/\.-X(. ic\\?. PR4079.BMM5""'"™'^'-"'"^ Melilot, 3 1924 013 211 945 PR The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013211945 MELILOT M E L I LO T FRANCIS PREVOST^^,..e^j " O felix hominum genus, Si vestros animos amor Quo CEelum regitur, regat " LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO., i, PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1886 y. ^^iW i^^ Kzb\'\\^ ( T/u rights of translation aiui of reprodiicliou nn reseti'ed.) TO MV FATHER, THE Counsellor and Friend OF MY Life. CONTENTS. PAGE "And Quartus, a Brother" ... ... ... i To Celia ... ... ... ... ... 4 Spring Thoughts from Snow-land ... ... ... lo "Excess?" ... ... ... ... ... 14 sciomancy ... ... ... ... ... ... 17 An Asymptote to Love ... ... ... 21 Enchantments ... ... ... ... ... 23 " Souvenir d'un Ami " ... ... ... ... 27 Day and Night ... ... ... ... ... 30 A Prop for Peace ... ... ... ... 31 June's First Day ... ... ... ... ... 35 Virtual Velocities ... ... ... ... 36 Wounded ... ... ... ... ... .... 40 Wallflower ... ... ... ... ... 42 Fancies after Grace ... ... ... ... 46 A Dog for Mandrakes... ... .., ... 4S viii CONTENTS. PAGE A Revised Negative ... ... ... •■■ 58 Or? ... ... ... ... ... ... 61 Disposal ... ... ... ... ' ... ... 63 Mavis and Lavrock ... ... ... ... 65 Love at Sight ... ... ... ... •■• 66 Rust of Gold ... ... ... ... ... 70 On a Dead Field Mouse ... ... ... ... 74 Hystrix Viator ... ... ... ... 76 Erytheia ... ... ... ... ... ... 80 Water Colour ... ... ... ... ... 81 Endor ... ... ... ... ... ... 83 Gropers ... ... ... ... ... 85 Red Honey... ... ... ... ... ... 86 A Song of Spite ... ... ... ... 88 Fragilis Fragaria Vesca ... ... ... ... 92 Sea Solace Reminiscences Sketches for a Face 94 95 The First Fooling ... ... ... ... 96 105 Change ... ... ... ... ... 107 Beach Bound ... ... ... ... ... log The House Porch ... ... ... ... no Red Poppies and Patience ... ... ... ... 120 Dynamics of a Particle ... ... ... 122 CONTENTS. ix PAGE An Apology ... ... ... ... ... 126 Eros to Minerva ... ... ... ... 128 A Quarter Face ... ... ... ... ... 132 Two Wood Flowers ... ... ... ... 134 Reflections ... ... ... ... ... 136 Epitaph. E. J. H. ... ... ... ... 138 In Early Gardens ... ... ... ... ... 139 Wood Spurge ... ... ... ... ... 140 Female Telegraph Learners ... ... ... 143 To Daisy ... ... ... ... ... 146 The Lie Casual ... ... ... ... ... 148 Greeting ... ... ... ... ... 150 A Wet Day on the River ... ... ... ... 152 Service ... .. ... ... ... 157 "AND QUARTUS, A BROTHER:' You — that hate all housings which are homeless, that desiring Knowledge, not by knowing — through each effort freshly labell'd With a difference from your fellows — to be higher, hoUer, cleaner, But by all your kin to widen ; by each face unmask'd enabled Not to ape the angels but to love your brother, hiring Habits from uncorner'd homes to chasten your de- meanour ; Duty from field udders draining to discern the man. You — the bee the willow's first gold-aureoled bur en- chaineth ; You — whose wild veins to the first spring swallow's screaming quiver ; B 2 "AND QUARTUS, A BROTHER." You — that watch the wind-weigh'd ridges, oceati-opal'd, ruff the meadow, Piled at last with lustrous hemlock, break in may-foam round the river ; Hating aught that simple deed and simple song dis- daineth ; Loving all whose graces pay what heart alike and head owe ; Neither careless of God's order, curious for His plan. You — whose eyes are ever level with your fellows', seeking, straining For a love-sign in the love world ; you — that cross the crowded stoneway With God's fire in secret flashes ; — " Were life other I had loved you ; " '•I am yours if you'll but ask me:" — yet demurely -go your own way. Doubting just yourself, and daring nothing, nothing gaining— From, perchance, past loves of ages— but a moment that has moved you. Feeling first heaven's breath, to shudder : fearing, was't, earth's ban ? " AND QUARTUS, A BROTHER:' 3 By your loathing of the sin which sees its purpose I am brother, Sister, lover, passion-foster'd ; claiming neither wit nor knowledge. Wisdom, goodness, interest, ardour ; and my living but a low ledge On truth's cliff; but with a quittance your contemptuous scoif to smother — I am yours ! So set me never on a careless shelf ; Hate or hold me ; here 's no parcel to be index'd at your choosing, Here no music, counsel, madness, anguish'd laughter, careless musing, — But myself. TO CELIA. A SONG unto thee That art hid by a bend of the hill, Though the west wind wet us together ; And the south creeps over to me With the stealth of thy breath, to be still As it sells its sweets to the heather. A carol alone : Till the world shall be weary of winter, And all hearts laugh with the leaf, And the poppy be bound in the sheaf. And the teasel's hid wine-cups stint her. And tears be thrust from a throne. A carol aloud ; Though only the moles should attend, And the poplar fingers applaud me, TO CELIA. And echo come from a cloud ; Till, a stray crow's cawing defraud me, And singing sigh to the end. No scents from the field ! For the hedgeways stink, where the nettles Grow bitter, back'd by the dock, And the first May rose is a mock, For the town's smoke 's stale in its petals, The town's filth festers its shield. No sweets from the field ! For the kingcup 's kill'd by the river. The violet crush'd on the fell. And the primrose dug from the deU Where lonely the harebells shiver With cowslips wrench'd firom the weald. No song from the field ! For the child's throat 's stupid with sobbing, The stream too foul to confess To its garrulous bed ; unthrobbing, The still skies whiten, congeal'd By the lark's scream, snar'd for a dress. TO CELIA. So back from the field, With the comment of God for a curse ; For the waste of His gold has rusted On the floor of heaven for a purse, While, dim as the world moon-dusted, His dress by its dross is seal'd. At night from the hill : When the stiff black ribs of the village Stare under the froth of gold That the main street spumes, and her bill Seeks heaven's divorce from the tillage Of honesty, glebeless, sold. Where the blind stick raps For a fresh world's hope ; — and averts The franion's foot and her glances ; — The live warp's shuttle that fraps The world's feet fast in her dances, And broiders its hope with hurts. See the spire's vane twine The love-star lost in the twist Of a silver veil to the feather, TO CELIA. Whose sequent face is the sign Of the eddying windy mist That below fears God — and the weather. As in love's hair bound, For the space of a smile, love's arrow In his compass'd home that has crown'd Love's monument o'er His feast Who spoke God's share in the sparrow But told no price for the priest. Ah ! listen, the cries And splutter of men, consider How each in a stone-set ephod His office bears to the skies : Though, lit by the light that has hid her, Stands, still as the Ghost of God, And pale as the night, The flame of His church by the mart Where money grows by exchange. And the doves strut by with a right To barter themselves. Is it strange If it seem too pale for a heart ? TO CELIA. So, love, I have turn'd From the painted broidure of God To the mimic plan of His mind ; And afHrm I equally find The fugitive world of the sod, And the sod's soul hatefully spurn'd. If shepherds have call'd — 'Twas only the wolves to raise, And the sheep lie out on the wold, Hear far bells ring from the wall'd Warm home, where, fenced, they appraise The herdsman slain by the fold. T'light, night on the hill ; And the sour spent vapours of men Hang over their be-ls, till awaking (Ah, grief ! Could the sun but fill A cloud with their quarrels and aching), They choke once more in their pen. Night ! Here I have held God's hand and thine. If I thank you, Believe no nettle has stung TO CELT A. Your toss'd sweets sour, nor sigh If fool-fast passion should prank you 111. (Ah ine ! I had sung Not thus were the jest but bell'd, Could laughter believe its lie.) SPRING THOUGHTS FROM SNOW- LAND. I. Shadow. The song of the spring, And the sighing aloft of the swallow Dropping adown the dreamy air To the drenched scents in the dozing glare, And the hum of the bees in the hollow. The wind of the spring In the whispering wings of the willow, Beating a golden froth with its flails, The wild wet wantoning wind that wails Sea-salt from the breast of the billow. SPRING THOUGHTS FROM SNOW-LAND. ii The grace of the spring In the cote, and the croft, and the covert ; The elm-tree bound with a sheath of lamps, And the cowslip call'd from the meadow damps ; Roseleaf on the eyes of the lover. O love, in the spring. Ere the lark and the throstle be lazy, Let us carol them out, forget to be coy Till we choke the blossoming air with joy, Though it die in the dell with the daisy. Ah, child of the spring ! In laughter, and labour, and sorrow, Chaunting the clamour of chance. Tears to be dried in the dance, Magic to-day — and to-morrow ? O leaf of the spring ! A fairy's raft, a flake in a furrow, Sermon-seal'd to flatter a fool, A curdling blood-spot dropt in a pool. Or a wall for the worm in his burrow. 12 SPRING THOUGHTS FROM SNOW-LAND. Love lost in the spring, With the harebell's heart for a heaven ; In a careless house with a cureless hurt, And the windflower wrench'd from a frozen skirt, And the daffodils dead at even. II. Sun. With sailing summer birds, And swallows swinging ; The blackcap's echo girds The white wood ; stringing. Amid soft horns, the clinging Tree-cloister'd cuckoo thirds On his sweet silver, winging A song with words. In saifron shadows dight, Her wide eyes waking White windflowers in her flight The valleys flaking : Grief lilies, which forsaking Their moss-dells came at night To deck her breasts, are breaking With sunbeams pight. SPRING THOUGHTS FROM SNOW-LAND. 13 With shaking cowslip crown, And tresses trailing, O'er deep eyes, drooped down. Long lashes veiling Her cheeks, though sunny brown, With passion paling. O love ! so lost to own Such jealous jailing. ( H ) " EXCESS?" If at a sigh, I doubt — Whether from penury or waste ? The brief excess of loving, or the scout Of cureless sorrow, cruddle-faced ? Do I exceed in haste ? If at a look, I bale My tearful well, to wet the grove Thy culling has commended, do I fail In thrift ? or thoughtless, since it throve,— Do I exceed in love ? If at a doubt, I dare To be an exile from my sense. Thou canst not scold my folly whilst I wear Thy livery, nor thy fees for fence Do I exceed in pence. "EXCESS?" 