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

thrown up?Like corpses from the sea,?Ships, stars, winds, tempests, pirates past,?Yet leetle Will I be!"
He said no more, that sailorman,?But in a reverie?Stared like the figure of a ship?With painted eyes to sea.
THE PHANTOM
"Upstairs in the large closet, child,?This side the blue room door,?Is an old Bible, bound in leather,?Standing upon the floor;
"Go with this taper, bring it me;?Carry it so, upon your arm;?It is the book on many a sea?Hath stilled the waves' alarm."
Late the hour, dark the night,?The house is solitary;?Feeble is a taper's light?To light poor Ann to see.
Her eyes are yet with visions bright?Of sylph and river, flower and fay,?Now through a narrow corridor?She goes her lonely way.
Vast shadows on the heedless walls?Gigantic loom, stoop low:?Each little hasty footfall calls?Hollowly to and fro.
In the cold solitude her heart?Remembers sorrowfully?White winters when her mother was?Her loving company.
Now in the dark clear glass she sees?A taper, mocking hers,--?A phantom face of light blue eyes,?Reflecting phantom fears.
Around her loom the vacant rooms,?Wind the upward stairs,?She climbs on into a loneliness?Only her taper shares.
Out in the dark a cold wind stirs,?At every window sighs;?A waning moon peers small and chill?From out the cloudy skies,
Casting faint tracery on the walls;?So stony still the house?From cellar to attic rings the shrill?Squeak of the hungry mouse.
Her grandmother is deaf with age;?A garden of moonless trees?Would answer not though she should cry?In anguish on her knees.
So that she scarce can breathe--so fast?Her pent up heart doth beat--?When, faint along the corridor,?Falleth the sound of feet:--
Sounds lighter than silk slippers make?Upon a ballroom floor, when sweet?Violin and 'cello wake?Music for twirling feet.
O! 'neath an old unfriendly roof,?What shapes may not conceal?Their faces in the open day,?At night abroad to steal?
Even her taper seems with fear?To languish small and blue;?Far in the woods the winter wind?Runs whistling through.
A dreadful cold plucks at each hair,?Her mouth is stretched to cry,?But sudden, with a gush of joy,?It narrows to a sigh.
It is a phantom child which comes?Soft through the corridor,?Singing an old forgotten song,?This ancient burden bore:--
"Thorn, thorn, I wis,?And roses twain,?A red rose and a white,?Stoop in the blossom, bee, and kiss?A lonely child good-night.
"Swim fish, sing bird,?And sigh again,?I that am lost am lone,?Bee in the blossom never stirred?Locks hid beneath a stone!"--
Her eye was of the azure fire?That hovers in wintry flame;?Her raiment wild and yellow as furze?That spouteth out the same;
And in her hand she bore no flower,?But on her head a wreath?Of faded flowers that did yet?Smell sweetly after death....
Gloomy with night the listening walls?Are now that she is gone,?Albeit this solitary child?No longer seems alone.
Fast though her taper dwindles down,?Heavy and thick the tome,?A beauty beyond fear to dim?Haunts now her alien home.
Ghosts in the world, malignant, grim,?Vex many a wood and glen,?And house and pool--the unquiet ghosts,?Of dead and restless men.
But in her grannie's house this spirit--?A child as lone as she--?Pining for love not found on earth,?Ann dreams again to see.
Seated upon her tapestry stool,?Her fairy-book laid by,?She gazes into the fire, knowing?She has sweet company.
THE MILLER AND HIS SON
A twangling harp for Mary,?A silvery flute for John,?And now we'll play, the livelong day,?"The Miller and his Son."...
"The Miller went a-walking?All in the forest high,?He sees three doves a-flitting?Against the dark blue sky:
"Says he, 'My son, now follow?These doves so white and free,?That cry above the forest,?And surely cry to thee.'
"'I go, my dearest Father,?But O! I sadly fear,?These doves so white will lead me far,?But never bring me near.'
"He kisses the Miller,?He cries, 'Awhoop to ye!'?And straightway through the forest?Follows the wood-doves three.
"There came a sound of weeping?To the Miller in his Mill:?Red roses in a thicket?Bloomed over near his wheel;
"Three stars shone wild and brightly?Above the forest dim:?But never his dearest son?Returns again to him.
"The cuckoo shall call 'Cuckoo!'?In vain along the vale--?The linnet, and the blackbird,?The mournful nightingale;
"The Miller hears and sees not,?Thinking of his son;?His toppling wheel is silent;?His grinding done.
"'You doves so white,' he weepeth,?'You roses on the tree,?You stars that shine so brightly,?You shine in vain for me!
"'I bade him follow, follow!'?He said, 'O Father dear,?These doves so white will lead me far?But never bring me near.'"...
A twangling harp for Mary,?A silvery flute for John,?And now we'll play, the livelong day,?"The Miller and his Son."
DOWN-ADOWN-DERRY
Down-adown-derry,?Sweet Annie Maroon,?Gathering daisies?In the meadows of Doone,?Hears a shrill piping,?Elflike and free,?Where the waters go brawling?In rills to the sea;?Singing down-adown-derry.
Down-adown-derry,?Sweet Annie Maroon,?Through the green grasses?Peeps softly; and soon?Spies under green willows?A fairy whose song?Like the smallest of bubbles?Floats bobbing along;?Singing down-adown-derry.
Down-adown-derry,?Her cheeks were like wine,?Her eyes in her wee face?Like water-sparks shine,?Her niminy fingers?Her sleep tresses preen,?The which in the combing?She peeps out between;?Singing down-adown-derry.
Down-adown-derry,?Shrill, shrill was her tune:--?"Come to my water-house,?Annie Maroon:?Come in your dimity,?Ribbon on head,?To wear siller seaweed?And coral instead";?Singing down-adown-derry.
"Down-adown-derry,?Lean fish of the sea,?Bring