Poems

The Dream Garden

I beheld a noble garden –
In the land of dreams
Myriad flowers there were basking
‘neath the bright sunbeams

Overhead the great trees arching
Cool green shadows made
In & out betwixt the branches
Rustling zephyrs played

Zephyrs played - & thrushes carolled
- Thrushe’s tunes are sweet –
To a lake of dancing crystals
Sped a brooklet fleet

On the lake there floated lilies
Lilies golden – hearted
All above their bowls of silver
Swift – winged swallows darted

Ah! The fragrance of that Garden!
Burdened was the air
With the breaths of countless roses
Roses everywhere!

In a glen a lonely harebell
Rang its bells aerial
Towered above its azure frailty
Tropic blooms imperial

There, a mass of tulips gleaming
Here, a violet
There the starry colours of jasmine
With dew-diamonds set

Here, a regal peony flaunted
There, a daisy smiled
Rosy - tinted as the fingers
Of an angel – child

Flowers were there of every nation
Odorous, fresh, & gay –
- But I passed them over, seeking
For a sprig of May

And at last I found a hedgerow
White with flow’ring thorn
And methought I plucked an armful
For your birthday morn

And methought I chose the fairest
For your birthday crown
And methought to weave the garland
There I sat me down

And I heard the thrush still warbling
Dear, your birthday lay
And his notes grew faint ……… & fainter
Till they …… died away

I awoke – “Where are my flowers
Where that garden green
Where, oh where, the wreath of May blooms
For my birthday Queen”?

Dreams will fade -:  but one flower liveth
The sweet blossom Love
Will you take it?  Will you wear it
On your heart, oh love?

Written for Mothers birthday May 5 1896

Night Thoughts

I watched the sky on an Autumn night,
Crisp was the air, & chilly
The moon in the garden of Heaven was set,
Like a great silver lily

And those little flowers, that men call stars,
In the meadows of God that grow
Seemed to be holding high revel that night,
They danced & twinkled so!

But aye & anon across the moon,
Great shadowy clouds moved slowly
As veils that guard from a gaze profane,
A wonderful relic holy

Then, alas! On a sudden the East wind rose,
The last wind arose & blew
And he tossed & drove those veils of cloud,
Till they broader & darker grew

And they send & hurry across the sky,
For the East wind loves not peace –
And now they have covered the happy stars,
Fith a mantle of gloomy fleece

And now that white blossom, the moon, is drowned,
In a tumbling, grey cloud – sea
And the earth grows so dreary, & dark & dim,
That sad thoughts steal over me!

I thought that the sky is like our lives,
When we enter into this world.
- When our lamp floats out on the waters of Life,
And the banner of hope is unfurled –

- A pure, fair sky, wherein God has set,
A soul for good deeds meet
And ‘tis that new soul, that, shining through,
Makes the eyes of a babe so sweet

But ever & onward as Time flies on,
And the years of our life swift roll
The clouds of evil rise thick & fast,
And cover our fair moon – soul

And ever the warfare fiercer grows,
Twixt the powers of dark & light
And our hearts grow faint & our Faith grows dim,
With the long unequal fight

But sometimes when we do a kindly act,
(Alas, but they are so few)
The clouds are rent by an unseen Hand,
And our God given Soul shines through

And the clouds of our sins flee quite away,
From the light of the sacred beams
And we feel for a moment holy, as
The angels we see in dreams

For a moment only – our sins roll back,
Like the incoming tide on the shore
But that one glimpse of the good
Has left us better than before

Oct 1896

Apollo & the Poet

A poet wandered forth at eve
- The hour of poets loved the best
When lambs are folded, rooks fly home
And all the worlds’ at rest
His heart was full of voiceless songs
And his face turned to the West

All calm the meadows round him lay
All silently the river flowed
And berried Rowan-trees bent down
Beneath their ruddy load
And whistling tramped the ploughboy home
Along the lonely road

So peaceful was the country scene
The poet felt all care retire,
And sate him down to watch the sun
Melt in a sea of crimson fire,
Of liquid flame, and the sky were
A hero’s funeral pyre

And half the clouds were roseate bright
And half the clouds were soft, soft gray
And half the heavens were flecked with clouds
Small clouds of rose or soft, soft gray

Piled up in strange fantastic shapes
All round the Occident they lay
And in their midst the swooning god
Whom mortals call the Day.