15 If at a word, I string Fresh follies for thy necklet beads, They clasp thy throat more closely since I bring Myself as pendant. Worn, it pleads — Do / exceed in deeds ? If at a blanch, I feign — " The snow-chick pales for winter, wears, Written on rosy armoury, her pain ; My cold breath shudders in her ears : '' — . Do I exceed in fears ? If at a breath, I bate (Taking thy lips for merchandise — Thy straying lips) my bale, and at low rate Mortgage my heart, in siich device — Do I exceed in price ? If at a desk I rhymed, Patch'd thee with fancies, dost thou know 'Twas thee, not wealth nor honour here me limed To scrape my heart in acids ? so — Do I exceed in woe. i6 " £XC£SS f " If at a frown, I fell A debtor to my flat belief, Though hope 's in heaven forgotten — and in hell, — Yet, smarting 'gainst a change so brief, — Did I exceed in grief? If at a kiss, I hurl'd The unseemly masks from boisterous youth, And bray'd defiance at a feeding world ; Wearing thy badges — not in ruth ; — Did I exceed in truth ? Ah ! but excess is bound As title-page to lovers' lives ; And bowers each "image'' of the "nymph " unwound By witless wings from golden gyves, Making of maidens — wives. SC/OJIAXCV. Let Mm who can say — " These three nights since she exchanged Our hamlet's fold for the town ; Through the shift of my dreams, The mad bright travailing man, — One wide hand in to-moirow, A foot stfll dark with to-day, ^Mio waies to work, when I sleep, Frescoes dating the damp Oozing plaster tlat holds Only a steamy colour Breathiog out in the sun. Fretted wide by the wind ; — These three nights he has given The sweet swift daim of her head, c SCIOMANCY. The curious way she turns, Spun round by a scorn-choked ' No,' In a little arc of disdain, As though impell'd to fulfil The failure of speech with grace : '' (Be it but once in a month, Yet worth the waste of a month To see it) : "The trick of her talk, The clear bright words that divide Her lips at once from the world's Aimless abraded chatter ; The little dell in her throat, Where ever a south wind eddying Keeps it cool as the moat That guards a citadel wall ; The quick shy questioning eyes That droop with a maid's proud thrift Of their mystical silent voice. Yet speak and laugh for themselves ; And about all her soul. Not learn'd so deep to disdain The quiet heaven that hides The woodside well with a blush. On the roadside bound by a rut : SCIOMANCY. 19 These all three nights in a dream," — (Where men are measured by God To themselves, and the gabled beams Stretch afresh to the Spring), " Three sad nights since she has gone, — With the sun still lost in the crisp Golden dust of her hair, The soft clear wind of the fields In her face : — she has stood, I have seen The tremulous love in her eyes.'' So, if he say it, and live. He loves not better than I, Yet may be more of a fool, Must be less of a knave ; So let him come, and tell — Not with stupid affront To hundreds as good as she, Thousands better than he. No mad mouthing of God, — Simply this — that he loves : (Which, be it true, then he May love less for a month. Must love more in a year) ; SCIOMANCY. Loves too well to forego One sad chance : If she hold Another higher than him, Grant him at least to plead, With circumambient hint. Her faith and favour to such. If she refuse : — is it I ? ( 21 ) AN ASYMPTOTE TO LOVE. There burns a flower by a streamlet's brow, With bended head, below the broken ferns, And every eddy's eye its smiles endow. Yet if the merry waters toss their spray To touch its lips, it laughing turns To shake the kiss away. There is a face that finds its portraiture, Stone-stay'd and silent, in a mazed mind — Where still the pebble sits in penury. And sun-left pools surmise a fairy sky — Hidden from dipping wings and changing wind ; Enshrining heaven ; a lost Bute's tablature. AN ASYMPTOTE TO LOVE. And yet I lack the waters' graceless grace Which breaks the mirror, for I fear to find It is the unwoo'd lips that leave her face So passionless and kind. EXCHA XTMENTS. Why waits the sun ? l^et him be veiled as a vagrant nun : How drags his stay ! The Uttle clouds go, dropping down the pane On the north wind, all the white day Stoop on the plain, O whispering night ] Close close about me, let not chinked sprite Chequer thy mists : O quiet quelling night, let thy low wing Brush the blind leaves, enshroud the lists, All sUence bring. O careless night, Hood thy late birds, singing is shent with spite ; 24 ENCHANTMENTS. Dew drowse thy dogs ; Sweeten the hog-bean in the kine-clipt fence ; Breathe on the brooks and blabbing frogs Sleep's pestilence. Set out thy skirt Upon the chattering grass, make "Good-nights'' curt; Let loose thy locks To choke the stars, fast close the cluttering fowl ; Shake down the bittern, where he mocks Stifle the owl. O lazy night, Go seek my love ; tell her the ways are dight With sleepy flowers ; The cowslip nods, the primrose just hath breath To tell it sleeps, the daisy cowers : O mime of death, Be thick with dreams. And daze our mumming manners ; rip the seams That stitch stale signs Across the stupid world ; give veils for vows, Tripping for trammels, fees for fines, Safe feet for sloughs. ENCHANTMENTS. 25 O masked night, Go tell her fear is fickle, love is light : Stop thou her wheel ; Fright her in haste to come with careless dress, Her eyes are all, and love doth steal Most at a guess. O bitter night. Bringing sad drought for tears, sad thought for sight ; Set close thy shears To crop the termless tongue of memory, Stir thy small whirlpool till all ears Shut mindlessly. O crazy night. Treading stiff sleep, O naked nursing night. Light thou her lamp ; Set thy still fires along the river lane — Thy starry worms ; brush back thy damp And draggled train To let her pass, With dreadless foot, across the dewy grass ; Upon the hedge. Bid its pale fumes burn forth the folded may 26 ENCHANTMENTS. From silver cup, and let the sedge Sing at her sta)'. My love still waits ! Dispart awhile my senses with thy gates ; And bring her soon To shut my sorrow where no dreams demur : Stamp out my sighing, let me sleep or swoon- And wake with her. ( 27 ) "SOUVENIR D'UN A3f/.' So it goes by its garden name, So he call'd it, show'd me its centre Capp'd by the petals ; said the game Of giving roses wanted a mentor. Tapp'd the drops off, guess'd why it bent Earthwards, always ; what was the moral ? Or what its hooded heart might have meant To a bee this morning ripe for a quarrel ? So some lips : — and the deftest wind That worried to wake a bud was useless On this frail sweet, till it found a mind, And fear'd the sun for its delicate hues less. 28 " SOUVENIR nUN AMI:' See ! a wasp-fly darts, — did it store Jerks, intwisted by wings that fan them Quiet ? An aphis, small, yet it bore One quintillion of souls per annum. Wise to be wide 2 Yes ! yet did I know An old maid's manner was like the former ; Turn quick ! A swallow had caught his toe As he shot at a pet wasp under the dormer. Fet ? It hived in his cupboard lock, Pardon him ! — Look, 'twas a Pilgrim, footless ; A fool on the ground, see ! So the mock At such as mask with a martlet bootless ! Air for the swift, swans for the sea, Bunglers both on terra firma ; Then he kiss'd its neck, and held it to me : — For what 1 He laugh'd ! it was but a termer In love's courts here, and under the eaves God's brush to sweeten the air ; in a manner The only visible soul ; its greaves His sun and wind. He had kiss'd the banner " SOUVENIR D'UN AMI.'" 29 Of love — could I ? Then he flung it out, And pick'd the rose ; — ^would I wear it flamant With love's stain red at its throat, nor pout If he call'd it now, " Souvenir d'un Amant " ? ( 30 ) DAY AND NIGHT. No veil but vests her eyes (As when the curl cloud spreads the sun's noon splendour Through all his skies ;) To fill her face, And each sweet shadow lace, Her heart behind, rose bright as its light's lender. Her lids' close fringes hire (As sudden round the snared moon rise to attend her Heaven's hail of lire ;) Each subject grace Around their cloudy chase, Light hid before, its night-lit lamp to tender. ( 3' ) A PROP FOR PEACE. I SAID — " I will entreat A tender tendril'd flower from one who sells His tilling to the town, to dress (Set here its feet) My walls." And pity is't compels ? His gift forgot my purse's emptiness. For here no scents are sown ; The s)in-dew withers folded o'er its flies ; The cushat's murmur rocks the pine ; And far the drone Of great bees up the wood lane dies, Low-stumbling homeward with the gorse-gold wine. 32 A PROP FOR PEACE. The brown cold stream forgets Its merriment amid the red-stemm'd gloom ; Nor whisper dares above its breath, Nor pebble frets Through miles of heath and yellow broom : As one walks dumbly from the house of death. Beside the black lake scream Night herons ; and great owls, like silver veils, Fan out to scare the sleepy birds ; Or some ill dream. Half roused, the shifting curlew wails. And wakes again the plot's odious words. Here drops the butterfly, Cold-stiif, or daunted 'midst the dreary maze ; And from the road-bank rabbits peer To dart awry ; Or hastily through the unsteady haze The king-fly hurtles like a sapphire spear. Here 'twas I plann'd to build A cote of sweets about my door, and thought — Some odour trickling past the trees, A PROP FOR PEACE. 33 Some flame to gild This sunless gloom may find, unsought, One lover ; and about me bring the bees ; But one ! who hides his store. Can daily chamber heaven in his warm hum, Till his strange cells the hive shall stir His paths to explore. So, though as its stake the stem seemed dumb, Shrined here, I set my love-craved comforter : And after winter, came Its buds to table ; sun-warm'd water bore From the far common ; thickets wove Eough winds to maim : Yet none the less it wither'd more, And shrivell'd from me in despite of love. One morn I rose to break My useless forts, to chase my cheer turned sour, My hopes forget : — when lo ! a fair Soft shamefast flake Of lilac foam, the poor prop's flower. Lay on the string course : and I kiss'd it there. D 34 A PROP FOR PEACE. And now, its buds all cross'd With the sad season's sign, each spring it brings The flower-surpliced bees — and best — The wood's long frost Breaks with flutter of roosting wings. And cloud-born children chatter on her breast. ( 35 ) JUNE'S FIRST DA Y. Lost ? Spring sings — " Winter 's past ; " Sighs— " Winter waiteth." May snows on age are coldest cast ; Youth's brows, may-crown' d, Do mock the reverenced wreath he hateth. Spring but by blossom was 't ? Ah me ! poor birds. Ah me, poor heart that, hiveless, hast Spring's breath first found In the wild fragrance of his words. ( 36 ) VIRTUAL VELOCITIES. That is the worst of it ! Ah, the querulous world But leaves my arm on your waist So long as we both are giddy. " But that 's to further the dance.'' And this the dream. Did I know The subtle virtue that dwells In triple time and the scraping Scaturient violins, Did I know, could I extract it. Dose the world with it — further Strange, the prize is in neither ; VIRTUAL VELOCITIES. 