Collected Poems: Volume Two — A Reader’s Guide

Hope had no meaning there: A yard above my head the sky Could only mock at prayer.

E'en as I groped along, the gloom Suddenly shook at my feet! O, strangely as from a rending tomb In resurrection, sweet Swift wings tumultuously beat Away! I paused to hark-- O, birds of thought, too fair, too fleet To follow across the dark!

Yet, like a madman's dream, there came One fair swift flash to me Of distances, of streets a-flame With joy and agony, And further yet, a moon-lit sea Foaming across its bars, And further yet, the infinity Of wheeling suns and stars,

And further yet ... O, mist of suns I grope amidst your light, O, further yet, what vast response From what transcendent height? Wild wings that burst thro' death's dim night I can but pause and hark; For O, ye are too swift, too white, To follow across the dark!

Mist in the valley, yet I saw, And in my soul I knew The gleaming City whence I draw The strength that then I drew, My misty pathway to pursue With steady pulse and breath Through these dim forest-ways of dew And darkness, life and death.

Idle, comfortless, bare, The broad bleak acres lie: The ploughman guides the sharp ploughshare Steadily nigh.

The big plough-horses lift And climb from the marge of the sea, And the clouds of their breath on the clear wind drift Over the fallow lea.

Streaming up with the yoke, Brown as the sweet-smelling loam, Thro' a sun-swept smother of sweat and smoke The two great horses come.

Up thro' the raw cold morn They trample and drag and swing; And my dreams are waving with ungrown corn In a far-off spring.

It is my soul lies bare Between the hills and the sea: Come, ploughman Life, with thy sharp ploughshare, And plough the field for me.

Over the darkening plain As the stars regain the sky, Steals the chime of an unseen rein Steadily nigh.

Lost in the deepening red The sea has forgotten the shore: The great dark steeds with their muffled tread Draw near once more.

To the furrow's end they sweep Like a sombre wave of the sea, Lifting its crest to challenge the deep Hush of Eternity.

Still for a moment they stand, Massed on the sun's red death, A surge of bronze, too great, too grand, To endure for more than a breath.

Only the billow and stream Of muscle and flank and mane Like darkling mountain-cataracts gleam Gripped in a Titan's rein.

Once more from the furrow's end They wheel to the fallow lea, And down the muffled slope descend To the sleeping sea.

And the fibrous knots of clay, And the sun-dried clots of earth Cleave, and the sunset cloaks the grey Waste and the stony dearth!

O, broad and dusky and sweet, The sunset covers the weald; But my dreams are waving with golden wheat In a still strange field.

My soul, my soul lies bare, Between the hills and the sea; Come, ploughman Death, with thy sharp ploughshare, And plough the field for me.

Who in the gorgeous vanguard of the years With winged helmet glistens, let him hold Ere he pluck down this banner, crying "It bears An old device"; for, though it seem the old,

It is the new! No rent shroud of the past, But its transfigured spirit that still shines Triumphantly before the foremost lines, Even from the first prophesying the last.

And whoso dreams to pluck it down shall stand Bewildered, while the great host thunders by; And he shall show the rent shroud in his hand And "Lo, I lead the van!" he still shall cry;

While leagues away, the spirit-banner shines Rushing in triumph before the foremost lines.

Drum-taps! Drum-taps! Who is it marching, Marching past in the night? Ah, hark, Draw your curtains aside and see Endless ranks of the stars o'er-arching Endless ranks of an army marching, Marching out of the measureless dark, Marching away to Eternity.

See the gleam of the white sad faces Moving steadily, row on row, Marching away to their hopeless wars: Drum-taps, drum-taps, where are they marching? Terrible, beautiful, human faces, Common as dirt, but softer than snow, Coarser than clay, but calm as the stars.

Is it the last rank readily, steadily Swinging away to the unknown doom? Ere you can think it, the drum-taps beat Louder, and here they come marching, marching, Great new level locked ranks of them readily Steadily swinging out of the gloom Marching endlessly down the street.

Unregarded imperial regiments White from the roaring intricate places Deep in the maw of the world's machine, Well content, they are marching, marching, Unregarded imperial regiments, Ay, and there are those terrible faces Great world-heroes that might have been.

Hints and facets of One--the Eternal, Faces of grief, compassion and pain, Faces of hunger, faces of stone, Faces of love and of labour, marching, Changing facets of One--the Eternal, Streaming up thro' the wind and the rain, All together and each alone.

You that doubt of the world's one Passion, You for whose science the stars are a-stray, Hark--to their orderly thunder-tread! These, in the night, with the stars are marching One to the end of the world's one Passion! You that have taken their Master away, Where have you laid Him, living or dead?

