Poems

Mist

Cover the hills with the fleecy veil
Spirit of wondering mist
Spread o’er the valleys thy garment pale
- soft as Arachne’s web & frail –
Maid whom no Sun has kissed

Why dost thou fear the Suns caresses
Maiden so fragile – sweet?
Why, when he lays a warm hand on thy tresses
- That hand which all earth, save thy shy self, blesses
Speed’st thou away so fleet?

When after thee the bold Sun rushes
Why dost thou tremble there?
When his red robe thy white cloak brushes
Is it to hide thy pure fair blushes
That now vanisheth into air?

Spun thou thy robe on thine aerial loom
On the crest of yon highest hill?
Or didst thou weave it amidst the broom
On the banks of yon torrent that flings thro’ the gloom
Its waters dark & chill?

All night on the braes, in darkest weather
Thou & thy sister have lain
I see the track of thy feet on the heather
Marking where ye have passed together –
- Thou, & thy sister, the Rain

I saw sweet flowers like a rainbow cloud
Dance over the dale & lea
With their squires the bees in a merry crowd
- And I heard the larks all carolling loud –
But I heard & saw not, thee!

But when the West winds, with a sob, arose
And called to thy sister, the Rain
And each red pimpernel ‘gan to close
And the wise sheep lay on the grass in rows
Then I saw thee, oh Spirit, again

For whene’er the sad Earth beginneth to weep
With grief at her cares & fears
Then out of thy Cavern so dank & deep
With slow, silent feet thou wilt softly creep
In thy robe that is fashioned of tears

Sep 1897

 

A Fantasy

The sun set out in his golden barque, aAway o’er a waveless sea
The soft grey sea of a morning sky, wWhen Autumn holds empery
And the first frost leaves on walls & leaves its crystal tracery

Past the high throne of the morning star, the earliest Zephyrs bore him
She felt his hot breath from afar and faded away before him
But all the larks from the world below sprang joyously up to adore him!

The sun leant down well pleased to hear the homage the birds were bringing
He marked one thrush, on the topmost spray of a tall pine, swaying & swinging
And even the air about him seemed to throb & thrill with his singing!

“Sweet is thy music” the sun he said “Oh bird with the speckled breast
Sweeter than even it was in spring when thou warblest above thy nest
And thou five blue eggs, that I peeped at oft where still by thy mate close prest”

The sun sailed on o’er a dusky wood where the shadows loved to linger
But ah!! How they shuddered, & fled away at the touch of his golden finger!
A song rose out of its verdant depths, He listened, & thus the singer –

- The Naiads’ Song –

“Waves & ripples of tumbling amber, Eddy around my feet
Over my head the wild vines clamber and the rowan branches meet

“Through a steep gorge a burn is gushing free as a spirit of air!
Bending o’er it the heather is blushing at finding itself so fair”!

“Here sit I, the torrent scorning high on a great gray stone
Breathing the beauty & balm of the morning and the joy of being alone!”

“Sweet solitude, how I glory in it!  Yet how can I lonely be
When from ev’ry bush the merle & the linnet are singing their best for me?”

Strong young oaks, & fragile white birches hem me on every side
In their green walls, like leafy Churches a choir of robins hide!

Hark to the rush of the cascades leaping over the boulders bare!
The bracken’s as yellow as corn at reaping the frosts in the Autumn air!

“Leaves like tears, falling slowly & sadly into the torrent wave
Swift it siezes, & whirls them madly into an unknown grave”

“Purple lights on the blossoming heather sky like a deep sapphire
Rowan trees twining their arms together and boasting their berries of fire”!

Red leaves on the bramble glowing & flaming its bare brown stems between!
Red fruit on the hawthorn, mine own lips shaming and never a speck of green!

“And all these beauties for me, me only, -  Mortal feet here n’er roam
Hidden by mountains, grand & lonely, none seek the naiads home”!

The Sun bade his golden barque stay still and anchored it to a cloud
(While all the larks sank back in awe of his dazzling face so proud)
“I have heard many songs, but none more sweet than thine, maid” he cried aloud

“Then take this guerdon, & with it fair child, the thanks of the charmed giver”!
With that, he bended his bow, & shot an arrow of gold from his quiver
A magic arrow, which those who gain are free from all sorrow for ever!

Scotland 1897

Poets

A Fragment

Is it not rapturous joy, to dig, & find in their verses
Beautiful buried jewels of passionate poetry & song?
All the loves; & the hates the madness, the blessings & cusses
That we have yearned to express ourselves in these words for so long?!