37 (Listen ! now they are playing This should be lawful, it is not) : But in the rooms, in the hours, Dresses, all the contrivance ; Yet we must turn would we have it ; Even that is not needed : Move then ; that cannot hold it. "If you dance you will need it, Therefore the world doth allow it." Nay, but I need it and dance not. Since it rests with the piper — Who may or may not be moral — Hangs on a hole of his wind-pipes, On my wish to be roasted With over turning, my sound lungs, On a chance of your shoe-strings — Though you'd not ask me to tie them, — Not a whit on my wishes, Feelings, fancies, and so forth : Is it by needs I am needy ? Think if your dinner depended, Not on the cook and the turnspit, VIRTUAL VELOCITIES. But on your deigning to munch it One leg lock'd in the window ! " Nay, but the world has its logic." So forth — Dancing is pleasant : Pleasant things should be proper : Ergo — Embrace when you're dancing. So I — Dancing is proper : Dancing goes by embracement : Therefore — embracement is proper. Which is best you can study. Which is best ! But, believe me, All is good that is honest : Tie the devil and tame him — Yes ; but don't let the children Think you grind with a monkey. All is good that is open : The sun's worst 's browning your faces ? True ! — but it pales your pranking. So is preferr'd by our method What we wear to our persons. Till at last we are out-trick'd By the divineness of custom. VIRTUAL VELOCITIES. 39 Stop ! I stoop to your shoe-string ; Think it little if, kneeling, I dare to kiss what you dance with : While your chaperon shudders, Rounds a lie to her neighbour. Dares deface what we live by. Such is the shift of morals ; I?or your world gives me a sanction, While I bow to its breathing. Clasp your waist for a certain Perfect fulfilment of method. Drop my arm with the music ; Or, given perpetual fiddling. When the ideal condition (Theirs, remember !) of motion Ends. Yet I have sustain'd it By repose, and a prudent Piously framed adaption, Affirmable a fortiori Since it is based on a moral. (Look, there straggles my partner.) Nineteen ? What 's doing to dogma ! ( 40 ) WOUNDED, O HASTY blood ! To suck so soon from off the embitter'd wood The poison of her sweetness. Lo ! I said — 'Tis a small wound, the knife shall pluck it out ; Twas a chance arrow at a roving clout ; Pain is less stiff about a fire-dipt head. O drunkard blood ! To drink so fast as not to taste thy food. 1^0 ! I surmised the poison must have stay'd About its steel, and so cut out my heart To be best rid of both : thus thy false part Hath cost me what might else thy cleansing aid. WOUNDED. M O baleful blood ! Would I had broke the bolt ; yet, as I stood (For so love's darts nor stint nor can increase), I could not. Still, perchance, if it she find Set in my heart, her pity may rebind That in my breast ; and pen it there with peace. ( 42 ) WALLFLOWER. O LIGHT conceived flower, How dost thou bray From stony brick and mortar sour The merry garland of thy pageantry ? Whose roots array Thy velvet brows with their humility, Which to the dull wall showeth How serviceable is his sombre suit As the sweet vestment of thy modesty ; Which, though so mute, Scents about his silence soweth, And doth in frankincense his field repay. Since from the cloak Of thy rough heritage thou hast been shaken, And in her hair, Whose loveliness love's services provoke. WALLFLOWER. 43 Art set ; though of thy season'd use forsaken, Thou shalt find there, Albeit of richness bom. And oftentimes the childless child of scorn, A bower where buds awaken And with weak breasts outsigh Their strength in scents, yet can nor breathe nor die So wrapt in sweetness, but asleep do lie As fainting lihes from their cool bed taken. That languish not forlorn, But in fair fingers furl with ecstasy. Since tkou hast sown This careless wanton where there wants no care, Learn from that fair How brows are noblest which demand no crown To certify A sceptre lies within the further room : Learn from this maid — That dresseth ever tidily Yet seeks no groom. And never mirror had, (Unless, perchance, she see herself in heaven) ; And though as priest array'd. 44 WALLFLOWER. And censer capp'd, a housewife's apron wears, And burns but dust for incense j — how 'tis given To each that bravely bears Her root-built burden to be burdensome For all love's dowers At last to Heaven. Thou, wandering distrest, Sighing for sweets in a wide balm of flowers, Considering come, Sick with thy frolic spent. And this poor peasant like a pale moon prest Within the cirrus of thy stormy hair, To where, rebent From thy rough seizure 'gainst the lonely wall. The meek buds call For eyes to heaven to see how best to mend The desolation their faint pulses felt. And each to other bend To lock some belt Of lustral blossom round their ravish'd brow : Oh, come then, thou, And let dumb night debar The bleating servitors of thy pretence. Set folly far, And custom'd habit plough WALLFLOWER. ^y'lthm that field of poppied indolence, Whence thy real offspring leap Too rank for reaping through grief's strenuous showers, And surfeit sorrows mar What penitential hours Have sown ; Ah, there, alone. Learn thou that solace steep. How sad hearts, driven Out of all comfort, seek their empty star. And to its bosom creep, Set in the subject crevices of heaven. 45 •in ) /'VI.V(7/.;.V .lAVVCA' (^K.l(F SiiMii iiiv I'onlt'iu With any \viiu> <-\iii, if its iliMiij^lil lic> sironi^ j Willi iiiiy .sdliii'i', il lliey hiil sliiiulu'r loii(^ ; Ki'j^iiril iiol, slioiilil llu'v nct'tl iif* niuirisliiiiciii, 'riic> MwiiiiHh lliniiij^, ()llu'ri-i, I'oiilc'iii '\\i wiili'li, iiH xvc, tllc red lof^'s ruin lliilg 'I'Ik' wiiK' riicii ii|i 111 lloal llic I'hc'N lliiil rluiH At IIk' 1"II|i'!) lilll, lO Id Iil'c''H lilllllnlll lie H|IClll Tall' .•iliiiilDw.s liiuliiiiiiH. Alt' ill I'DllU'llI Willi liny tutlmi' lliiil linlli slunihcr in il ; Willi any Hlccp wliiih linlli no ilii'inu lo win ii Utu'.k I'or 11 (liiy'H (U'lirioiiti ildiiiiifnl, TluiUgll Ic'IllM lu'l^iil il, FANCIES AFTER GRACE. 47 O be content With such as are content to be contain'd, And by love's simple sacrament refrain'd From greedy venture, in love's muniment, Where even loss is gain'd. ( 48 y A DOG FOR MANDRAKES. Back, back, back, With a proverb'd catch for a cure, And the shadow again on the track Of the stolen stupified hours, When the bee was asleep in his bowers, And the honey drain'd from the hive. Causeless cunning and craft ; With the careless chart of a child, Our argosy bound to a raft, A pith-clear'd stem for the foe, And the snatch of a song for woe. We are deep — in the ways of fools. A DOG FOR MANDRAKES. 49 Maiden, merry and meek, With the prettiest lips to love, We are witless as well as weak, And there 's half a laugh in a tear. But the sorriest freight is pride. And the saddest at times, I fear. Maiden — and now a bride ; God send you be king and queen Of the mouldering hates that ride On the trailing garments of love, Of the smouldering loves that abide. As the flower-hid pod on the bean. Witless and weak and proud, For we keep our pigs in a sty, And mutter our prayers aloud. But take what comes with a sigh, And a curse half choked in the throat ; 'T least so do the most — not I. O careful mother, beware ! For the man who dies is a lie, And life is the blazon of youth. 50 A DOG FOR MANDRAKES. Strong life, God's gaze ; and a fool Who jests — with a bag of truth — Is lord of the worst he may wear. (But we sneer at a sale to buy.) Sweethearts are sudden and sour : But the sanest solace will pass, For the world is forged in an hour, And half of our gauds are glass ; But the heavens must harden as brass Ere tears can fall in a shower. Some say that you grudged The pearly shrike on the thorn-tree ; With his mimic trick you had smudged A garrulous throat with prattle. (The waif wand goes for the wattle, But that 's no love that has trudged.) Forgive ? At thy soft sweet lips May the rosy chalice of love Be drain'd, at the dregs may it burn not ; Our loves are little, but prove The scorner a fool if he spurn not The red dark moon of eclipse. A DOG FOR MANDRAKES. 51 Our loves are little, but we Are somehow less, and without them Lack even the dainty dress Of the laughing leaves if we doubt them ; Though penury once could flout them — The pollen sticks to the bee. O sanefully stupid mother, You would stuff your pillows with sand ; There is God in the world — and another, And either at your command Some hours ; and then you may smother Your tricks. Do you understand, God in His world ? 'Tis sorry We should pay our tithes into hell ; The wild ass kicks, your worry Was the fiend and the fool as well : Poor mother ! And who can tell The merry oak in a seed ? Oh, but we number Excellent days with a timepiece. And the froward lump of excess A DOG FOR MANDRAKES. Is happy harden'd with gall : — Though the corndrake come to your call, You may cart your leaven as lumber. Sweetheart, endeavour Is the care-bound kernel of life, And bitters the lips, if ever The spent teeth shatter the stone. And dark ears bent to a moan Are stung with the tally of strife. Sweetheart, and never My heart, for to-day you are wed. What strange strings blaze in the web. What quaint hands fall on the lever That spins us on to the dead ! How words burn once — and for ever ! And you have been kiss'd — How often ? The laurels, perhaps, Moon-sick, wonder'd. I miss'd. Thank heaven, the first bright bow ; Bird-bound to plume for a mate ; Some eyes suffice — do you know ? A DOG FOR MANDRAKES. 53 Is it bitter or sweet That I wish you joy from my heart ? I have pass'd from milk unto meat, For your weaning brought me a tooth. The sorb unsnared has its sooth, But lime-touch'd berries are tart. Some flowers are frail With over living, their bells One day drop and bury the bee. So heavy we hang to joy that dwells Behind the forgotten dust, nor see The seed is seal'd if it fail. Ah, love ! the waste Of incense. How the censers burn In the bright suns, the flowers that drench With shaken spousals, ere they earn, The world ; the fruits that quench Only rash lips that dare to taste ! The waste — love's way ; For whispering kisses quicken The smouldering stagnant sweets, 54 A DOG FOR MANDRAKES. And blushes bloom on the peach When spring-stored winds into each The scattered scents repay. The horses' clatter, And the dark bright sky on the road In the watery ruts, by the black Hedge-rows, and you a ghost) — In the white thick breath you were lost, And laugh'd and loved as we rode. Purple and amber : (Thank God for a joy — and lose it). So close in the warm white mist, (We are froward or fools as we choose it). And a small stray hand that I kiss'd. (No heaven, but men will abuse it, And curse and call as they clamber.) Swift through the pale sky The heavy-wing'd bats were sweeping As we raced along, and the hoofs Struck the world from beneath us ; The glittering road that, creeping, Climb'd by the hill to the sky. A DOG FOR MANDRAKES. The soft clear face, As you bent forward and turn'd With one low laugh, as we fled From the wild joy racing behind In the eddying curling wind That snatch'd loose drifts from your hair. A low deep laugh That dropt out quite unaware. With half a sob from your breast, A sweet span out of the air That heavy with ecstasy press'd After, and circled us where The grim dark gates Of the park made us rein, and halt : You held the bridle, your chin Proudly fallen with faint False breath and the thrill that awaits Shade-dim for a touch to paint. The avenue down by the lake : One arm that had bound your waist As you bent above me and kiss'd 56 A DOG FOR MANDRAKES. The madness out of my face With sweetest daintiest grace, That found excuse for its haste In the thousand loves you had miss'd Before it had cared to awake. So sweet, so shy : — But all the world is a whirl, And only an eddying eye With a wild froth rim for rest, And a moss-marr'd stone for a zest : — I once had given for a curl That slept and sang In the little maelstrom of gold That snares the fisherman's boat From the murmuring nets to float In the giddy quiet that rang His doom far down on the rocks : — Had given — (and yet we are mould To be dug, or clay To be baked — as is best — for a brick, A DOG FOR MANDRAKES. 