Collected Poems 1901-1918 in Two Volumes - Volume I. | Page 7

her heart's lute hath a broken string.?Ivy she hath, that to old ruin clings;?And rosemary, that sees remembrance fade;?And pansies, deeper than the gloom of dreams;?But ah! if utterable, would this earth?Remain the base, unreal thing it is??Better be out of sight of peering eyes;?Out--out of hearing of all-useless words,?Spoken of tedious tongues in heedless ears.?And lest, at last, the world should learn heart-secrets;?Lest that sweet wolf from some dim thicket steal;?Better the glassy horror of the stream.
HAMLET
Umbrageous cedars murmuring symphonies?Stooped in late twilight o'er dark Denmark's Prince:?He sat, his eyes companioned with dream--?Lustrous large eyes that held the world in view?As some entranc��d child's a puppet show.?Darkness gave birth to the all-trembling stars,?And a far roar of long-drawn cataracts,?Flooding immeasurable night with sound.?He sat so still, his very thoughts took wing,?And, lightest Ariels, the stillness haunted?With midge-like measures; but, at last, even they?Sank 'neath the influences of his night.?The sweet dust shed faint perfume in the gloom;?Through all wild space the stars' bright arrows fell?On the lone Prince--the troubled son of man--?On Time's dark waters in unearthly trouble:?Then, as the roar increased, and one fair tower?Of cloud took sky and stars with majesty,?He rose, his face a parchment of old age,?Sorrow hath scribbled o'er, and o'er, and o'er.

SONNETS

THE HAPPY ENCOUNTER
I saw sweet Poetry turn troubled eyes?On shaggy Science nosing in the grass,?For by that way poor Poetry must pass?On her long pilgrimage to Paradise.?He snuffled, grunted, squealed; perplexed by flies,?Parched, weatherworn, and near of sight, alas,?From peering close where very little was?In dens secluded from the open skies.
But Poetry in bravery went down,?And called his name, soft, clear, and fearlessly;?Stooped low, and stroked his muzzle overgrown;?Refreshed his drought with dew; wiped pure and free?His eyes: and lo! laughed loud for joy to see?In those grey deeps the azure of her own.
APRIL
Come, then, with showers; I love thy cloudy face?Gilded with splendour of the sunbeam thro'?The heedless glory of thy locks. I know?The arch, sweet languor of thy fleeting grace,?The windy lovebeams of thy dwelling-place,?Thy dim dells where in azure bluebells blow,?The brimming rivers where thy lightnings go?Harmless and full and swift from race to race.
Thou takest all young hearts captive with thine eyes;?At rumour of thee the tongues of children ring?Louder than bees; the golden poplars rise?Like trumps of peace; and birds, on homeward wing,?Fly mocking echoes shrill along the skies,?Above the waves' grave diapasoning.
SEA-MAGIC
TO R.I.
My heart faints in me for the distant sea.?The roar of London is the roar of ire?The lion utters in his old desire?For Libya out of dim captivity.?The long bright silver of Cheapside I see,?Her gilded weathercocks on roof and spire?Exulting eastward in the western fire;?All things recall one heart-sick memory:--
Ever the rustle of the advancing foam,?The surges' desolate thunder, and the cry?As of some lone babe in the whispering sky;?Ever I peer into the restless gloom?To where a ship clad dim and loftily?Looms steadfast in the wonder of her home.
THE MARKET-PLACE
My mind is like a clamorous market-place.?All day in wind, rain, sun, its babel wells;?Voice answering to voice in tumult swells.?Chaffering and laughing, pushing for a place,?My thoughts haste on, gay, strange, poor, simple, base;?This one buys dust, and that a bauble sells:?But none to any scrutiny hints or tells?The haunting secrets hidden in each sad face.
Dies down the clamour when the dark draws near;?Strange looms the earth in twilight of the West,?Lonely with one sweet star serene and clear,?Dwelling, when all this place is hushed to rest,?On vacant stall, gold, refuse, worst and best,?Abandoned utterly in haste and fear.
ANATOMY
By chance my fingers, resting on my face,?Stayed suddenly where in its orbit shone?The lamp of all things beautiful; then on,?Following more heedfully, did softly trace?Each arch and prominence and hollow place?That shall revealed be when all else is gone--?Warmth, colour, roundness--to oblivion,?And nothing left but darkness and disgrace.
Life like a moment passed seemed then to be;?A transient dream this raiment that it wore;?While spelled my hand out its mortality?Made certain all that had seemed doubt before:?Proved--O how vaguely, yet how lucidly!--?How much death does; and yet can do no more.
EVEN IN THE GRAVE
I laid my inventory at the hand?Of Death, who in his gloomy arbour sate;?And while he conned it, sweet and desolate?I heard Love singing in that quiet land.?He read the record even to the end--?The heedless, livelong injuries of Fate,?The burden of foe, the burden of love and hate;?The wounds of foe, the bitter wounds of friend:
All, all, he read, ay, even the indifference,?The vain talk, vainer silence, hope and dream.?He questioned me: "What seek'st thou then instead?"?I bowed my face in the pale evening gleam.?Then gazed he on me with strange innocence:?"Even in the grave thou wilt have thyself," he said.
BRIGHT LIFE
"Come now," I said, "put off these webs of death,?Distract this leaden yearning of thine eyes?From lichened banks of