Is it not glorious pain to find in their soul-felt outpourings
The doubt & despair & the gloom that we have all passed through, each one?

The cry of the strong man’s soul, with its Spirit-wings checked in their soarings
By the clay & the filth of this world, when striving to leap to the Sun

Is it not wonderful, wonderful, oh! maidens, oh men who are lovers
To find in their pages your own hearts laid bare & unveiled to the view?
“Oh, that I knew the secret” (ye cry) ”how this poet discovers
All that is best in my heart, most tender & noble & true”!

The shy strange whispers & glances of new-betrothed couples at meeting
The long sweet kisses at parting, when Grief has taught love to be bold
The warmth of two fond hearts that close to each other are beating
The maddening despair of the one, should the other’s embrace be cold!

Is it a shock of pleasure or pain, or both, nay I know not
To seek for another man’s thoughts, & find not his, but your own?
Only, when they were thine they were choked, like fast-frozen rivers that flow not
By thine impotence meetly to voice them, & so all unblest they had flown

But they poet hath gathered thy thoughts, like stray notes of music from heaven
Hath gathered & wedded them all to a melody hid in his lyre
And lo! A most marvellous poem to the awestricken world have he given
As sweet as the heart of the roses, as strong & as melting as fire!

He can hear the son g of the flowers, that to ears of dull mortals seem soundless
He knows what the sea is chanting to the rocks & the weed & the sand
He lists to the tread of the stars as they march o’er the firmament boundless
He loveth all nature so deeply, & Love makes him understand

1898

 

The Dead Beloved

A Monody  (The bereaved lover speaks)

Utterly alone I kneel in the gloom
Martyrs broken on the wheel
Never felt the pangs I feel
At thy tomb

x          x          x          x          x          x          x          x          x

God walked in his garden, where myriads of roses blow,
And lilies the spotless souls of maidens holy & sweet
Yet lacked there one white rose where the fairest blossoms grow
And the Lord was grieved to see His garden was not complete

God looked down on the world, the rarest flowers to see
(Why oh love wast thou made so exceeding perfect & fair?)
I note that Heaven itself were incomplete without thee
For a stolen ray of its glory gleam in thy gleaming hair

So He stretched forth His hand, & plucked thee, oh my love
Thee, my non white rose, my lily, my spotless flower
And I know that thou art blooming in “the Kings” pasture above
But (God help me) that does not ease the bitterness of this hour

Thou, Lord, hast all the world, & all the flowers therein
I, but my one poor rose, yet t’was all the world to me
Thou wet selfish – ah ‘ no, forgive, to talk thus wild is a sin
But I rave, when I think that this grave is all that remains to me

x          x          x          x          x          x          x          x          x

“When thou met the troops of Angels
As thou climbst the shining stairs
Did they wonder whence a mortal
Had eyes as calm as theirs?

x          x          x          x          x          x          x          x          x

Thou wouldst not fear those Angels
Who went to them akin
I wondered oft if thou had strayed
From Heaven, & lost thy way, sweet maid
In this dark maze of sin

x          x          x          x          x          x          x          x          x

But sometimes do I know, love, despite
Of all the unutterable bliss
Of Elysium where thou art
That thou growest weary of the rush of stars
Sweeping & whirling through the amazed night
And wouldst give their mighty sounds for this
- one whispered word from one poor mortal heart –
Nay, I think sometimes thro’ the Heavenly bars
Thou gazest, more like an imprisoned dove
Than the free joyous Spirit that thou art
And strain it thine eyes to pierce the infinite
Of space between thee & thine earthly love.
And if a tear for him, sweet, ever mars
The beauty of thy soul entrancing eyes
And if a thought of him will ever come
Betwixt thee & the worship of the Spheres
I think the Angels will not thee reprove
I think the Angels will not chide thy tears
For they must love who serve the God of love-
- Love is the only law of Paradise
And they will surely love thee more above
Because thy tender heart anon recalls
The poor forsaken one, with anguish dumb

Who lieth yet without the Golden Walls
Straining his ears to catch the harmonies
That echo from within low, faint & sweet
And if sometimes through the vast skyly halls
I fancy that I hear the sound of feet
- yea, & the rush of wings –
And if I think that thy devine voice calls
My name; ah, who shall say
That I am wild, that I am grazed with grief?
For earth & sky are full of marvellous things
That are for us too hard to understand
And I confess that I see naught of strange
That our lost saints should hover round our way
Should soothe our aching hearts with unseen hand
Should watch & ward us all invisibly
And t’is to me a wondrous sweet belief
That God should use our dead as Almoners
And by their dear hands send to us relief
When most we need; & so, Oh lost, lost love
Bend down from Heaven, My Love, & speak to me
See, I have planted, type of thee above
Over thy grave a spotless white rose tree

