 |
Say that we dream! Our dreams have woven Truths that out-face the burning sun: The lightnings, that we dreamed, have cloven Time, space, and linked all lands in one! Dreams! But their swift celestial fingers Have knit the world with threads of steel, Till no remotest island lingers Beyond the world's one Commonweal.
Tell us that custom, sloth, and fear Are strong, then name them "common-sense"! Tell us that greed rules everywhere, Then dub the lie "experience": Year after year, age after age, Has handed down, thro' fool and child, For earth's divinest heritage The dreams whereon old wisdom smiled.
Dreams are they? But ye cannot stay them, Or thrust the dawn back for one hour! Truth, Love, and Justice, if ye slay them, Return with more than earthly power: Strive, if ye will, to seal the fountains That send the Spring thro' leaf and spray: Drive back the sun from the Eastern mountains, Then—bid this mightier movement stay.
It is the Dawn of Peace! The nations From East to West have heard a cry,— "Through all earth's blood-red generations By hate and slaughter climbed thus high, Here—on this height—still to aspire, One only path remains untrod, One path of love and peace climbs higher! Make straight that highway for our God."
THE BRINGERS OF GOOD NEWS
Like fallen stars the watch-fires gleamed Along our menaced age that night! Our bivouacked century tossed and dreamed Of battle with the approaching light.
Rumors of change, a sea-like roar, Shook the firm earth with doubt and dread: The clouds, in rushing legions bore Their tattered eagles overhead.
I saw the muffled sentries rest On the dark hills of Time. I saw Around them march from East to West The stars of the unresting law.
I knew that in their mighty course They brought the dawn, they brought the day; And that the unconquerable force Of the new years was on the way.
I heard the feet of that great throng! I saw them shine, like hope, afar! Their shout, their shout was like a song, And O, 'twas not a song of war!
Yet, as the whole world with their tramp Quivered, a signal-lightning spoke, A bugle warned our darkling camp, And, like a thunder-cloud, it woke.
Our searchlights raked the world's wide ends. O'er the dark hills a grey light crept. Down, through the light, that host of friends We took for foemen, triumphing swept.
The old century could not hear their cry, How should it hear the song they sang? We bring good news! It pierced the sky! We bring good news! The welkin rang.
One shout of triumph and of faith; And then—our shattering cannon roared! But, over the reeking ranks of death, The song rose like a single sword.
We bring good news! Red flared the guns! We bring good news! The sabres flashed! And the dark age with its own sons In blind and furious battle clashed.
A swift, a terrible bugle pealed. The sulphurous clouds were rolled away. Embraced, embraced, on that red field, The wounded and the dying lay.
We bring good news! Blood choked the word, —We knew you not; so dark the night!— O father, was I worth your sword? O son, O herald of the light!
We bring good news!—The darkness fills Mine eyes!—Nay, the night ebbs away! And, over the everlasting hills, The great new dawn led on the day.
THE LONELY SHRINE
(A few months after the Milton Ter-centenary.)
I
The crowd has passed away, Faded the feast, and most forget! Master, we come with lowly hearts to pay Our deeper debt.
II
High they upheld the wine, And royally, royally drank to thee! Loud were their plaudits. Now the lonely shrine Accepts our knee.
III
All dark and silent now! Master, thy few are faithful still, And nightly hear thy brooks that warbling flow By Siloa's hill.
AT NOON
(AFTER THE FRENCH OF VERLAINE)
The sky is blue above the roof, So calm, so blue; One rustling bough above the roof Rocks, the noon through.
The bell-tower in the sky, aloof, Tenderly rings! A bird upon the bough, aloof, Sorrows and sings.
My God, my God, and life is here So simple and still! Far off, the murmuring town I hear At the wind's will....
What hast thou done, thou, weeping there? O quick, the truth! What hast thou done, thou, weeping there, With thy lost youth?
TO A FRIEND OF BOYHOOD LOST AT SEA
O warm blue sky and dazzling sea, Where have you hid my friend from me? The white-chalk coast, the leagues of surf Laugh to the May-light, now as then, And violets in the short sweet turf Make fragmentary heavens again, And sea-born wings of rustling snow Pass and re-pass as long ago.
