The conflict, tell the truth, as in your sight It does appear, with nothing false or base, --The nation's heart will know to choose aright-- Be brave! Be true these days! Will you forget You are our Leaders, we, a people yet?

CONSOLATION

"Is there a pain to match my pain In all this world of woe; When to and fro on a barren earth My weary footsteps go?

When no day's sun shall give me mirth And no stars blessed be; Because my heart goes hungry and lone For one who turns from me?"

Hear what the voice of all Sorrows saith From out the ages dim: "As melt the snows your pa.s.sion goes, And as dew it vanisheth.

Take up, take up your burden of woe, Unblenching on your journey go, For man was born to reap and sow That earth might fruitful be."

"Is there a pain to match my pain, Who watch the small dead face, With the folded lips, and the folded lids And the cheek the dimples grace; Where they will come no more, no more?-- Oh, small soft hands that hold So quietly, in rosy palms, My heart that's dead and cold."

Hear what the voice of all Sorrows saith: "Though still the little feet, Though the hands are chill, and the sweet form chill, And gone the childish breath; Take up, take up your burden of woe, For you were born to sorrow so, To bear in anguish, and lose in pain, That earth might be fulfilled."

"Is there a pain to match my pain Who loved all men on earth, Who saw the G.o.dhead, through the sh.e.l.l That burdened them at birth; Who strove for right, who strove for good, Since love must win at last?

--This hour they lead me out to die, With cords they make me fast."

Hear what the voice of all Sorrows saith: "They lead you out to die; For the love you gave they will dig your grave, And their thanks to you is death.

Take up, take up your burden of woe, And proudly to your scaffold go, For men were born to suffer so, That mankind might be great."

TAPESTRY

G.o.d the omnipotent wearied of s.p.a.ce, And the void of endless blue, And the light of eternity in His face, And eternity's emptiness round the place That the presence of G.o.dhead knew.

So He wove Him a piece of tapestry O'er all infinity drawn, And out of His brain and its subtlety Were the suns that stand, and the comets that flee, And the paths of the planets born.

No plan too great, no design too small, For the fingers of G.o.d the Lord, The joy of invention lived through all, From the orbit curve of the earthly ball To the sh.e.l.l where sound is stored.

And all continued as they were made, Clean cast from Perfection's brain, Not a beam of light from its circle strayed, But the whole the heavenly laws obeyed, --G.o.d looked, and wearied again.