Then forth the poet stretched his hands
Towards the sunset glow
And that strange rapture filled his breast
That only poets know
And a song came bursting from his lips
From his hearts’ overflow. –

“ – I see him, Apollo!”
The Sun-god Apollo!
“I worship thee, Phoebus! I kneel”!
“The amber floor o’ the sky rings hollow
Beneath his mail’d heel –
The clust’ring Hours
All duteous follow
Their brows wreathed with flowers
The drowsy flowers!
White poppies wet
With fresh dew-showers!
- The god is weary, weary
All day long he has driven his car
Around the thankful world
Since in the East rose the Morning Star
And the morning mists unfurled
“Driving away the darkness dreary.
Rushing along thro’ Infinite Space
With his golden coursers prancing,
And a glimpse of his radiant dazzling face

Has set the whole earth dancing!
Lambent shafts from his mighty bow
Fall on the crests of the giant mountains
Melt for a time th’ eternal snow,
Loose for a moment the icebound fountains
Shaking from his luminous wings
Light & heat & all good things
Making flowers to spring
Inspiring birds to sing
Till the lark, in ecstasy
Mounts so high, so high, so high
That he feels
The fire from the Chariot wheels
Flashing, & he backward reels
Falling, falling,  through the smiling azure sky
And from every hidden stream
Where the blue-eyed naiads dream
And from all the odorous woods
Where the sportive Dryads dwell
Muffled up in their green hoods -
And from all the hills & vallies
Where the laughing Eodus dallies
With the dark haired Grecian maids –
Rises up a mighty swell, a mighty swell of praise
“Lo, Lo Paean !  Hail to thee, Apollo !
Hail to the Far - Darter !  Lo, Lo Paean ! “
“Now the god would sleep, would sleep

Oh! how fair his wearied face
And his half-closed eyes!
See with what a languid grace
He lets fall his shining cloak
By the unstrung bow it lies –
(Grows the daylight faint, & fainter
Evening stealeth near
With one star upon her forehead
Gleaming wondrous clear
And her filmy, grey-green robes
Frail in dusky folds)
The hours have spread
Apollo’s bed
And strewn it with marigolds
Lower & lower droops his head
(Mortals say “The sun is sinking”)
Every moor, & hill, & dale
A last, last kiss from his lips are drinking
Earths face with dewy tears is wet
Down on his golden couch sinks he
(Mortals say “The sun has set”)
“Goodnight! Goodnight! The late birds sing
Rest well, Phoebus, sleep, Life-Sister
Spent are the arrows in thy quiver
And spent are our songs, oh King
We at dawn, with new lays
Gladly will hail thine awakening!”

The poet ceased; his rapturous gaze
Was still to the West upturned
Where the last red sparks from the orb of Day
Still faintly flickered & burned
And, scorching the robe of night away
By her proud white feet were spurned

“Thus in this world of ours alway
Spring follows Winter, Night follows Day
The present eclipses what is past
And the past ever seemeth the best
In the burning heats of fierce July
‘Oh for an Autumn breeze’ we sigh
When winter around us is chill & sere
We count the days till Spring is here,
The noonday sun with dazzling light
Makes us to long for the shades of night
At midnight we sleepless pace the room
And yearn for day to dispel the gloom
That which we have, we but lightly prize
That we have not seemeth good in our eyes
Foolish children, unquiet, unblest
Our wishes alas! are never at rest”

Thus the poet, as he hastened
Homeward through a field of rye
For the dim light that was standing
Shimmering & shadowy
Like a troop of ghostly maidens
Waving their frail arms on high!

At length is reached the cottage gate
Sunflow’rs all in a stately vow
Border the path to the trellised porch
O’er which the flaunting creepers throw
A mantle of scarlet broiderie
From Ceres looms, I know
Fit curtain before
A poets’ door
Where pain may not enter, not woe!