Old friend, do you remember yet The days when secretly we met In that old harbor years a-back, Where I admired your billowing walk, Or in that perilous fishing smack What tarry oaths perfumed your talk, The sails we set, the ropes we spliced, The raw potato that we sliced,
For mackerel-bait—and how it shines Far down, at end of the taut lines!— And the great catch we made that day,
Loading our boat with rainbows, quick And quivering, while you smoked your clay And I took home your "Deadwood Dick" In yellow and red, when day was done And you took home my Stevenson?
Not leagues, as when you sailed the deep, But only some frail bars of sleep Sever us now! Methinks you still Recall, as I, in dreams, the quay, The little port below the hill: And all the changes of the sea, Like some great music, can but roll Our lives still nearer to the goal.
OUR LADY OF THE TWILIGHT
Our Lady of the Twilight From out the sunset-lands Comes gently stealing o'er the world And stretches out her hands, Over the blotched and broken wall, The blind and foetid lane, She stretches out her hands and all Is beautiful again.
No factory chimneys can defile The beauty of her dress: She stoops down with her heavenly smile To heal and love and bless: All tortured things, all evil powers, All shapes of dark distress Are turned to fragrance and to flowers Beneath her kind caress.
Our Lady of the Twilight, She melts our prison-bars! She makes the sea forget the shore, She fills the sky with stars, And stooping over wharf and mill, Chimney and shed and dome, Turns them to fairy palaces, Then calls her children home.
She stoops to bless the stunted tree, And from the furrowed plain, And from the wrinkled brow she smooths The lines of care and pain: Hers are the gentle hands and eyes And hers the peaceful breath That ope, in sunset-softened skies, The quiet gates of death.
Our Lady of the Twilight, She hath such gentle hands, So lovely are the gifts she brings From out the sunset-lands, So bountiful, so merciful So sweet of soul is she; And over all the world she draws Her cloak of charity.
THE HILL-FLOWERS
"I will lift up mine eyes to the hills"
I
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew, Ere I waken in the city—Life, thy dawn makes all things new! And up a fir-clad glen, far from all the haunts of men, Up a glen among the mountains, oh my feet are wings again!
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew, O mountains of my boyhood, I come again to you, By the little path I know, with the sea far below, And above, the great cloud-galleons with their sails of rose and snow;
As of old, when all was young, and the earth a song unsung And the heather through the crimson dawn its Eden incense flung From the mountain-heights of joy, for a careless-hearted boy, And the lavrocks rose like fountain sprays of bliss that ne'er could cloy,
From their little beds of bloom, from the golden gorse and broom, With a song to God the Giver, o'er that waste of wild perfume; Blowing from height to height, in a glory of great light, While the cottage-clustered valleys held the lilac last of night,
So, when dawn is in the skies, in a dream, a dream, I rise, And I follow my lost boyhood to the heights of Paradise. Life, thy dawn makes all things new! Hills of Youth, I come to you, Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.
II
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew, Floats a brother's face to meet me! Is it you? Is it you? For the night I leave behind keeps these dazzled eyes still blind! But oh, the little hill-flowers, their scent is wise and kind;
And I shall not lose the way from the darkness to the day, While dust can cling as their scent clings to memory for aye; And the least link in the chain can recall the whole again, And heaven at last resume its far-flung harvests, grain by grain.
To the hill-flowers clings my dust, and tho' eyeless Death may thrust All else into the darkness, in their heaven I put my trust; And a dawn shall bid me climb to the little spread of thyme Where first I heard the ripple of the fountain-heads of rhyme.
And a fir-wood that I know, from dawn to sunset-glow, Shall whisper to a lonely sea, that swings far, far below. Death, thy dawn makes all things new. Hills of Youth, I come to you, Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.
THE CAROL OF THE FIR-TREE
Quoth the Fir-tree, "Orange and vine" Sing 'Nowell, Nowell, Nowell'! "Have their honour: I have mine!" In Excelsis Gloria! "I am kin to the great king's house," Ring 'Nowell, Nowell, Nowell'! "And Lebanon whispers in my boughs." In Excelsis Gloria!
Apple and cherry, pear and plum, Winds of Autumn, sigh 'Nowell'! All the trees like mages come Bending low with 'Gloria'! Holding out on every hand Summer pilgrims to Nowell! Gorgeous gifts from Elfin-land. And the May saith 'Gloria'!