57 Or squeezed that a man may pray, Be better'd perhaps). Do we pick From the cupel, or her, worse pay Who is queen by the gold of her locks. Be wary of worth ; For the moonlight 's not of the moon, But only a smile of the earth That lightens a face in the sky, Which is dark again at her sigh. And buried in blood by her swoon. Yet pray for a need, And clamber out to the brink Of the meanest ledge for a view : Be drunk, be dress' d — as you think — With a hive to a brook for mead, As a dog that rolls in the dew. ( ss ) A REVISED NEGATIVE. Ah, this poor art, Sweet heart ! Our Hves are so encumber'd with derision, So stabb'd with petty griefs, Stretch'd out with stray beliefs. Hangs now no part But fears discision. Chance swings us to And fro ; A hailstone's torment 'twixt its clouds of thunder : Is't for earth's weal we range ? Or, charged so wild with change, Distracted sow The skies with wonder ? A REVISED NEGATIVE. 59 Ah, this poor style, Awhile With feint knits warier web than hungry spider ; Plays by the heart 'twould thrust, Fears most from blood its rust ; Sets with your smile World troubles wider. Those whom herbs feast Can least Be let affirm ; Sunbeams the flowers of boughs aie : Yet so such swear as sneeze, Snout trapp'd in sunny trees ; For aught than beast Annoys the browser. Could this poor farce, Alas! This wordy calyx which thy wealth encloses, Be poppy-cast, and shown How thy pale brows alone Do far outpass The world's wild roses ; 6o A REVISED NEGATIVE. Some seeing heaven's bread Might dread Themselves so fill'd, but more heaven's brood would scoff at, Fill'd thus as they ; would call Themselves, then nought, then all Gods, and last spread The toad as prophet. Hence this poor art's Way parts Thy scarce-known self; hedging with rites, lustrations, Souls which about thy feet Feel, joy brimm'd, faintly beat Thy far sweet heart's Forgot vibrations. ( 6i ) OR? " Oh ! is it best To be born on the hill, in the hollow ? To be woo'd as a dove by the nest Or to kiss in the air as the swallow ? In fire to be drest As the waste corn rose, or to gather The rain's gold over a stone ? Store sweets for a fool, or rather Die last a drone ? " For a turn of the glass To curdle the heavens with singing. Or chirrup a tale to the grass? To sniff at the spear-storm's flinging. Or eat with the ass ? 62 OR ? Is the thistle's throat scaled for splendour ? The thistle seed wing'd for a bird ? Are the world's prayers potent to mend her — If overheard ? " Speak, speak, are we meant To follow the fierce sun's flouting, Or the sweet shade stitch for a scent ? Is the pansy express'd by pouting ? Is the fruit but lent. And the fruit-flower given ? And wherefore ? " Dear heart, were the world but a word 'T would be lost on your hps ; and therefore The rest is absurd. ( 63 ) DISPOSAL. A WATCHER once (I had aspired To show why deeds the man excel) Proposed to conjure, if desired, Such sprites as might the mystery spell. And then unfolded he with care My motives all — a sickly sight ; He laugh'd, and said 'twas well 'twas rare They thus were treated to the light. I thought so, thank'd him, and my meeds, Refolded, set again in store, To float some other dole of deeds. Pious and useful as before. 64 DISPOSAL. Parting, I asked, how from our hand Good deeds could come on such vile hope ; The watcher made me understand It was with angels they elope. ( 6s ) MAVIS AND LAVROCK. " The spring's breath sprang From the choked earth up to the bare elm's throat, As though among the bursting buds it pleaded That from its joy the words joy needed Out of life's forge should be smote. Till each dumb bud, unbroke, Sigh'd for a leafy tongue to clap at heaven. And their hearts' husky cloak Shook with a still-born song ; as, silence riven, For the hand's torment wail in winds that wither Wind harps unheeded ; — So I sang." The lark said, bent To check his gulping throat against the ground, " I sudden found A voice above me crying, ' Come up hither,' — So I went." F ( 66 LOVE AT SIGHT. So you think it rash, Youth astare ? Sudden love is trash, Bubbled air ? Bargains, ere it buy, Love, if true? Silly pipit, I ; She — cuckoo ? Be it. But a fool By his churn Sends the world to school, So you learn. LOVE AT SIGHT. 67 " What her bait ? " Betroth Love and sense ! Wine-fires flame in froth, Fables fence Wisdom's point. Concede Powers to power ; Sweets or dust that lead Bee to flower ? So work 's done. You stare — What has she ? Close-lipp'd flowers are bare, Little bee. Till you press them ; scent Destitute Till you kiss them ; pent They are mute Till you whisper. Sit ! You shall see Fools forsake their wit To be free. 68 LOVE AT SIGHT. Not a secret sweet, Not a care ; Passion none to greet, Not a prayer ; Never dreamed smile In her face ; Gleam of honest guile — Not a trace ; Pleasures there outlaw Beauty's taint ; Priceless by its flaw, 'Tis a feint To beguile astray Through a maze Eyes her heart might slay By its blaze. Nothing wise to wield, Nothing rare ; Gold she has — but seal'd In her hair. LOVE AT SIGHT. 69 Nought her mouth to miss, For threads spun There to trap a kiss Ask but one. Never promised feet Less, or more Servitude complete Ever swore. Eyes so subtly frank'd Never spoke, Yet their own lids thank'd That they woke. " Still you love her ! " Why ? She has heard Ere my lips can try At a word. Of all flowers defied She alone To my first look cried — " I have known ! " ( 70 ) RUST OF GOLD. Oh, look no more ! I left A quiet sanctuary for thy breast, Fair kindred riches garner'd in a cleft The world trips over ; taking sweets for rest Am now of all bereft. Oh, laugh no more ! I heard Far tales of silence shapen by the wind ; Content contain'd me, while its cest conferr'd Childright on things to be of open mind ; Now — never sings a bird. Oh, speak no more ! I found Wide margins in my living to annote. Strange words to table, errors to abound, Still hymns that took their shriving at my rote,- Thou dost its strings confound. RUST OF GOLD. 71 Oh, sigh no more ! I spent Treasures on trouble, graces to attest The frozen error of accomplishment In a too weak design ; I am confest In that I dared content Oh, sing no more ! I lie — A drift boat torn from sleepy harbouring ; Lost bar beats dull mine ears, sea crows deny Me loneliness : through hollow surges swing Long echoes endlessly. Oh, claim no more ! I slipt More than I valued ; is it just to ask Thy harm from me whose shrine-pluckt gold outdipp'd Thy glave's sweet insolence ? Fret not to task Thy taste where fools have sipp'd. Oh, think no more ! Base thoughts Do rob the world of its community ; If thou hast better — be them : all the droughts Of fortune have a fashion'd sanctity ; Preserve it in her courts. 72 RUST OF GOLD. Oh, steal no more ! Disguise Never trick'd true maid : sample-school thy sense To mete thy sober lips ; light-latched eyes Do lack the worth of open violence, — Loss-lazy, scathe surprise. Oh, scoff no more ! Contempt Fathers no good, and is the stock of fools : Manners are by persuasion rudely kempt ; Should rule, yet may be ruled : think not stools Are from hid roots exempt. Oh, scorn no more ! Rough use Scrapes in the gutter ; be a colander To thy best actions, season thine abuse With what thou find'st there : learn the fruit's transfer- Sweeten with suns thy juice. Oh, gaze no more ! I pass'd Thy pole with palsied palpitant return As the poised magnet, though thou didst contrast Thy power with distance : there are stays as stern. Claim not a realm too vast. RUST OF GOLD. 73 Prove me no more ! I come Upon a kneeling sad audaciousness ; I sheaPd thy smiles, oh, bring my harvest home, And stack my service in thy breast, to dress With sunbeams for a comb. ( 74 ) ON A DEAD FIELD MOUSE. FOR A CHILD. Crept away, Out of the strength of the day, Back from the eyes of his friends, Into God's gloom, for He lends The shady docks for a cloak To the weary pastureless eyes, Lidded at last with a tear, Of His fainting field folk. Into God's gloom, and, perhaps, Into His light, who knows — Wide as the wise world goes, ON A DEAD FIELD MOUSE. 75 Fearing not to be shod — If that a mousie's heaven Be not the end of his woes In a glance from the Eyes of God ? ( 76 ) HYSTRIX VIATOR. To every singer a seat ? It is nothing to me, That have lived so long with the foxes, what you may offer; You may take my crook for a crosier, croft for a see ; Though the rabbit burrows are warm, your ferret 's a scoffer At vested rights, and derides primo-genitura : I have but sung for the song ; you may start a pension For_ spade-cut worms, though I'd swear, were I one, it were surer Policy never to dig, though penury come of abstention. Find if what you can give be worthy the halving. Or if the world deserve a table of shewbread, Then let us feast — for know, to men who are starving. Half of your tiny loaf 's not better than no bread. HYSTRIX VIATOR. 77 But to be frank, I'll own, I've envied the painter Just one portrait — of you ; he'll stare at the stricture Likely enough, and the reason to you may be quainter — This, that he 's able to say : " She sat for her picture." Not that I envy him you, but the quiet : where I have stumbled, Thank'd rough ways they were slow, he stood on a dais : Watch'd you walk in the marble, where I have fumbled To stay your steps by a pool. Oh, grant that the pay is Poor for the poet, though he can paint on a second. If he must do so ever : reflect that his colour Kindles but once; that, once though his mistress beckon'd, Never she sings from his walls. Believe it is duller Sitting here with a ghost ; and it might be fitter If you sat to the poet and stood for the draughtsman ; If he is worth his wage how wants he a sitter : Set us alone, and come to the cunninger craftsman. 