Miscellany of Poetry | Page 6

that spills to earth?A golden augury of later fruits?And a diviner birth.
Hark! Hark!... He comes?He has found the temple of his soul's desire ...,?Be still, Oh beating heart, be still ... be still,?Lest he be troubled now his sacred fire?Creeps through this temple to your inmost shrine.?And I at last am his, and he is mine!

WILLIAM H. DAVIES
THE VILLAIN
While joy gave clouds the light of stars,?That beamed where'er they looked;?And calves and lambs had tottering knees,?Excited, while they sucked;?While every bird enjoyed his song,?Without one thought of harm or wrong--?I turned my head and saw the wind,?Not far from where I stood,?Dragging the corn by her golden hair,?Into a dark and lonely wood.
BIRD AND BROOK
My song, that's bird-like in its kind,?Is in the mind,?Love--in the mind;?And in my season I am moved?No more or less from being loved;?No woman's love has power to bring?My song back when I cease to sing;?Nor can she, when my season's strong,?Prevent my mind from song.
But where I feel your woman's part,?Is in the heart,?Love--in the heart;?For when that bird of mine broods long,?And I'd be sad without my song,?Your love then makes my heart a brook?That dreams in many a quiet nook,?And makes a steady, murmuring sound?Of joy the whole year round.
PASSION'S HOUNDS
With mighty leaps and bounds,?I followed Passion's hounds,?My hot blood had its day;?Lust, Gluttony, and Drink,?I chased to Hell's black brink,?Both night and day.
I ate like three strong men,?I drank enough for ten,?Each hour must have its glass?Yes, Drink and Gluttony?Have starved more brains, say I,?Than Hunger has.
And now, when I grow old,?And my slow blood is cold,?And feeble is my breath--?I'm followed by those hounds,?Whose mighty leaps and bounds?Hunt me to death.
THE TRUTH
Since I have seen a bird one day,?His head pecked more than half away;?That hopped about, with but one eye,?Ready to fight again, and die--?Ofttimes since then their private lives?Have spoilt that joy their music gives.
So, when I see this robin now,?Like a red apple on the bough,?And question why he sings so strong,?For love, or for the love of song;?Or sings, maybe, for that sweet rill?Whose silver tongue is never still--
Ah, now there comes this thought unkind,?Born of the knowledge in my mind:?He sings in triumph that last night?He killed his father in a fight;?And now he'll take his mother's blood--?The last strong rival for his food.
THE FORCE OF LOVE
Have I now found an angel in Unrest,?That wakeful Love is more desired than sleep:?Though you seem calm and gentle, you shall show?The force of this strong love in me so deep.
Yes, I will make you, though you seem so calm,?Look from your blue eyes that divinest joy?As was in Juno's, when she made great Jove?Forget the war and half his heaven in Troy.
And I will press your lips until they mix?With my poor quality their richer wine:?Be my Parnassus now, and grow more green?Each upward step towards your top divine.
APRIL'S LAMBS
Though I was born in April's prime,?With many another lamb,?Yet, thinking now of all my years,?What am I but a tough old ram?
"No woman thinks of years," said she,?"Or any tough old rams,?When she can hear a voice that bleats?As tenderly as any lamb's."

GEOFFREY DEARMER
NOUS AUTRES
We never feel the lust of steel?Or fury-woken blood,?We live and die and wonder why?In mud, and mud, and mud,?And horror first and horror last?And Phantom Terror riding past.?We hear and hear the hounds of Fear?Nearer and more near.?We feel their breath....?Only the nights befriend?And mitigate the hell;?Of those who ponder, see and hear,?Too well.?The nights, and Death--?The end.?We feel but never fear?His breath.
Day after weary day,?In vain, in vain, in vain,?We turn to Thee and pray,?We cry and cry again--?"O lord of Battle, why?Should we alone be sane?"
We stifle cries with lightless eyes?And face eternal night;?We stifle cries to sacrifice?Our eyes for Human Sight.?And many give that men may live,?A life, a limb, a brain,?That fellow men may understand?And be for ever sane.?What matter if we lose a hand?If others wander hand in hand;?Or lose a foot if others greet?The dawn of peace with dancing feet;?What matter if we die unheard?If others hear the Poet's Word?
Because we pay from day to day?The price of sacrifice;?Because we face each dreary place?Again, again, again.?Lord, set us free from Sanity--?Who feel no fighting thrill;?Must we remain for ever sane?And never learn to kill??No answer came. In very shame?Our long-unheeded cry?Grew bitterly more bitterly,?"O why, O why, O why.?May we not feel the lust of steel?The fury-woken thrill--?For men may learn to live and die?And never learn to kill?"
October, 1918
SHE TO HIM
The day you died, my Share of All?My soul was tossed?Hither and thither, like a leaf,?And lost, lost, lost,?From sounds and sight,?Beneath the night?Of gloom and grief.
But--?(Hush, for the wind may hear)?Soon, soon you came in solitude:?And we renewed?All happiness.?Now, who shall guess?How close we