New Poems | Page 8

steers.
For lo! the war is done,?Lo, now the battle won,?The trumpets still.?The shepherd's slender strain,?The country sounds again?Awake in wood and plain,?On haugh and hill.
Loud wars and loud loves cease.?I welcome my release;?And hail once more?Free foot and way world-wide.?And oft at eventide?Light love to talk beside?The hostel door.
ON NOW, ALTHOUGH THE YEAR BE DONE
ON now, although the year be done,?Now, although the love be dead,?Dead and gone;?Hear me, O loved and cherished one,?Give me still the hand that led,?Led me on.
IN THE GREEN AND GALLANT SPRING
IN the green and gallant Spring,?Love and the lyre I thought to sing,?And kisses sweet to give and take?By the flowery hawthorn brake.
Now is russet Autumn here,?Death and the grave and winter drear,?And I must ponder here aloof?While the rain is on the roof.
DEATH, TO THE DEAD FOR EVERMORE
DEATH, to the dead for evermore?A King, a God, the last, the best of friends -?Whene'er this mortal journey ends?Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door;?Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore?Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn?Disturbs the eternal sleep,?But in the stillness far withdrawn?Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep.
For as from open windows forth we peep?Upon the night-time star beset?And with dews for ever wet;?So from this garish life the spirit peers;?And lo! as a sleeping city death outspread,?Where breathe the sleepers evenly; and lo!?After the loud wars, triumphs, trumpets, tears?And clamour of man's passion, Death appears,?And we must rise and go.
Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the ears?Weary of utterance, seeing all is said;?Soon, racked by hopes and fears,?The all-pondering, all-contriving head,?Weary with all things, wearies of the years;?And our sad spirits turn toward the dead;?And the tired child, the body, longs for bed.
TO CHARLES BAXTER
ON THE DEATH OF THEIR COMMON FRIEND, MR. JOHN ADAM, CLERK OF COURT.
OUR Johnie's deid. The mair's the pity!?He's deid, an' deid o' Aqua-vitae.?O Embro', you're a shrunken city,?Noo Johnie's deid!?Tak hands, an' sing a burial ditty?Ower Johnie's heid.
To see him was baith drink an' meat,?Gaun linkin' glegly up the street.?He but to rin or tak a seat,?The wee bit body!?Bein' aye unsicken on his feet?Wi' whusky toddy.
To be aye tosh was Johnie's whim,?There's nane was better teut than him,?Though whiles his gravit-knot wad clim'?Ahint his ear,?An' whiles he'd buttons oot or in?The less ae mair.
His hair a' lang about his bree,?His tap-lip lang by inches three -?A slockened sort 'mon,' to pree?A' sensuality -?A droutly glint was in his e'e?An' personality.
An' day an' nicht, frae daw to daw,?Dink an' perjink an' doucely braw,?Wi' a kind o' Gospel ower a',?May or October,?Like Peden, followin' the Law?An' no that sober.
Whusky an' he were pack thegether.?Whate'er the hour, whate'er the weather,?John kept himsel' wi' mistened leather?An' kindled spunk.?Wi' him, there was nae askin' whether -?John was aye drunk.
The auncient heroes gash an' bauld?In the uncanny days of auld,?The task ance fo(u)nd to which th'were called,?Stack stenchly to it.?His life sic noble lives recalled,?Little's he knew it.
Single an' straucht, he went his way.?He kept the faith an' played the play.?Whusky an' he were man an' may?Whate'er betided.?Bonny in life - in death - this twae?Were no' divided.
An' wow! but John was unco sport.?Whiles he wad smile about the Court?Malvolio-like - whiles snore an' snort?Was heard afar.?The idle winter lads' resort?Was aye John's bar.
What's merely humorous or bonny?The Worl' regairds wi' cauld astony.?Drunk men tak' aye mair place than ony;?An' sae, ye see,?The gate was aye ower thrang for Johnie -?Or you an' me.
John micht hae jingled cap an' bells,?Been a braw fule in silks an' pells,?In ane o' the auld worl's canty hells?Paris or Sodom.?I wadnae had him naething else?But Johnie Adam.
He suffered - as have a' that wan?Eternal memory frae man,?Since e'er the weary worl' began -?Mister or Madam,?Keats or Scots Burns, the Spanish Don?Or Johnie Adam.
We leuch, an' Johnie deid. An' fegs!?Hoo he had keept his stoiterin' legs?Sae lang's he did's a fact that begs?An explanation.?He stachers fifty years - syne plegs?To's destination.
I WHO ALL THE WINTER THROUGH
I WHO all the winter through?Cherished other loves than you,?And kept hands with hoary policy in marriage-bed and pew;?Now I know the false and true,?For the earnest sun looks through,?And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew.
Now the hedged meads renew?Rustic odour, smiling hue,?And the clean air shines and tinkles as the world goes wheeling through; And my heart springs up anew,?Bright and confident and true,?And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew.
LOVE, WHAT IS LOVE?
LOVE - what is love? A great and aching heart;?Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair.?Life - what is life? Upon a moorland bare?To see love coming and see love depart.
SOON OUR FRIENDS PERISH
SOON our friends perish,?Soon all we cherish?Fades as days darken - goes as flowers go.?Soon in