78 HYSTRIX VIATOR. Let him alone ; so just may his banishment be If he paint you ill, beneath your brows let him try The tide-turn'd eddies that eye a ruffled sea With restlessly islanded tear-dropt pools of the sky. Yet he can paint a sigh, a sigh that was stifled Two years back, and all the world can applaud it : Ay ! but, if he be true, the lie that has trifled Half life hopeless equally goes to the audit. Other with us ; and the price kept back is to purchase Sight for a fool : though paltry vices are flitting, Virtues stick to the coat as seeds in a bur chase ; Would you be painted whole? — then grant me a sitting. What do you think he'd paint from my memoranda ; Some half hour in a week, and dear with its duty — All a village of eyes ? Be kind in your candour — How does he pay a preventive charge on your beauty ? So be just to us both, and dare me to barter This thin inch of a hill for brushes and palette : What if I ask'd for a red kiss'd seal to the charter ; Could jctfz< retort I had crush'd love's rue with a mallet ? HYSTRIX VIATOR. yg So, as I said, I care not now to be seated ; Give me the open road, and step it beside me : Half of our life is a laugh that is half completed, Half sigh'd out for a sob. But the moles deride me ; Yet, being mope-eyed, doubt me not but I'll king it Over them yet, and into them sense with a blow dent ; Colony omnivorous, any corpse you may fling it Quick disappears. Don't say I'm wrath with a rodent. ( 8o ) ER YTHEIA. Though here I own A thousand servants — yet myself do greet thee ; A thousand tongues — yet doth but one entreat thee ; Nor can the ever-climbing world o'er-seat thee — With thy behaviour for a throne. Though thou didst own A thousand pilfer'd hearts thou couldst not sway them With one cold breath, nor with one fear wouldst fray them : All graces scorning thou dost best obey them — Taking their shoulders for a throne. ( 8i ) WATER COLOUR. As when the sea, Lying asleep, doth all the great sun mesh — So is her face ; and as the wind may thresh Him to a thousand stars, to set the zest Of heaven upon each light wave's lifting breast, And with sweet innocence of conscious guile Give each a thought co-equal with the sky — So doth her smile, By merismatic thrift, a past deny ; Yet more by change affirms its constancy. As when the lake Doubles the eve-dimm'd mask of margin towers By their own semblance in her face, unchidden E'en at the shore, by any silver flake ; G 82 WATER COLOUR. Set in wild glory by the west hills hidden, And in fair beauties drest by their fresh bowers — So is her speech : and as the wind may drift A sudden sombre fancy through the spires Built by its silence, and in purple rift Sow the still east among the western fires, Wetting each wavelet with a double face, — So her laugh hires Both day and night, to break with pregnant grace Her tongue's pretence ; yet makes such rifts the wires That sing her faith in sounder masonry. ( 83 ) ENDOR. " Blow ! my beloved, Blow on my garden, Blow out its spices." My love is a garden, A garden of spices Wall'd in the wilderness. I am the north wind. With wings sand heavy, Dry fire of frenzy Wreathed for my hair-bands ; My feet behind me. My love is enclosed : Her cheeks as apples, Her breath as melilot 84 EN DOR. Moor'd by the waste wall, Her breasts as beacons, Her eyes as the lotus. I am the desert wind Under her grape hung Shelterings shardborne ; With fierce wings flatten'd Over the sand-storm. O my espoused, Breathe in thy garden, Thy well-fiU'd garden. Thy garden of spices : Breathe till its lilies Are lost in sweetness, Till the pomegranates Over the wall edge Droop with thy savours : Breathe till its spices Flow out upon me. ( 85 ) GROPE RS. O LISTEN, and leave Their careful amiable craft, (For we spin asleep on a needle, And hum in the jostling airs A song that has slept in the sleave) ; What hale have they by the haft, That now they have fail'd to wheedle Roar all like bears ? O listen, and leave The wallet behind, let it plead, Which, all too rich to be ask'd thee, (Need-heavy we stint our loves) Lacks worth as thine till I thieve : Shall we, when they with a weed Have mew'd thy love and have mask'd thee, Mourn sore like doves ? ( 86 ) RED HONEY. There is a well of love ! Wherein a man may root his favourite flower, Thinking that there it must receive more dower Than from still dews above. (I once in such a well Dropt a small seed which hath my fountain slain, Torn down its stones, out-choked my garden's gain : Left me nor dress nor dell.) There is a tide in love ! Fining wide docks to float close argosies When far the flat beach creeps above the seas. And thin the shore waves rove. RED HONEY. 87 (I once from one warm tide Stay'd a small pool ; yet, past the late sun creeping, Found it stone-chill'd, wind-bitter ; so that, weeping, I had lain there, and died.) Yet think of love no wrong ! It doth great ventures float, dry deserts slake, Hideth hell's roots, will tearful troubles rake Into one icy pool ; yet bear its ache — For death is not more strong. A SONG OF SPITE. Curse on their tricks Tliat neither yearn nor learn, And chase cheap quiet from the world with sticks ; Taking for grapes their gall. Curse on them all ! Curse on each maid That doth contrive to hive The world's sweet baits for honey ; fancy fray'd, Thinking such staleness small. Curse on them all ! Curse on each heart Aught of whose beats repeats, Forelent by fashion ; or is let as mart Where painted patchocks brawl, Curse on them all ! A SONG OF SPITE. 89 Curse on each face That will not brook a look ; And is disdainful to the soiled grace God binds on some that crawl. Curse on them all ! Curse on each feint That fears to task its mask By honest feeling ; is content — constraint ■\Vill earn the seventh year's awl. Curse on them all ! Curse on each fool AVho thinks all wine divine That 's kneeling drunk ; yet blinks the chaliced pool AVhere all the heaven 's at call. Curse on them all ! Curse on each dame That, hiding loss by dross, Sets shields with stony eyes of burnish'd shame : Making sweet peace a pall. Curse on them all ! go A SONG OF SPITE. Curse on such eyes As do propose a rose To their slow cheeks, and duplicate surprise To suit this slavish ball. Curse on them all ! Curse on such lips As love aware to snare : Surround weak vows and vacant fellowships ; Yet at love's surfeits bawl. Curse on them all ! Curse on such tears As do traduce the use And worth of grief; making their sorrows shears To trim a slothful wall. Curse orj them all ! Curse on disguise : All masquerade that 's paid By the world's farthing, not at the still skies ; Flaunting a fatuous fall. Curse on it all ! A SONG OF SPITE. 91 Curse on night birds That, swearing light 's a spite, No real thing — to their blind eyes with beak'd words Tie all the world in thrall. Curse on them all ! Curse on such love As doth not blind the mind, Rough-riot with its reins, rave in its grove, Feast fancies in its hall. Curse on it all ! My curse on thee Whose shifting fires conspire To make my living so accursed be — (Sighs are too swift to scrawl, I curse them all). ( 92 ) FRAG I LIS FRAG ARIA VESCA. Upon my bed The sky look'd down, where fools had overrun ; And to me said, " There comes the sun To seek for fruits ; how will he find all fled ? " Upon my breast The sun look'd down, fruit-bare from April's gust ; To find my best Outspilt in dust Whereon men's feet had gone ; all pluckt the rest. Upon my heart His heart look'd down ; and found one faltering flake Left in love's mart ; And for its sake Stay'd ; till his solace, stol'n about my smart. FRAGILIS FRAGARIA VESCA. 93 Upon my breast Laid the late fruit ; yet came he not to taste, But from his west Said, " Store thy waste, Life's gold is good." But I thought his the best. ( 94 ) SEA SOLACE. Even so, old Sea ! Though it be but a lip's length nearer held to thy love, And so thou hast shaken thy bed a thousand times ; Shaken, and struggled, and shrunken, and she has pass'd on. Yet they tell me, Sea, You and she will pass together, your faces, One long honeymoon, smiling each, till the ages Dry you oif from the shrivelled face of the world. So, with hope, O Sea ; Since I have shifted and wash'd a stony pillow, O'er-strode my weary seas, myself to attend her ; Some far month we may pass and promise, together. ( 95 ) REMINISCENCES. This— all that I remember of the maid. Red lips that had surrender'd back their bliss And did refer your question to her eyes, Which wonder'd at your waiting— where surprise And pity quarrell'd — wonder'd, yet forbade A kiss. This also — wellaway ! nought worthier left. How having waited, feigning to assess My folly by their beauty, till they fell : — The porter deaf, I dared to scorn the bell. Her answer after insult of such theft Was — yes ! ( 96 ) THE FIRST FOOLING. " Forbear ! forbear ! Thy service 'tis she claims — not thee ; Priests are but dear To witness her divinity. Are you content, contentedly " To twist the night Tail-hung about thy polar star In dumb delight ; Thy foot-free brother mild to mar, The curling curious dragon far ? " To tell the hours Counted in shadow by her smile, And let the showers Her blushes from the seas beguile Wash wantonly the shadeless dial ? THE FIRST FOOLING. 97 " To be the share So often changed to suit her breast, And waste with wear In wet-held furrows, though thy zest Of stony labour gapes unblest ? " The pinched flower Which waits upon the bee for bliss, And yields its bower. By such sweet force constrain'd, to miss The honey cloistress in her kiss ? " The bird that seeks His dryad prison'd in the tree, Whose bill bespeaks His crazy laughter — •' Seemlessly Wanders rash love with constancy ? ' " Yea all ! and more : Such entertainment hold her eyes. Such seal of store ; Prevision struggling with surprise, H THE FIRST FOOLING. And love with lore Of maiden fancies rough in guise Of crystal surety, lost — as lies The gold in ore. To touch and taste, Or at the brim to spill the wine, Or with stiff eyes which sightless turn, ^ Or, surfeit sicken'd, sight to spurn, Or to drink drunk be most divine. Or each but waste, I know not : let deep odour burn Purpose or peace into our brain ; If loss be law — law-bound we gain By losing ; so, till logic turn Diamonds to paste. Let us be rich, to squander ; void, to learn ; And young, to ha,ste. (My folly sit Upon my shoulder.) Listen ! we are mad ! We clasp your claim to sottish sanity ; Muffle your ears — those bells — and get you clad. In the first feint that tricks your vanity. THE FIRST FOOLING. (My love, the world Is old j so old and strain'd, it might be wise : And we, we wane so soon, we wear so ill ; Forgive me if I fail, I fear to fill My fathom'd frailty, — and with tears your eyes. Listen ! we must fade ; Our gain and loss is losing ; we are set — No incense-swinging musk-seed, nor the sedge That works sweet singing in the wind, nor yet A poppy born to burn a barren ledge. My love, the world is deep With