"If the living could but hear What is heard by my roots as they creep Round the restful flock, and the things said there, No one would weep."
""Now set among the wise,"
They say: "Enlarged in scope, That no G.o.d trumpet us to rise We truly hope.""
I listened to his strange tale In the mood that stillness brings, And I grew to accept as the day wore pale That show of things.
"FOR LIFE I HAD NEVER CARED GREATLY"
For Life I had never cared greatly, As worth a man"s while; Peradventures unsought, Peradventures that finished in nought, Had kept me from youth and through manhood till lately Unwon by its style.
In earliest years--why I know not - I viewed it askance; Conditions of doubt, Conditions that leaked slowly out, May haply have bent me to stand and to show not Much zest for its dance.
With symphonies soft and sweet colour It courted me then, Till evasions seemed wrong, Till evasions gave in to its song, And I warmed, until living aloofly loomed duller Than life among men.
Anew I found nought to set eyes on, When, lifting its hand, It uncloaked a star, Uncloaked it from fog-damps afar, And showed its beams burning from pole to horizon As bright as a brand.
And so, the rough highway forgetting, I pace hill and dale Regarding the sky, Regarding the vision on high, And thus re-illumed have no humour for letting My pilgrimage fail.
"MEN WHO MARCH AWAY"
(SONG OF THE SOLDIERS)
What of the faith and fire within us Men who march away Ere the barn-c.o.c.ks say Night is growing gray, Leaving all that here can win us; What of the faith and fire within us Men who march away?
Is it a purblind prank, O think you, Friend with the musing eye, Who watch us stepping by With doubt and dolorous sigh?
Can much pondering so hoodwink you!
Is it a purblind prank, O think you, Friend with the musing eye?
Nay. We well see what we are doing, Though some may not see - Dalliers as they be - England"s need are we; Her distress would leave us rueing: Nay. We well see what we are doing, Though some may not see!
In our heart of hearts believing Victory crowns the just, And that braggarts must Surely bite the dust, Press we to the field ungrieving, In our heart of hearts believing Victory crowns the just.
Hence the faith and fire within us Men who march away Ere the barn-c.o.c.ks say Night is growing gray, Leaving all that here can win us; Hence the faith and fire within us Men who march away.
September 5, 1914.
HIS COUNTRY
[He travels southward, and looks around;]
I journeyed from my native spot Across the south sea shine, And found that people in hall and cot Laboured and suffered each his lot Even as I did mine.
[and cannot discern the boundary]
Thus noting them in meads and marts It did not seem to me That my dear country with its hearts, Minds, yearnings, worse and better parts Had ended with the sea.
[of his native country;]
I further and further went anon, As such I still surveyed, And further yet--yea, on and on, And all the men I looked upon Had heart-strings fellow-made.
[or where his duties to his fellow-creatures end;]
I traced the whole terrestrial round, Homing the other side; Then said I, "What is there to bound My denizenship? It seems I have found Its scope to be world-wide."
[nor who are his enemies]
I asked me: "Whom have I to fight, And whom have I to dare, And whom to weaken, crush, and blight?
My country seems to have kept in sight On my way everywhere."
1913.
ENGLAND TO GERMANY IN 1914
"O England, may G.o.d punish thee!"
- Is it that Teuton genius flowers Only to breathe malignity Upon its friend of earlier hours?
- We have eaten your bread, you have eaten ours, We have loved your burgs, your pines" green moan, Fair Rhine-stream, and its storied towers; Your shining souls of deathless dowers Have won us as they were our own:
We have nursed no dreams to shed your blood, We have matched your might not rancorously, Save a flushed few whose blatant mood You heard and marked as well as we To tongue not in their country"s key; But yet you cry with face aflame, "O England, may G.o.d punish thee!"
And foul in onward history, And present sight, your ancient name.
Autumn 1914.
ON THE BELGIAN EXPATRIATION
I dreamt that people from the Land of Chimes Arrived one autumn morning with their bells, To hoist them on the towers and citadels Of my own country, that the musical rhymes
Rung by them into s.p.a.ce at meted times Amid the market"s daily stir and stress, And the night"s empty star-lit silentness, Might solace souls of this and kindred climes.
Then I awoke; and lo, before me stood The visioned ones, but pale and full of fear; From Bruges they came, and Antwerp, and Ostend,
No carillons in their train. Foes of mad mood Had shattered these to shards amid the gear Of ravaged roof, and smouldering gable-end.
October 18, 1914.