Out of the darkness—who shall say Gold and myrrh for this Nowell! How they win their wizard way? Out of the East with 'Gloria'! Men that eat of the sun and dew Angels laugh and sing, 'Nowell.' Call it "fruit," and say it "grew"! Into the West with 'Gloria'!
"Leaves that fall," whispered the Fir Through the forest sing 'Nowell'! "I am winter's minister." In Excelsis Gloria! Summer friends may come and go, Up the mountain sing 'Nowell.' Love abides thro' storm and snow. Down the valley, 'Gloria'!
"On my boughs, on mine on mine," Father and mother, sing 'Nowell'! "All the fruits of the earth shall twine." Bending low with 'Gloria.' "Sword of wood and doll of wax" Little children, sing 'Nowell.' "Swing on the stem was cleft with the axe!" Craftsmen all, a 'Gloria.'
"Hear! I have looked on the other side." Out of the East, O sing 'Nowell'! "Because to live this night I died!" Into the West with 'Gloria.' "Hear! In this lighted room I have found" Ye that seek, O sing 'Nowell'! "The spell that worketh underground." Ye that doubt, a 'Gloria.'
"I have found it, even I," Ye that are lowly, sing 'Nowell'! "The secret of this alchemy!" Ye that are poor, a 'Gloria.' "Look, your tinsel turneth to gold." Sing 'Nowell! Nowell! Nowell!' "Your dust to a hand for love to hold!" In Excelsis Gloria.
"Lay the axe at my young stem now!" Woodman, woodman, sing 'Nowell.' "Set a star on every bough!" In Excelsis Gloria! "Hall and cot shall see me stand," Rich and poor man, sing 'Nowell'! "Giver of gifts from Elfin-land." Oberon, answer 'Gloria.'
"Hung by the hilt on your Christmas-tree" Little children, sing 'Nowell'! "Your wooden sword is a cross for me." Emperors, a 'Gloria.' "I have found that fabulous stone" Ocean-worthies, cry 'Nowell.' "Which turneth all things into one," Wise men all, a 'Gloria.'
"It is not ruby nor anything" Jeweller, jeweller, sing 'Nowell'! "Fit for the crown of an earthly King:" In Excelsis Gloria! "It is not here! It is not there!" Traveller, rest and cry 'Nowell'! "It is one thing and everywhere!" Heaven and Earth sing 'Gloria.'
"It is the earth, the moon, the sun," Mote in the sunbeam, sing 'Nowell'! "And all the stars that march as one." In Excelsis Gloria! "Here, by the touch of it, I can see" Sing, O Life, a sweet Nowell! "The world's King die on a Christmas-tree." Answer, Death, with 'Gloria.'
"Here, not set in a realm apart," East and West are one 'Nowell'! "Holy Land is in your Heart!" North and South one 'Gloria'! "Death is a birth, birth is a death," Love is all, O sing 'Nowell'! "And London one with Nazareth." And all the World a 'Gloria.'
"And angels over your heart's roof sing" Birds of God, O pour 'Nowell'! "That a poor man's son is the Son of a King!" Out of your heart this 'Gloria'! "Round the world you'll not away" In your own soul, they sing 'Nowell'! "From Holy Land this Christmas Day!" In your own soul, this 'Gloria.'
LAVENDER
Lavender, lavender That makes your linen sweet; The hawker brings his basket Down the sooty street: The dirty doors and pavements Are simmering in the heat: He brings a dream to London, And drags his weary feet.
Lavender, lavender, From where the bee hums, To the loud roar of London, With purple dreams he comes, From ragged lanes of wild-flowers To ragged London slums, With a basket full of lavender And purple dreams he comes.
Is it nought to you that hear him? With the old strange cry The weary hawker passes, And some will come and buy, And some will let him pass away And only heave a sigh, But most will neither heed nor hear When dreams go by.
Lavender, lavender! His songs were fair and sweet, He brought us harvests out of heaven, Full sheaves of radiant wheat; He brought us keys to Paradise, And hawked them thro' the street; He brought his dreams to London, And dragged his weary feet.
Lavender, lavender! He is gone. The sunset glows; But through the brain of London The mystic fragrance flows. Each foggy cell remembers, Each ragged alley knows, The land he left behind him, The land to which he goes.
The End |
|