You whose laws have hidden the One Law, You whose searchings obscure the goal, You whose systems from chaos begun, Chance-born, order-less, hark, they are marching, Hearts and tides and stars to the One Law, Measured and orderly, rhythmical, whole, Multitudinous, welded and one.

Split your threads of the seamless purple, Round you marches the world-wide host, Round your skies is the marching sky, Out in the night there's an army marching, Clothed with the night's own seamless purple, Making death for the King their boast, Marching straight to Eternity.

What do you know of the shot-riddled banners Royally surging out of the gloom, You whose denials their souls despise? Out in the night they are marching, marching! Treasure your wisdom, and leave them their banners! Then--when you follow them down to the tomb Pray for one glimpse of the faith in their eyes.

Pray for one gleam of the white sad faces, Moving steadily, row on row, Marching away to their hopeless wars, Doomed to be trodden like dung, but marching, Terrible, beautiful human faces, Common as dirt, but softer than snow, Coarser than clay, but calm as the stars.

What of the end? Will your knowledge escape it? What of the end of their dumb dark tears? You who mock at their faith and sing, Look, for their ragged old banners are marching Down to the end--will your knowledge escape it?-- Down to the end of a few brief years! What should they care for the wisdom you bring.

Count as they pass, their hundreds, thousands, Millions, marching away to a doom Younger than London, older that Tyre! Drum-taps, drum-taps, where are they marching, Regiments, nations, empires, marching? Down thro' the jaws of a world-wide tomb, Doomed or ever they sprang from the mire!

Doomed to be shovelled like dung to the midden, Trodden and kneaded as clay in the road, Father and little one, lover and friend, Out in the night they are marching, marching, Doomed to be shovelled like dung to the midden, Bodies that bowed beneath Christ's own load, Love that--marched to the self-same end.

What of the end?--O, not of your glory, Not of your wealth or your fame that will live Half as long as this pellet of dust!-- Out in the night there's an army marching, Nameless, noteless, empty of glory, Ready to suffer and die and forgive, Marching onward in simple trust,

Wearing their poor little toy love-tokens Under the march of the terrible skies! Is it a jest for a God to play?-- Whose is the jest of these millions marching, Wearing their poor little toy love-tokens, Waving their voicelessly grand good-byes, Secretly trying, sometimes, to pray.

Dare you dream their trust in Eternity Broken, O you to whom prayers are vain, You who dream that their God is dead? Take your answer--these millions marching Out of Eternity, into Eternity, These that smiled "We shall meet again," Even as the life from their loved one fled.

This is the answer, not of the sages, Not of the loves that are ready to part, Ready to find their oblivion sweet! Out in the night there's an army marching, Men that have toiled thro' the endless ages, Men of the pit and the desk and the mart, Men that remember, the men in the street,

These that into the gloom of Eternity Stream thro' the dream of this lamp-starred town London, an army of clouds to-night! These that of old came marching, marching, Out of the terrible gloom of Eternity, Bowing their heads at Rameses' frown, Streaming away thro' Babylon's light;

These that swept at the sound of the trumpet Out thro' the night like gonfaloned clouds, Exiled hosts when the world was Rome, Tossing their tattered old eagles, marching Down to sleep till the great last trumpet, London, Nineveh, rend your shrouds, Rally the legions and lead them home,

Lead them home with their glorious faces Moving steadily, row on row Marching up from the end of wars, Out of the Valley of Shadows, marching, Terrible, beautiful, human faces, Common as dirt, but softer than snow, Coarser than clay, but calm as the stars,

Marching out of the endless ages, Marching out of the dawn of time, Endless columns of unknown men, Endless ranks of the stars o'er-arching Endless ranks of an army marching Numberless out of the numberless ages, Men out of every race and clime, Marching steadily, now as then.

Beat, little breast, against the wires. Strive, little wings and misted eyes Which one wild gleam of memory fires Beseeching still the unfettered skies, Whither at dewy dawn you sprang Quivering with joy from this dark earth and sang.

And still you sing--your narrow cage Shall set at least your music free! Its rapturous wings in glorious rage Mount and are lost in liberty, While those who caged you creep on earth Blind prisoners from the hour that gave them birth.

Sing! The great City surges round. Blinded with light, thou canst not know. Dream! 'Tis the fir-woods' windy sound Rolling a psalm of praise below. Sing, o'er the bitter dust and shame, And touch us with thine own transcendent flame.