End

Aug 31st 1896

To the East Wind

I try to sing the East Wind;

that cruel wind & cold

That mighty breeze that shakes the trees

& howls across the world

The old folks shiver as he goes by,

& they hear his moaning sound

As he shrieks with glee while he tears up a tree,

& hurls it to the ground

He flings the mist o’er the silver moon

& scatters the leaden rain

Still on he goes nor seeks repose

with his shadowy cloudlike train

He lashes the Billows till white with foam

& they make of the boat a wreck

He does not care for the gasping prayer

of the drowning men on the deck

Now he rises high with a long drawn

sigh like a spirit opprest with pain

Then skims the mead with lightening speed

or flies maddened o’er the plain

A Fragment

Fair September, flushed with wine
Danced among the falling leaves
“All the berries red are mine
Mine the golden harvest sheaves
Ripened fruits on all the trees
Clinging trails of purple vine
Dancing in the Autumn breeze
All are mine”

Saturday Night  (a.d 33)

Dark, dark
Gloomy, & dark & black
The awesome night doth fall
Spreading a thick cloud-wrack
Like to a sable pall
Over the guilty city
Over the city blood red
Where infinite love & pity
Lies wounded, & bruised, & dead
Oh, awesome night succeeding
That still more awful days
When the world gazed on Calvary
With a cold & scornful eye –
- When the world heard her Savoir pleading
For His murderers interceding
Saw His Arms, faint & bleeding
Stretched out to draw her nigh –
- Gazed, mocking, & then – passed by
And cast her crown away

Lo!  Behold!
How the appalled sun
Which has hid his face all day
Now that its sands are run
Sends forth one long last ray
Over the western ridge
Of hallowed Olivet
But the gentle feet are still
That so oft have climbed the hill
And the sun, with fond regret
Would kiss the greenspot yet
Where oft through the long hours
The Master loved to pray
And myriads of white flowers
Fragrant as Eden’s bowers
Sprang up in His footstep’s way

Red!  Red!
Is the last lingering streak
Of the sun, on the old hills lying
Like the flush on a murderers cheek 
From the stern avengers flying
And it stains the city wall
With a finger dipt in blood
And most lurid its light doth fall
On the grim, dark Judgement Hall
And cedrons troubled flood
And the frighted people crowd
In the streets, & wail aloud
For the Temple vail is cleft
And Spirits of Saints appear
Who long this would have left –
Verily, sights of fear

Alas!  Alas!
Vain this tardy weeping
Vain this fear & grief
Three days the Christ lies sleeping
And none can bring relief
Save He for you who died
He whom you crucified
This they know not now
This shall shewn anon
When the nations shall look upon
The Lamb that was slain, & throng
To that bleeding side

And meanwhile
With a strange, irresistible yearning
With a sad, mysterious longing
The people their gaze are turning
To where, athwart the gloom
Three lifted Crosses loom
A fearsome sight to them
Who see not the myriad angels round
Them thronging
Their bright wings flashing & burning;
Gazing with pitiful sweet look of wonder
Upon the cruel tree which
Did not e’en for very shame bend under
Its weary Victim, suffering patiently.
The choirs of Bethlehem
Who sang so joyously at Jesus’ birth
And there, alighted on the quaking Earth
In sorrow round the cross they bend
And thinking on the glorious dawning
Of their Sun, with anguish mourning
They cry “Is this The End, Oh Lord,
is this The End”? Wait, angels, wait, mortals
This is not The End.

Finis

A thought on Easter Eve

May 1894

A Monody

It was Winter, & o’er the country
A cold white shroud did lie
And my heart felt dull & dreary
As the dark snow – laden sky

And I longed for a gleam of sunshine
For my soul was sick & sad
I thought, that only the happy
Could make other lives be glad

And I said “When the days grow longer
And the trees are green again
In listening to the swallows
I shall forget this pain”

- “When the cowslips in the valley
Their sweet banners ‘gin unfold
And the primrose scatters freely
Her treasures of pale gold –

- “When the bees begin to murmur
The clover meadows o’er
When sweet bluebells scent the breezes
Life will seem good once more”

Now the young rooks & the robins
Have left their parent nest
T ’is a summer sun floats burning
In the Red Sea of the west

Roses blossom, crimson, fragrant
In bright myriads all the day
And the brooklet dances singing
Through the fields of windswept hay

And the days are surely longer
But so soon, so swift they fly
That the rosebuds scarce seem blowing
Before they droop & die

I would clasp my hands in treating
The dear Summer to remain
Alas! so fair, so fleeting,
She has gone, & prayers are vain.

It is autumn, & the moorlands
Are purpled o’er with heather
The seed from yon great thistle
Floats past me like a feather

There are countless burnished berries
Where the hawthorn used to bloom
And the Sun himself is envious
Of the glory of the broom

Oh,! those tracts of broom so golden
Oh,! that bracken, brown and sere
What a robe they weave to cover
The swift departing year!