buried resolutions of the dead ; Swallow not all the virtues in thy greed, Nor shame thy soul with loud unlimited Cheap promise, lined with fitfulness of deed.) Is there no suppliant's moon. Or does it lack a sweet to be compared ? Or is unwed and wailing love too rough, Too bitter for its beauty, while the cuff Of callous eyes still staggers and is dared ? THE FIRST FOOLING. Is there no moon to hear The lover grown to wisdom at a frown. Or fools set to wise folly by a smile, The sluggard for a glove that pants a mile, Or the sad soul which stores where it has sown ? Stubble and strife for a song, For faith to feed on though she fear her meals. Dew-dazzled eyes that smile the constancy Of wave-waif purpose in the broken wheels Of a wild rainbow on a weary sea. The vow which rests or reels Upon a varied colour of content, Catching the sham concurrence of its fears. In a blind cupboard broods upon its bent, Nor dares to whisper, dreading most its ears. Halcyone ! To weave Warp'd thorns with bleeding hands, to rest a brood Of sick unquiet thoughts in downy nest ; Held by their hovering mother with sweet food ; Though their dark boat, gilt by the golden west. THE FIRST FOOLING. loi Wanders across the wave To silver its sharp brambles in the moon ; While their kiss'd hunger, wondering for the mom, Through the soft midnight of a quiet June Hears the far shore trees chatter at the dawn. Halcyone, I built On darker deeper water than the sea. And, oh ! more changeable : beach-bound I wed The softest snowiest sea-bkd ; wofuUy, In thy blue eyes, I watch'd the restless bed Of their swift children ; — Pardon'd the pooling clouds for that deep shift Of darkness on their azure ; — watch'd them die. Poor drench'd drown'd babies ; gave them shrift, Brief, tearless, and myself the wise old lie — The moon 's not worth a tear : Yet he 's a fool that weeps where he may have, And all the moon 's more kind for our desires, Whose tears cement the scanty stones which pave The way to find such bliss as fancy hires. i2 THE FIRST FOOLING. At evening all return. Then, at the cliff edge, on the thymy turf, With wild flax flowers to play the wild blue eyes Which had as brief a brilliance, and the surf, The gravel-grinding wisdom of the wise, Wise world of fools Some hundred feet below ; with helmet dipp'd In flower-press'd oil of age, and captive cows So meek to the great field ; — the long low-lipp'd Gold furrows trending past the sea-bent boughs — To sow the old fierce crop : To watch the fearful earth, and fear no more The war-god's garden, till his warriors piece By bits to flowers which sow the quiet floor ; The hedge-hung bedstraws from a golden fleece Drop into sweetness, And moralizing as a housewife's tongue After the mischief; till the droning beach Is sharp with children, while the mists are hung In pendent parcels with a sun in each. THE FIRST FOOLING. 103 Through their thin fires, my love ! Comes with white arms, and wistful eyes that fill A cuckoo-voided nest, nor vies lost bliss. Though all the mom-mad singing hills are still, Closed in the curious cadence of a kiss. My love, the world sinks out, Past thy dark glory steals itself, and we. With all things won, can pardon it the theft Which, taking all, gains nothing, and is reft From that wise waste that fathers ecstasy. I had no wings To suck sunk sweets behind the sailing ships. To shirk stray shots, or gulp the barbed meats Of treachery ; I loved thy boisterous lips For that school'd quiet their contempt estreats. The world sinks out in dreams Which have distorted all my teaching sprites. And I am lesson'd by thy laughing eyes To doubt all darkness past those dripping lights That haze with golden wires their own disguise. I04 THE FIRST FOOLING. All bent is bound ; the very winds but free To whisper secresy Which hymns their servitude : where white birds comb Their feathers in the flecking of the sea, The pale waves shiver, and way-lost do roam. And dream on constancy to give their crests. Blue-vein' d, to deck thy breasts. A wide confusion to the foolish law, Self-sentinell'd, thy quiet eyes have swept. Which all the treasure of men's sight had kept Outguarded by the half of that they saw : Thine eyelids weave a silken consolation For the rich heavens they close. While silence parts thy lips, in love's vacation, As languor folds waved petals to a widening rose. ( 105 ) SKETCHES FOR A FACE. With sweet head daintily set. As a cluster of pale pink heather With frail bells folded together And weighed above by the wet. Or the tender-throated flower That flaunts with its foamy face And dreamily delicate grace The open sky for an hour. Poppy leaf, laughter choked ; And dew distrest as the daisy, Shy of the dawn, or lazy ; The eyes of her : yet provoked — io6 SKETCHES FOR A FACE. Violet, shower encaged, Stabbing the shade with its scent ; Or the rainbow's foot where it leant On the slate ledge, tearfully aged : Or kind— as the cloud-pool'd fire Of blue sky hid by the hail, That burns through an icy wire Its virgin heart in a veil. ( 107 ) CHANGE. So the burnt fly — With gauze wings scorched, Wits not his wounding : On the white table Plumes for his future Flights and forgettings : Finds he is wingless. So the lover — Burnt in the first flame Breaking his midnight, Feels but his shoulders Lighter and lifeless : In the white desert, io8 CHANGE. With shock'd eyes, timid, With stern lips, proudly Comes to the battle : Finds he is loveless. So the maiden — With light eyes, careless, Plays with the hot flame, Fools in the fire globe. Circles it, snatches A quick doom : hopeless. On the white cover Shrouding the coltish Excalefactions, Dreams of a calm life, Order'd orations For the quick love words. Orderly duties Grafted on passion's Briar : — and waking Finds the world worthless. ( I09 ) BEACH BOUND. By the swish and surl of the sea, Swung from the bed of the slumberous sons of storm, Swayingly, soothingly kissing a dimpled hand Lazily loved, through the languorous length of a day Coquetting with the simple snowy sand. Laying a fringe of crystal about her throat, Tremulous over her breast in a veil of blue Chased with the running waves and fretted with silver spray. Or shaken into a garment of liquid gold By little rocking ripples in the bay. ( iio ) THE HOUSE PORCH. Take my report — I have had teaching, do not sport Thy love too largely, love must fast If it would last. Nor fast too late — Untold, unseen, it fails to wait A whole moon painted from the sky Ere it wilWie, If love be long 'Tis level, but 'tis short if strong : Some think for both — yet such are brave Who either have. THE HOUSE PORCH. Hold no intent To waste thy love with argument, All things have reason could we read ; Nurse not thy need ; Nor raise a roof Till the top story : pick out proof From the dreg's drift ; unsoothed surprise Oft clears the eyes. Be not direct In service, but be circumspect : Too gross expenditure doth prove No wealth in love. Do not allow Too base a contrast ; shifts avow Mere poverty : though the world be wide- Look where you hide. W-ho bids his life For thine rates thee not low ; be wife To him whose virtues pay him worst, So art thou first THE HOUSE PORCH. Virtue's reward, Hence virtue ; and the boon will guard His loyalty leaguer'd by surprise : Waste not thine eyes, Nor think thy grace Doth plant fresh flowers in his face. But plucks them, making such appear As erst were there : Thou mayst contrive Confess'd incitement in thy hive As drives him out for honey, or Canst waste his store, Being ill content At the far carriage which hath spent Its sweetness : yet he went thus wide Half deified By his slow wit Which scorn'd the common, would not sit Where flies had stolen, so his mart Show'd a right heart. THE HOUSE PORCH. 113 Should sick love come, Part cured, to tenant his old home, He'll find, dust-dark, old ways forgot — Ah, chance it not ! Nought is more sad Than sought lost wings, with shoulders mad For flight; burnt fly, clipp'd bird, strain'd zest To warm a breast Once white with flame : To see lost magic, note the aim Where once we felt the arrow, glime — Where once the rime Of suns that lit On lifting lashes made us sit Betray'd by the fine love that fail'd Most, unassail'd. Ah, chance it not ! Tread kindly here, we rest on rot That 's stablest : may our scantlets sewn Some pattern own. I 114 THE HOUSE PORCH. Faint love enforce, By lever'd grace of intercourse, With final note — thy pressure's power Must lift or lower (As lies its scroll) His twisted tether ; yet the toll Of stiff screws either way is weight, And doth rebate Love, all whose stress Is but its own magneticness Charm'd steel to stir, that doth entice Nought by device. Breathe not the scorn Thy neighbour stirs ; who plucks the thorn Must be most gentle in his mood ; Aught rift is rude. Do not as^y Thy jewels for men's doubts, prepay Too pert perception with a smile ; Doubt is a file THE HOUSE PORCH. 115 Which frets to free Much that 's best prisoned ; could we see We might be brave, bHndfold we fear Aught that we hear. Scorn not the change Of common intercourse, his range Who bids but gold is rather hurt Than by some dirt Would be his purse ; Small sellers must his views reverse, And eye the coin's extravagance And him askance : Who knows his gold, Knows its exchange, and has it told In silver ; finding nought is paid, And few deeds weigh'd By their intent. That nakedness doth represent A rank immodesty to most. And morals boast ii6 THE HOUSE PORCH. Still by the hand ; So rather risks a reprimand For dross (but shows by stint his store), Than sets the door Of coinage wide. Yet hoarded gold doth lack, beside The constant copper, use to grace Its careless face. Oh, shun dumb eyes ; Lips speak constraint, and music lies Not throat-bound ; he no whisper hears Who has but ears : All sight must be Indictable transparency That solely sees, and stark doth wait To judge our gait. Wear the world's shield With difference ; its glutted field Is but impaled simplicity, Whose gain may be, THE HOUSE PORCH. 117 By quartering, Adverse to honour : set a wing As thy pretence, so 'twill appear How thou art heir. Tih not with truth. Nor sally for split spears, thy youth Most fits with some unhomed crest To work its zest : Strike down disguise, And wear thy heart wide as thine eyes ; Who knows his reason holds a reed Which tries each deed By its content ; And may defer his measurement In scorn, yet wound the world less deep Than he whose keep Prisons weak sprites With double bar, and who indites But pious scroll across his gates To face the fates. ii8 THE HOUSE PORCH. Thy feeding must Be daily pluck'd ; night fancies fust ; Food soonest from the sky-based pales The sooner stales : All heaven's best bread Is tasteless when its dews are dead, Must be pick'd stooping, though the kine Lick leaves to dine : Yet 'twill endure, Kept by its heavenly habit pure. Days it may not be gathered ; still Eat out thy fill ; If thou hast more Helping than hunger — 'twill not store ; If thou hast less 'twill yet suffice ; Its ends are nice Unto our needs ; So that he only lacks who reads Man's measure in God's boon, and eats Worms for His meats. THE HOUSE PORCH. 