And when the stars shine thro’ the leaves at night    
I think of thee, who art a Rose & Star –
- I think of thee, trailing thy garments white
Through the blue halls where countless Angels are

And when the soft winds rustle round the stem
I shut mine eyes that haply I may guess
That breeze perchance has kissed thy garment’s hem
It wafts such honeyed breath of odourousness

And when the lark above me soars & sings
I think how well you loved the bird & song
And I would give the whole world for his wings
To fly to thee, & end this waiting long

And when the sunshine glistens on the flowers
I think of thee, who hadst such sun-bright hair
I think of thee, throughout the day’s long hours
I dream of thee, sleep steels not my despair!

x          x          x          x          x          x          x          x          x

God, I pray thee, grant this boon that betwixt the earth & sky
Death, sweet death, may meet me soon, coming swift, yet silently
As the stars, some night in June, creep out of the opal sky
(Once you look, & they are not, look again, & lo, they are
How they stole out, none can say, earth is low, & Heaven is far-)
Nevermore to vex the moon with my bitter, hopeless cries
Ah, - to fold my weary hands, ah, - to close my scorched eyes
Careless as the daisies are, that above my grave will grow
Or the grey Church tower that stands pointing to the highest star
Immovable amidst the flow of the years, the gathering years
That pass by it, swift, yet slow

- In the grave, so chill & deep, naught can vex, & naught can pain
There alone is found that sleep, which on earth we cannot gain
Lay my deep, & deeper yet, for I would lie very still
And a little while forget all the sad world’s woe & ill

Prithee plant above my head, one small root of violets
But trouble not the happy dead with your sorrow, or regrets
I would have no sound of lark, I would have no thrush’s trill
Piercing through the blessed dark where I lie so still – so still
Come not oft o’er me to weep, let no sighs escape your breast
They would mar my longed for sleep, ah! in pity, let me rest
Peace, peace, peace, & an infinite measure of rest
Still hands, & fast closed eyes, & never more weary feet
And dreams, dreams, dreams, beautiful, soothing blest
That flit thro this world sick brain, & lull it to rapture sweet

Unfinished

1900

 

To a Japanese Chrysanthenum

(Written for the “Wanderer” in which it gained the highest number of marks, which is extraordinary, as it is excessively feeble)

Welcome, fair stranger from Summerland with thy curved crown of gold
- Thou & thy sisters, a fire robed band like Eastern queens of the sunshine stand
To lighten our winters cold!

Whisper me stories of happy Japan and the garden where thou was't born
Tell me of dark haired Hana San - with her almond eyes, & her painted fan
Who tended thy leaves each morn

Methinks I can see that garden gay, enwreathed with its myriad flowers
Where birds & butterflies all the day ‘mid the scented groves of mimosa play
Unheeding the flight of hours –
 
- Where the lotus floats on the limpid lake in the wealth of her purple pride
And whenever a languorous breeze doth wake, her shadows a quivering splendour make
Like the gems of an Emp’rors bride

And soft as the murmur of falling rain the blue wisterias sigh
“Oh, Hana San, do thou but deign to twine in thy locks one drooping chain
From our fragrant treasury”!

So the little maid weaves for herself a crown and then, with a shy, sweet smile
She robes herself in her silken gown and wanders her pleasance:- the sun goes down
Yet she lingers still awhile

Ah! Someone has come to the wicket there and someone has leapt the bars!
And someone has stolen a flow’ret fair from the wreath in his lady’s raven hair
‘Neath the light of the laughing stars

And the lovers whisper – but stay, oh stay, where has my fancy flown?
Chrysanthenum, thou hast led away my thoughts o’er an infinite space today
And many a fair scene shown

Bright blossom, regret not the brilliant bowers of thine orient paradise
For the glimpse of thy million tinted flowers sends a gleam o’ the sun though our weary hours and whispers of summer skies

1899

 

To a Snowdrop

Hail, tender flower, that from the snowdrift stealest
When other blooms lie hid, & no birds sing
Like some pure Saint, on the cold earth thou kneelest
T’ invoke on this dull world the gift of spring

Whence hast thou those white robes, so pale & pearly
And stainless as the moonbeams – or the dew
That falls on lilies in the dawning early
And wakes their slumb’ring buds to life anew?