There’s a thrush that sits lamenting
Amidst the falling leaves
And well his low note chimeth
With my own sad heart that greaves

And I said “When the days grew longer
I had meant to do noble deeds
And now at the dawn of Winter
They are still but as unsown seeds”

And I feel but an idle dreamer
While the earth is full of pain
For the long, long days of my childhood
Can never return again.

May 1897

A Fragment

Stars, & a dusky sky
And a sound of mournful bells
Of tremulous, weeping bells
And pearl-bright clouds that lie
In the sea of Heaven, like shells

Or trail o’er its fathomless deeps
Like wave-rocked feath’ry weed
Like purple tangled weed
And a little grey church that sleeps
At the foot of yon hillside mead

A little old church & tower
(From whence come those distant chimes
Those sad, irresistible chimes)
All girdled by trees a-flower
Young sycamores & sweet limes

And calm is the grey church yard
Where the peaceful dead lie low
Where unknown saints lie low
& Death seems methinks less hard
Where blossoms & grasses grow

For over the sun-kissed graves
The mottled ground-ivory trails
The clematis creeps & trails
And the tall white hemlock waves
And the sky lark soars & sails –
 
- Soars in the Heaven’s sublime
Swift as a soul set free
The white souls of babes set free
And pours out his heart at that shrine
Where worshippeth them & he

But now that the day is done
The sky lark has sunk to rest
Has folded his wing at rest
For his bright Diety the Sun
Has died long ago in the West

And onwards & homewards I go
All through the swift rising mist
The white, silent river-mist
And above me the stars in a row
Have crept to the moon to be kissed

- To be kissed by the smiling sweet mouth
Of their wonderful Mother the Moon
Of their silver-robed Mother, the Moon
As the Timid, soft wind from the South
Creeps & kisses the lilies in June

And around me the sleeping flowers
Droop, in their limitless numbers
In their dewy and odorous numbers
Strewing & scenting the bowers
Where the Spirit of Summer slumbers

June 1897

Songs of the Grass

– Prelude –

A poet dwelt beside a brook
That trickled through a wind-swept mead
And all his simple lore he took
From rippling stream, or flowering weed

The tiniest leaf that buds & dies
To him appeared a mystery
As great as all those myriad eyes
That watch from heaven, unwearyingly

The smallest bird that spreads its wing –
- or gnats that dance when day is dim
These were the themes that he would sing
And deemed e’en these too high for him

He lived unknown, he sought not praise
No merchant he at wordly masts
And yet, methinks, his simple lays
Had power to touch some guileless hearts

Once, dreaming near the streamlet blithe
All in the sweet midsummer tide
He marked how, ripening for the scythe
The meadows lay, & thus he cried:-

                                I

“Many a poet oft has sung the roses
Or praised the lilies white
Many a bard, when spring’s first flower uncloses
Has wept for sheer delight”

“I find one theme unsung, tho’ all men know it
- Oft touch it as they pass –
Mine be the title – natures self bestow it –
Of laureate of the grass!

“What is the grass?  A wise man once inquired*
This is mine answer true
God knew our feeble eyes would soon grow tired
Of Heaven’s most dazzling blue”

“Then in His Goodness dropt He from His shoulders
His mantle of soft green
And still it lies, rejoicing all beholders
From earliest days, I ween”

“Softly it clothes the chill dark earth, & never
Fades utterly away
Over her countless graves t ’is spread for ever
Verdant & fresh alway”

“Whether, therefore, we raise our eyes adoring
Or droop them to the sod
We see fair Paradise’s  sapphire flooring
Or the rich robe of God”

July 97

* Walt Whitman

Early Morning Thoughts

A faint pink flashing of the eastern skies
Long purple clouds shaped like to angels’ wings,
And far away the sleeping city lies,
I’th’ chill arms of the mist, that round it flings

A robe of soft, blue, all encircling haze
Shrouding it’s sqular, sin & misery
Leaving it only fair & fit to greet
The pure, pure sun that cometh speedily

I see the meadows, swathed in silvery dew
Studded with blossoms, brave in crowns of gold
And white triumphal robes, while o’er my head
The fainting morning star gleams steely cold

How sweet the green of all these little leaves!
How soft the silken heads of these young palms!
That crowd together near your gnarled thorn tree
Nursing the ripe may-buds in its old arms

Surely this fresh spring World, so verdant-clad
 was not created for man’s sole delight
I love to think that e’en the wayside stones
Rejoice when on them streams the sunshine bright