119 Yet boast not trust, Who trusteth most, sees nought ; he must Who trusteth best see all. Faith mocks At paradox : Men with shut eyes Eat beetles — but lose paradise : 'Tis best, though close, to cleanly dine, With sight for wine. Oblivion keeps But brief eclipse, and he who sleeps Is only happy as his dream. So rather seem Than be express To revel in forgetfulness ; Rash confidences simply own As thy friend's loan. In short, be brave In thy behaviour ; drought ne'er gave Green pasture ; be content with worth — All else is earth. ( I20 ) RED POPPIES AND PATIENCE. The light in the Metropolitan Railway is often only sufficient to make darkness visible. — Daily Paper. Hats are being worn this spring with extremely wide brims. — Weekly Paper. Since all my day is here Hung in Love's hemisphere, Yet with eclipses drear Tunnel enshrouded ; Why should his eyes be held Hatefully shadow-dell' d, Hermit was never cell'd Closelier clouded. Is it intentional, Cosmic, conventional. Proud or preventional Custom to wear it RED POPPIES AND PATIENCE. Wide brimm'd to visor love Veil'd by the light above, Sweets in a shroud to glove ; What can endear it ? And to you (since to me Dear 'tis from company ;) All alone, not to see By its adjacents — ■ Arch'd by a blush : Per fess ; Argent, two mounds in tress ; Gules, with a rose at guess : — Poppies and Patience. * » * » Since you complain of it, Heralds disdain of it ; Who had the gain of it, Sweet interloper ? Yet, were I guiltily False, let the blazon be Full, and the charges three — All proper. ( 122 ) DYNAMICS OF A PARTICLE. My love came back to me — Across the circle of the shallow city, Having conform'd a week to its decree ; From its blunt beggary, from its stupid pity. Came back to me. Like the dark evening cloud with cold rim golden. That folds a fretted shield across the sea To dupe its waves, but, where by none beholden, Comes back heaven-free. With her burst breast, and moist hair torn, and scatter'd About the lips that joust with calumny ; The sad sweet lips that never scorn'd nor flatter'd Come back to me DYNAMICS OF A PARTICLE. 123 To taste life's tears, joy, patience, labour, sorrow. All youth's mistakes, all deep love's ministry ; Themselves the shrine I once was wont to borrow, Come back to me Doubly her own ; by worship consecrated A rosy altar never fire free ; Though the world's fondlings, by its gloom belated. Come out to me To mimic in Love's grove their love's disaster ; Then, mask-enamour'd, back to prudery Buzz, to corrupt their canker'd sores with plaster ; Leaving to me The white-Umb'd love, their gaping eyes have hidden, That binds close lashes on mock modesty ; When by their mewling murmurs unforbidden. My love comes back to me. My love came back to me — Her fair hair hid, her sweet throat lock'd, her feature Falsed by fool's fashion ; she, that fearlessly Had link'd the meanest thing in arm to teach her, Came back to me 124 DYNAMICS OF A PARTICLE. With wild eyes watchful, where before love's graver Had charged in azure field his fantasy, Where passion's light and laughter strove for favour, — Came back to me Soft with strange patience, mild in the endeavour To partner with all sorrow, heedlessly The boat of phantoms, though anon as ever Comes back for me The wild girl-innocence with its mystic science. The counterlight of stiff philosophy ; Since it denies a sediment compliance : (Come back to me) As though her eyes had known all hearts, had, haunting. The nether springs of purpose, got the key To fancy, folly, fury ; yet unvaunting Comes back to me. From the lost lap of love to lift the magnet That corners the straight sunbeams ; by the sea To hold God's fishes only fill the drag-net : At last with me DYNAMICS OF A PARTICLE. 125 To chance the disregard of fools, and leaven Their saltless salve of suitability ; With all the world sun-drown'd since from her heaven My love came down to me. ( 126 ) AN APOLOGY. Twine simple flowers to sanction simple brows ; The daisy queens it over subjects sweetest ; Faith's eye that still love's aureoled ring allows Is the completest. That sun theft now is scorned, none dares to fee Heaven's gold to freak our rain-cloud — or to flout it : Yet miser-minting was't when there could be No saint without it. Few, since all vines to avouch dull labour's vat Are stript, wit what its ferments faith's entail owe ; And most suppose mere pushing back their hat Will bring a halo. AN APOLOGY. 127 Though otherwise, I lack the blush-born sense, That dreads its comfort, of your rose-bit rabies ; Yet, no hedge-simpler, keep fool's reverence For birds and babies. So serve, if serve you can, your daisy queen. And pray heaven's meads to send you daisies plenty. Nor fret, though I prefer to sweet seventeen — Frank four and twenty. Twine simple speech, and simple sounds compose. For virtue's nescience oft can best deter vice ; Her sea-drest sister grants the red corn rose Ecstatic service. ( 128 ) EROS TO MINERVA. Thy poor disciples toil With engines rude to hear the fly's foot fall, To moor within a void the alter'd voice, Nor heed they, planning shifts to call Rejoice ! So swift about the world, what lack Have they that make, not words anew, but ways (Pain finding still its place on pleasure's back,) To fill the earth-hid half of others' days With what is less their life, unshown. Than the slug's back cold till he sees the snail ; And whose short ken Doth hail As blessing aught- if 'twas before unknown. And past all wit can praise As good for mountains what proves bad for men. EROS TO MINERVA. 129 Go, bid them spoil Their clumsy craft. This poor artificer, Who has with me a bare month work'd, can tell Amid a thousand flutes the pipe of her Who spends his toil : Beside the clang-rock'd steeples hear the bell, To all else mute, That calls the prayer of its one worshipper Into the little chapel destitute. Where the sacristan is the sermoner. Her foot's light fear (Which the deep-buried bee but knew By its crisp stroke against the scatter'd dew). From faith-fast ear Can, on his wild heart thrown Clear as a charging army's trumpeter. Check it to stone. Nor need he own Or case Or casket to control her tongue — Whose name is called Across the stretching ears. That ever listening flit On dainty elves between the golden cups 130 EROS TO MINERVA. Which, sacrificial, to the sun's desire Present the pale wine of the white moon's tears ; (Whereon with heavenly wit The whole mead sups) : Whose words are strung Along the gorse on misty webs of fire ; And whose least wish is wall'd By all the world, while he is stall'd Within a briar, Where blushes are for roses hung. Its signs to acquit. Go, bid thy slave. If with my servant thou contrast him. Across some sea where but soft currents ply. From each uncompass'd wind that hurrieth past him To call some spent ill-harness'd speech or sigh : Go bid him crave Or force his thrall the sun to save A careless gesture's lost intent. Or one mad moment's merriment For a sweet forenoon's shady sultry dreaming : Nay more, EROS TO MINERVA. 131 Thyself with all thy magic glut His full out-labour'd life's apprenticeship ; You'll teach him but (Soon gaping through the unhinged door) Mere morsels of — spite his sick soul's wide seeming — The world acquaintahce of a lover's lips. Yet, ere he goes, Tell him Love also holds for prayer Dynamic throes ; Which, while they fail To cast men piecemeal through the outraged air, Do mountains lay and their hid hearts disclose ; And, with sweet leaven, Can, whole, for poor men, hale All heavy breasts beyond earth's bursting woes To heaven. ( 132 ) A QUARTER FACE. I'd tell — were words less poor ; Or paint — did colours burn, were light not fire ; Or sing — could sound Its hurry of passion cure ; Were stone less still e'en that I'd hire. Yet : — where a white reefs cur], Within a whirled eddy of over-enchased Pale amber drown'd. Circles an arbour of pearl For whispers, which her eyes have graced ; Where eyas elfins dance All museless rout to rhythms her face repeats : — Her ear that sleeps Stealthily there, to enhance. Beyond it, sweetest of all sweets. A QUARTER FACE. 133 The soft uncertain line Which from her eye's hid hollow drops O'er rose-blush'd steeps, And is table at once and sign Of the face it hides, the brow it props : I'll praise, if 'twill suffice, Past praising this. You'd kinder parts recall ? Each note by its fret ? Nay, I forget! I never saw but her eyes, And with them do her lids shut all. ( 134 ) TWO WOOD FLOWERS. Their sorrows to themselves on cloud dim days The wind-flowers shut, and weep the sun ; Each celandine is frill'd with rays, Taking himself for one. Their sorrows shut, and warm them with a tear ; Though, scatter'd through the cloister'd crowds, Some sudden stare, as 'twere they hear The sun crack through his clouds. Nor over meek, nor saucy. Each anaigns The sun by its pecuUar grace ; One works his colour through its veins, The other's watching face TIVO WOOD FLOWERS. 135 Pales e'en its own ; but whether 'tis most dear To find a transcript so intent, Or spend the first kiss on a tear, — Why, that 's the sun's to vent. ( 136 ) REFLECTIONS. Beware ! The housed candle hides the night, Lucent although its crystal warders be ; The jewell'd night-skirt gives them mirror-right, Its shaken silver dulls transparency. The window holds thy candle from the stars. The stars from thee ; With dregs each dream thy horn-gate, passing, mars To burnish'd ivory. Beware ! The creeping night-winds comb the flame ; Inconstant shadows shake the surest room ; Unburnt, the poisoned core which feeds thy fame Will, scatter'd, shroud thee in its smoky tomb. REFLECTIONS. 137 The broken shield gives back the night its fires, The stars their gloom ; Binds thee, hand-circled, round thy fann'd desires, And makes their truth thy doom. " How then?" Go, leave thy house, and watch them both. " The world is cruel and the world is cold." More stupid though than either, and most loth To prick its wine-skins — if the wine be old. ( 138 ) EPITAPH. E.J.H. Slippery places he seldom found, With silent wings he was shod ; Aloft from the lavish and level ground He was pain'd for the poor that plod ; And paid two shilUngs in every pound As an income-tax to God. ( 139 ) IN EARLY GARDENS. Through tangled emerald spears, At morn the misty fires Of diamond dewdrop eyes In a camp of tears, to arise Sun-sought on his golden wires From the dangling daisy ears. Burst by a worm to the sod, Swept by a swift on the wing. Left for the low and the lean ; Pearls for the throat of a queen, Passing the price of a king. For they deck the jewels of God ( 140 ) WOOD SPURGE. Hush ! — do you know This plant I hold ? which, with a wise perverseness, Seeks not to make a show, Yet climbs a brittle briar, as with averseness To trade with woe. Yet 'tis a plot Pickers had best beware of. While it weareth Pale fires, its veins are hot With a cold poison : though it simple sweareth, Believe it not. Think not in scorn Thin stems are easy breaking ; — fear confiding, Soft skins are lightly torn ; — Its festering udders chill the hand that, chiding, Plucks the bare thorn. WOOD SPURGE. 