Thou thy dark slender leaves thy frailty gleameth
As gleams a light set in a maidens bower
Drooping on thy small stem, to me thou seemest
More like a tear embodied than a flower

Did some bright angel, upwards his flight winging
His radiant face upturned
To catch the hymn that shriven souls are singing
And man hath never learned -

- His mighty pinions the still ether cleaving
To ‘scape earth’s prison bars -
- A track of fire as white as crystal leaving
Altwart the fields & stars -

- Did he let fall a tear of joy most holy
Reaching at last the light?
And did it tremble earthwards, falling slowly
Down thro’ the infinite?

And, as it touched the dark world’s chilly bosom
Sprang it to instant birth
And changed straightway into the purest blossom
That gems the brow of earth?

1900

 

Victoria R. I.

In reverent remembrance   
 (This poem was published in the Manchester Guardian)

Smile not, oh sun, & sing not, oh ye birds, ye ill accord with spirits sorrow-torn
A thousand, thousand hearts, too full for words, would for awhile in solemn silence mourn?

Wind unto wind in tempest voices calling, deep thun’dring unto deep
Spread the dread news – its swiftness all appalling that makes an empire weep

Bell after bell, from ev’ry tower & steeple, speeding the tidings on
Tell to the nations’ sorrow stricken people, she whom they loved is gone

From the dark north, where winter winds are whaling a requim cross the snow
And Canada’s true sons, their rough cheeks paling, step softly, speaking low -

- From the sweet South, the myriad Isles of Ocean where many a time, I ween
The native heard, with childlike, awed emotion tales of the great white queen -

- From the fair West, where, lured by visions golden, in trackless wastes & drear
Where’er the flag of empire is unfolden, follows the pioneer -

- From the mysterious East, the land of flowers, the land of cloudless skies
From all the Princes, Peoples, States & Powers, the sounds of grief arise

Thy name, Victoria, was to us a token of justice, grace, & love
The tie that bound us to thee is not broken though thou hast gone above

Yea, “Righteousness & Peace have kissed each other” throughout thy blameless life
A Glorious Queen, a wise & tender Mother, a pure & perfect wife

And now, while through thy palace dimly lighted, the softened footsteps fall
How blissful is thy lot, once more united, to him, who was thine all!

Sep up no shrine, no monument above her to mark her deathless name
He shrine, the sorrowing hearts of we that love her, her monument, her fame

1900

 

New Year

I open the window dim with frost, the stars shine bright & clear
And borne on the breeze comes the muffled chimes that toll for the dying year
And as I listen to them with a feeling akin to tears
The earth seems throbbing with the silent music of the sphere

As from the old gray turret they strike up on mine ear
Oh bells, the sweetest, saddest sounds that mortal man can hear
They seem to be an echo from the angel’s harps on high
However joyfully they peal, the tears stand in my eye

I wonder if In Heaven they have the sweet bells there
I dare say, for in that bright land is everything that’s fair
And in that realm of fadeless joy they cannot make one weep
How peacefully the old year dies, like falling fast asleep

The moon & stars above him keep silent watch & ward
And an angel stands beside him to loose the silver cord
And for a shroud the pure white snow that in the moonlight shines
And the dirge of the bells is wailing among the sombre pines

The old year’s dead - & all its joys forever past recall
The sorrows & the blessing which it brought to great & small
And hark, the bells which were so sad peal merrily & clear
To bid the whole world welcome in another glad new year

It was a Sabbath evening.  The sun was slowly sinking
And heaven’s perfect peace seemed in the air
The bells were ringing, ringing, & my heart was singing, singing
Forgetting all its trouble, all its care

The bells ceased, pealing, pealing, but the peaceful happy feeling
Ne’er left my heart as I watched through the flow’ry meadow
The cricket chirping brightly & the lark a-singing sprightly
Seemed joined in praising Him, no man hath seen

And the first star came out, & the bats they flew about
All nature seemed wrapt in calm repose
The pale new moon was peeping at the little lambs a-sleep
‘Neath the hedge twines the fragile white wild rose

Old time is onward fleeing & since that Sabbath evening
Many a bright summer & dark winter have I seen
But oft, when bells are pealing, peace o’er my heart comes stealing
And again in thought I walk through those flowery meadows green