Sing, o'er the City dust and slime; Sing, o'er the squalor and the gold, The greed that darkens earth with crime, The spirits that are bought and sold. O, shower the healing notes like rain, And lift us to the height of grief again.

Sing! The same music swells your breast, And the wild notes are still as sweet As when above the fragrant nest And the wide billowing fields of wheat You soared and sang the livelong day, And in the light of heaven dissolved away.

The light of heaven! Is it not here? One rapture, one ecstatic joy, One passion, one sublime despair, One grief which nothing can destroy, You--though your dying eyes are wet Remember, 'tis our blunted hearts forget.

Beat, little breast, still beat, still beat, Strive, misted eyes and tremulous wings; Swell, little throat, your _Sweet! Sweet! Sweet!_ Thro' which such deathless memory rings: Better to break your heart and die, Than, like your gaolers, to forget your sky.

Come, the dusk is lit with flowers! Quietly take this guiding hand: Little breath to waste is ours On the road to lovers' land. Time is in his dungeon-keep! Ah, not thither, lest he hear, Starting from his old grey sleep, Rosy feet upon the stair.

Ah, not thither, lest he heed Ere we reach the rusty door! Nay, the stairways only lead Back to his dark world once more: There's a merrier way we know Leading to a lovelier night-- See, your casement all a-glow Diamonding the wonder-light.

Fling the flowery lattice wide, Let the silken ladder down, Swiftly to the garden glide Glimmering in your long white gown, Rosy from your pillow, sweet, Come, unsandalled and divine; Let the blossoms stain your feet And the stars behold them shine.

Swift, our pawing palfreys wait, And the page--Dan Cupid--frets, Holding at the garden gate Reins that chime like castanets, Bits a-foam with fairy flakes Flung from seas whence Venus rose: Come, for Father Time awakes And the star of morning glows.

Swift--one satin foot shall sway Half a heart-beat in my hand, Swing to stirrup and swift away Down the road to lovers' land: Ride--the moon is dusky gold, Ride--our hearts are young and warm, Ride--the hour is growing old, And the next may break the charm.

Swift, ere we that thought the song Full--for others--of the truth, We that smiled, contented, strong, Dowered with endless wealth of youth, Find that like a summer cloud Youth indeed has crept away, Find the robe a clinging shroud And the hair be-sprent with grey.

Ride--we'll leave it all behind, All the turmoil and the tears, All the mad vindictive blind Yelping of the heartless years! Ride--the ringing world's in chase, Yet we've slipped old Father Time, By the love-light in your face And the jingle of this rhyme.

Ride--for still the hunt is loud! Ride--our steeds can hold their own! Yours, a satin sea-wave, proud, Queen, to be your living throne, Glittering with the foam and fire Churned from seas whence Venus rose, Tow'rds the gates of our desire Gloriously burning flows.

He, with streaming flanks a-smoke, Needs no spur of blood-stained steel: Only that soft thudding stroke Once, o' the little satin heel, Drives his mighty heart, your slave, Bridled with these bells of rhyme, Onward, like a crested wave Thundering out of hail of Time.

On, till from a rosy spark Fairy-small as gleams your hand, Broadening as we cleave the dark, Dawn the gates of lovers' land, Nearing, sweet, till breast and brow Lifted through the purple night Catch the deepening glory now And your eyes the wonder-light.

E'en as tow'rd your face I lean Swooping nigh the gates of bliss, I the king and you the queen Crown each other with a kiss. Riding, soaring like a song Burn we tow'rds the heaven above, You the sweet and I the strong And in both the fire of love.

Ride--though now the distant chase Knows that we have slipped old Time, Lift the love-light of your face, Shake the bridle of this rhyme, See, the flowers of night and day Streaming past on either hand, Ride into the eternal May, Ride into the lovers' land.

Bright as a fallen fragment of the sky, Mid shell-encrusted rocks the sea-pool shone, Glassing the sunset-clouds in its clear heart, A small enchanted world enwalled apart In diamond mystery, Content with its own dreams, its own strict zone Of urchin woods, its fairy bights and bars, Its daisy-disked anemones and rose-feathered stars.

Forsaken for awhile by that deep roar Which works in storm and calm the eternal will, Drags down the cliffs, bids the great hills go by And shepherds their multitudinous pageantry,-- Here, on this ebb-tide shore A jewelled bath of beauty, sparkling still, The little sea-pool smiled away the sea, And slept on its own plane of bright tranquillity.