141 You see them bound — Spring's milk that bums with winters wire that woundeth ; Such charities compound Alike in autumn, so the season roundeth, Each face refound. Grown to a tree Such dainty fragrance leaves it, that, if ever Dream-stifled there, fate-free You may sleep on beneath it, end endeavour ; Or heedlessly. Scorch with a spot Of its wild milk your hand ; or, its flame fasten'd. Range with dipt darts to clot Some warm swift heart Yet, if its roots be chasten'd Close in a pot With fiercest fire, May be transumed into sweet bread its blasting. Or by the sun made hire For kine, or drunk in ferment, reason wasting, Mate men with mire. 142 WOOD SPURGE. It holds a gum That blots remembrance ; torn, has oil for healing ; Is stript for incense ; some Its savours spoil with dalliance, some with dealing, Some drain its scum. Its name approve That doth transfuse such variance in its fashion. Sweet roots, death's fruits above ; Scorn, worship, wisdom, patience, folly, passion, — Men call it love. ( '43 ) FEMALE TELEGRAPH LEARNERS. AN EXAMINATION SKETCH. AVhite wistful woful faces, the sad gleam Of stupid corner-seeking questionings, Dim knowledge verging round a drowsy fly. Lost with his straying wings. The mother, or the sister, or the friend, Or motherless so plain j some ways are writ Across a self-obliterating plane ; — Sighs go to smother it. Thirty from some seven hundred, and the rest Fail, and they know it ; each from household care Shielded for months— for this. Oh, icing head ! Is Pallas worth thy stare ? 144 FEMALE TELEGRAPH LEARNERS. Mute faces with mild courage resolute, Ears that still hear the mother, eyes, distent. Searching beyond the walls : a braid, a bow, Sweet bawbles redolent Of little lesser touches of the home, The bright white wooden box, so deeply new, With gaudy paper wreath of fancied flowers. Or glassy sea-side view : Holding a little eddy of sweet talk, Kind faces full of glad presentiment, Delight in promise, quick defeat forgot. Home-happy merriment. The compass-garnish'd card of iron pens (One shakes to choke the fiend who thought to till The acre of Christ's human interest,) That fail, and fool, and spill : The pencil, pen, and 'raser, " all in one," That breaks, and blots, and ere its mischief dries Ploughs up the paper, calling awful tears To little misty eyes. FEMALE TELEGRAPH LEARNERS. 145 Which cannot hold in alter'd reverence So sweetly gauged a gift, and chokes the thought Which shows the evening home, the dear prized boon For admiration brought. A carmine vinaigrette with brassy lid; Poor mother ! There, with poorer plaintiveness, A penny match-box, stored with odds and ends — And self forgetfulness, Makes sudden its poor company be felt. Though at its rich contents hot blushes rise, So dear before — and now j — she bends her head, And hates the world, and cries. Educed ? Ay, truly ! But your educations Lead — to a choice of Liberty's wide graves. With superscript, last epitaph of nations, Free ! — even to be slaves. ( 146 ) TO DAISY. Ah, sun-sown sweet, Rose fringed flower, refrain thy face ! Though heaven 's complete Whence thou didst steal thine eyes, their grace Asks sleeps for starlight, chinks to chase Love's counterfeit. No discords stir The culver-coated cups which close God's grape, no bur Derides their draught, yet, crush'd, it throws Hate from earth chalice, vows will doze, Fools' fears deter. So tread no fire Which stains thy feet, and fancy soils ; TO DAISY. 147 And more aspire To surfeit love with simple spoils, Than with love's barm, in passion's toils. Men's hearts to hire. That vainest vista Alike thy habit and the sun forbids : Thy sole-swept sister Is petal veiled till he bids Her open, and on rosy lids Has come, and kiss'd her. Pitiful plunder Thy fitful fragmentary day devours : The veil of wonder. So rudely wronged for hungry hours. Gives dark eyes back to dusty bowers. And drought with thund'er. Our life 's an egg Takes patient sitting ; cramps and pains Are truss'd to beg Out of its stony circle gains, And ofTspring's ointment heaven refrains Due brows to deg. ( uS ) THE LIE CASUAL. Dark and darker : Blindness about the eyes, and dumb Silence of heart, and still — Wider and wider eddying, Circles of slow despair Sicken, and seize, and slay ; and it were Better than idly utterly spent, Tolling under a tongueless bell, Eating a frothy loafless leaven. To lie with the bride of death and of hell. Better to court a certain sin. Choke with its dirt, and grind the husk Of a sullen purpose stale, in the dusk Sleep sodden amid its mire. If we are swine, and awake to crush THE LIE CASUAL. 149 Pearls to our vermin'd bed, and to die Burnt with a dung-hill fire. Listen ! louder — Gurgling prescient prelude of doom. Loose-limbed staggering spectres rise, Earth robed, out of a shallow grave. Clipping the lie that was left to pave Still-born sanctity past their tomb : Hush ! trample their rocking eyes Deeper, deeper into the earth ; Dash the battening spade to fire Over their cursed bones, and hire Whiten'd virtues to sit them down : Painted prudence to forge a frown Over the dream of youth's desire ; Silken silence to shame the liar. Palsied patience to mock the clown. ( ISO ) GREETING. How do I ? Nay ! it is poor jest To ask of him that doth fulfil Thine errantry, and doth it ill When he has done his best. (I do but ill, and have been long in doing ;) Oh, seek a standard, ask the sun (I win but loss, and I am lost in wooing.) Each day how he has done. How does the bee when it has lost For one sweet sinful hour the hive ? Does any happy solace thrive Companion'd by its ghost ? GREETING. 151 (What deed but dies which hath no why to waken ?) Come, earn some end, some fancy spin ; (What eyes still pry that are of sight forsaken? ) Let cells not sweets begin. Thy fancy fails ? Express the flower, With shows for swift eyes, scents for blind ; Deck for thy self s delight a bower Until its kindness make thee kind. ( 152 ) A WET DAY ON THE RIVER. Starboard ! Softly. — Now we could browse Under the weir mouth, swung by the weir waste ; Wattle the sail in the willow boughs : Tears for raindrops seemed but a dear taste ; Better here than watching the pane, The ousel's pipe for a pompous chatter ; A female aunt was the dreariest rain ; Words wet worse than the worst cloud's patter : Yet rainbows were pleasing to some, E'en when the sun showed salt in the water ; — The sweetest colours shimmer'd on scum ? That proved nothing : light was the daughter A WET DAY ON THE RIVER. 153 (Some eyes said so, though it might be Their one truth,) not maker of colour. Chicken ? Who pack'd salt in the tea ? Oh ! this poor world ! Which were the duller — Balbus flatter'd less of a fool Since his mates smear'd paint, wore the patches ; Caius, to hide, on a two-legged stool, His comfort easeless, singing in snatches ? Take life's sum now, puzzle it out, Fourscore years to solve the equation So — Love is love ; death, death. Did I doubt ? Few folks lived their own valuation ? AVell, suppose a value for proof — Death to be life minus love ; or that love is Three times death ; — would I prod the roof There ! How the rain-drops flocked into coveys ! — What then ! What ? well most had a tale Eve pluckt life, not light in the garden : Life was eternal, knowledge must foil ; Good and evil, who could be warden ? 154 A WET DAY ON THE RIVER. Not I — each ; yet each could decide Conduct, character, cause, in a second. Claret? yes ! It was cheap to chide, Ways went smooth when the devil beckon'd. Lunch was a snare, but the world was wide ; Absent friends ! He'd pull to the ferry If I would tidy. The glass had lied — " Rub the clouds gold, the day will be merry.'' Grease ? that was affected ; he'd leave the stern But for the sculls. My left was the stronger — JVo ? tricked in the feather ? I'd yet to learn Respect for the leam'd. Where the rush was longer, Bending the reed-mace, close to the bank — Look ! six blue-wet fat little swallows ; One new grace with the rain to thank : The wave cough too, in the rat-cut hollows. One never heard in the sunny air. W/iy ? Did I ask, who had set a single Star in the misty eclipse of my hair To wander alone ? When ? Tush ! though we mingle A WET DAY ON THE RIVER. 155 Defeats in a pie, success would attend Charged on the crust ; but I might remember Once when it took three dances to mend A string of pearls ; but that was December, This was June ; six months was a lapse Only the hardiest memories ventured. By the bend? The cut would be choked perhaps; Stroke — hard ! Heads ! Was his piloting censured ? Who could steer such a sleepy keel — The boat was a barge ? With coal for a cargo ! Did he compliment ? The time must appeal ; Quick-written discords swore in a largo. Resolve them ? What had a double breath, Part fierce as a fool, and as feeble flameless ; Part fire's doom, hearts' quick-stifling death ; Was it coal alone? But the rest was aimless— Yet 'twas in darkness that both were dug, Each the product of alter'd ages. Each unwanted worse than a drug, Both a puzzle to piet sages : 156 A WET DAY ON THE RIVER. Cut for a necklet, sold for a trade, Flame in the fire-grate, stone in the scuttle : Was it still but coal ; that had, unrepaid. Out-spent his days as a weaver's shuttle? Snow-ice, woman ! Swiftly congeal'd, Firmer the further you dared to trust it ; Unfrost-fibred : where faith was a-field With never a crosslet crack to adjust it. Never a crack, and never a curse. But the water at once, and heaven straightway ; — Yet her love was bought with an empty purse. Her hall withheld by the humblest gateway. Had he stoop'd enough ? Then he left the stem- But not for the sculls ; and we dropt together Out of the wet and the windy churn Into a summer of sunny weather. ( 157 ) SER VICE. Oh, might I be The little changing fire on her breast ; — The Scorpion's ruddy heart in storm-soft skies, A beryl crystal-bound in a billowy nest, A shaken blue-bell in a bed of snow. O mazed mockery of rock'd unrest Pavilion'd in her bosom, to be prest By passion'd breath more closely, and most blest- The solitary guardian of her sighs. THE END. PRINTED BV WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. A LIST OF KEG AN PAUL, TRENCH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 3.86 1, Paternoster _Square, London. A LIST OF KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. CONTENTS. PAGE 2 General Literature. 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