The poet glories in the thrush’s song
(that king of minstrels throned in some tall tree)
I love to feel the daisy at his feet
Enjoys it every whit as much as he

The lady-bird in her gay scarlet cloak
Creeps up the stem of white plumed meadow sweet
And prattles to the flower, who nods reply
Nor mines the clinging of those tiny feet

There is one language for the birds and buds
There is one tongue for roses and for bees
And could men only catch its first few words
They might become as pure and glad as these

Only a few have learned its alphabet
Some think them saints, - & some count them fools,
- Foolish themselves, who only will believe
In the dry knowledge taught in earthly Schools

So be it, fools or Saints – yet this I know
The twain are more akin than ye would dream
For often those who worldly wisdom lack
Have lives as calm as an untroubled stream

Wherein like mirror, flashing back the Sun
The light of God ye may reflected view
Nature and God are so close joined that He
Who loves the one, must love the other too

Show me the man, however steeped in guilt
Who yet will stoop to pluck a flowering weed
I tell you that within his inmost soul
Sin has not holy stifled the good seed

April 1890

Songs of the Grass

                               II

There grew a clump of grasses in a brake
I found, & plucked then gently, one by one
Not many, t ’was so good to see them shake
Their fair heads at each other, & the sun

- Or courtesy to the wind that o’er them swept
And reft the diamond dewdrops from their crowns
- For there had been a shower – the trees still wept
And glistening wet lay vales, & hills, & downs

And all around me in that tangled wood
The grass was stooping, gemmed with drops of light
All jewelled, too, the few tall fox gloves stood
While bees explored their bells of rose & white

One spear of grass stood out above the rest
I gazed at it and wondered, t ’is was so fair
Soft seeds unnumbered formed its airy crest
Light as the plumes that elvin maidens wear

Then would you have a slight resemblance only
To a frail grass blade flowering on its stem
And if but one is but perfect, standing lonely
Think of a field of myriads of them!

July 97

My Unknown Love

Here upon the shore I stand
While the clouds loom grey above
And sea foam whitens all the strand –
And dream about my unknown love

Down the little village street
Where the sunlight falleth fair
Shifting shadows ‘neath her feet
Golden gleamings in her hair –

Thus she passed by me, her slave
Was it only yesterday?
And the look her blue eyes gave
Has bewitched my heart away!

Summer 1898

Sent by his request to
Theo Marzials

Sunset

That fire-robed angel, called the Sun
Stood knocking low at Heaven’s gate
“Brother” he cried ”my work is done
Brother, I wait”

The radiant gates were opened wide
And forth a flood of glory streamed
Upon the threshold bright inside
A figure gleamed!

The Angel of the Sun bent low
To greet the Guardian of the Door
And music wakened, soft & slow
Unheard before

The Angel of the Sun stept in –
-The golden splendour of his face
Seemed only dull & dim within
That dazzling Place

And from the half-closed door there sped
That softer spirit, evening’s star
The silvery lamp she cherished
Shone out afar!

Down through the sky she takes her flight
The grey clouds flutt’ring round her feet
Like soft doves greeting with delight
A mistress sweet

The guardian shut the gates of light
And swift across the sky there rolled
The mighty curtain of the night
Spangled with gold

And I, on earth, I raised my head
To fill mine eyes with that grand sight
Ah! What must be that house on high
Whose very portals are so bright?

1898

A Star

I flung my casement wide, to greet
A little breeze that wanders by
And watch how swift with noiseless feet
The twilight glides across the sky

Above my head there hung a cloud
A spreading, darkening cloud of grey
And far beyond it, blue & still
The pale sky, like an ocean, lay

And Ah! Beyond the farthest heaven
Faintly there gleamed the first born star
No larger than a drop of dew
It seemed, t’was so exceeding far!

Beyond the cloud of earthly cares
Stretches the sea of Human Love
And many faint souls anchor there
Nor cast e’en one short glance above

But even the ocean hath its bounds
The truest love may fade or fail
And then, where can our poor hearts rest
If all our best loved hopes grow frail

Ah! Then the Star, the Star of Christ
Beckons us on, above, above
“Oh! come sad souls” it seems to cry
I point the way to Changeless Love

And so we mount, & as we soar
And all our wish & thought is this
To moor our little barks at last
In the calm sea of Deathless Bliss

1898