A self-sufficing soul, a pool in trance, Un-stirred by all the spirit-winds that blow From o'er the gulfs of change, content, ere yet On its own crags, which rough peaked limpets fret The last rich colours glance, Content to mirror the sea-bird's wings of snow, Or feel in some small creek, ere sunset fails, A tiny Nautilus hoist its lovely purple sails;

And, furrowing into pearl that rosy bar, Sail its own soul from fairy fringe to fringe, Lured by the twinkling prey 'twas born to reach In its own pool, by many an elfin beach Of jewels, adventuring far Through the last mirrored cloud and sunset-tinge And past the rainbow-dripping cave where lies The dark green pirate-crab at watch with beaded eyes,

Or fringed Medusa floats like light in light, Medusa, with the loveliest of all fays Pent in its irised bubble of jellied sheen, Trailing long ferns of moonlight, shot with green And crimson rays and white, Waving ethereal tendrils, ghostly sprays, Daring the deep, dissolving in the sun, The vanishing point of life, the light whence life begun.

Poised between me, light, time, eternity, So tinged with all, that in its delicate brain Kindling it as a lamp with her bright wings Day-long, night-long, young Ariel sits and sings Echoing the lucid sea, Listening it echo her own unearthly strain, Watching through lucid walls the world's rich tide, One light, one substance with her own, rise and subside.

And over soft brown woods, limpid, serene, Puffing its fans the Nautilus went its way, And from a hundred salt and weedy shelves Peered little horned faces of sea-elves: The prawn darted, half-seen, Thro' watery sunlight, like a pale green ray, And all around, from soft green waving bowers, Creatures like fruit out-crept from fluted shells like flowers.

And, over all, that glowing mirror spread The splendour of its heaven-reflecting gleams, A level wealth of tints, calm as the sky That broods above our own mortality: The temporal seas had fled, And ah, what hopes, what fears, what mystic dreams Could ruffle it now from any deeper deep? Content in its own bounds it slept a changeless sleep.

Suddenly, from that heaven beyond belief, Suddenly, from that world beyond its ken, Dashing great billows o'er its rosy bars, Shivering its dreams into a thousand stars, Flooding each sun-dried reef With waves of colour, (as once, for mortal men Bethesda's angel) with blue eyes, wide and wild, Naked into the pool there stepped a little child.

Her red-gold hair against the far green sea Blew thickly out: her slender golden form Shone dark against the richly waning West As with one hand she splashed her glistening breast, Then waded up to her knee And frothed the whole pool into a fairy storm!... So, stooping through our skies, of old, there came Angels that once could set this world's dark pool a-flame,

From which the seas of faith have ebbed away, Leaving the lonely shore too bright, too bare, While mirrored softly in the smooth wet sand A deeper sunset sees its blooms expand But all too phantom-fair, Between the dark brown rocks and sparkling spray Where the low ripples pleaded, shrank and sighed, And tossed a moment's rainbow heavenward ere they died.

Stoop, starry souls, incline to this dark coast, Where all too long, too faithlessly, we dream. Stoop to the world's dark pool, its crags and scars, Its yellow sands, its rosy harbour-bars, And soft green wastes that gleam But with some glorious drifting god-like ghost Of cloud, some vaguely passionate crimson stain: Rend the blue waves of heaven, shatter our sleep again!

(A SONG FOR THE FIRST LAUNCHING OF HIS MAJESTY'S AERIAL NAVY)

_Chorus_-- _Ships have swept with my conquering name Over the waves of war, Swept thro' the Spaniards' thunder and flame To the splendour of Trafalgar: On the blistered decks of their great renown, In the wind of my storm-beat wings, Hawkins and Hawke went sailing down To the harbour of deep-sea kings! By the storm-beat wings of the hawk, the hawk, Bent beak and pitiless breast, They clove their way thro' the red sea-fray: Who wakens me now to the quest?_

Hushed are the whimpering winds on the hill, Dumb is the shrinking plain, And the songs that enchanted the woods are still As I shoot to the skies again! Does the blood grow black on my fierce bent beak, Does the down still cling to my claw? Who brightened these eyes for the prey they seek? Life, I follow thy law! _For I am the hawk, the hawk, the hawk! Who knoweth my pitiless breast? Who watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way? Flee--flee--for I quest, I quest._

As I glide and glide with my peering head, Or swerve at a puff of smoke, Who watcheth my wings on the wind outspread, Here--gone--with an instant stroke? Who toucheth the glory of life I feel As I buffet this great glad gale, Spire and spire to the cloud-world, wheel, Loosen my wings and sail? _For I am the hawk, the island hawk, Who knoweth my pitiless breast? Who watcheth me sway in the sun's bright way? Flee--flee--for I quest, I quest._