6035 
 
 LS^LYRA MUTABIUS 
 
 %g^ BY J^ 
 
 ORLEY ROBERTS. 
 

 OfdrneU ImoBraitg ffiibratg 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 HENRY W. SAGE 
 
 1891 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 6035.O12L9 
 
 Lyra mutabilis. 
 
 3 1924 013 217 850 
 
The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013217850 
 
LYRA MUTABILIS 
 
 BY 
 
 MORLEY ROBERTS 
 
 BASIL BLACKWELL 
 
 OXFORD: BROAD STREET 
 
 LONDON: 4 STATIONERS' HALL COURT, E.G. 4. 
 
Cui vivae multa 
 
 Hunc sero tandem libellum 
 
7 
 8 
 
 9 
 9 
 
 10 
 13 
 
 13 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Part I. Lyra Vitae. 
 The House of Rest 
 Thought and Form 
 When Life was Bare 
 All my Songs . 
 Her Garden - 
 Remember Me 
 To N. ... 
 
 The Companion - - 15 
 
 The Night itself is all Forlorn - 16 
 
 The Return - - - 18 
 
 The Wise Thief - - ig 
 
 The Little Maid - . 30 
 
 The Child Bearer • . 21 
 
 Mary . - 3i 
 
 To W. H. Hudson - 33 
 
 To John Galsworthy - . 23 
 
 Heritage - 24 
 
 Freedom - - - . 25 
 
 The Lamp - - 26 
 
 Night - 27 
 
 An Epitaph ... - 28 
 
 Part IL Lyra Amoris. 
 Lines 
 
 31 
 
 Failure - . 33 
 
The Cage 
 
 Birth of Love 
 
 The Beggarman 
 
 Love Song 
 
 The Vision 
 
 Why 
 
 Ghosts 
 
 Love and the World 
 
 Grief 
 
 The Perfect Hour 
 
 Part IIL Lyra Feminea. 
 The Virgin 
 Secrets 
 
 The Goodly Street 
 The Living and the Dead 
 Friends - 
 
 Despair - - - - 
 The Weeping Mother - 
 Death 
 Hope 
 The Fool 
 
 The Mental Harlot 
 The Road 
 The Friend - 
 Quatrain 
 Time 
 
 The House that Stares 
 The Great Play - 
 The Perfect Husband 
 The Mother 
 The Child 
 To'day 
 
 Page 
 33 
 34 
 35 
 
 4Z 
 
 43 
 45 
 47 
 48 
 
 49 
 5» 
 
 53 
 54 
 55 
 56 
 56 
 57 
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 6z 
 
 63 
 64 
 
 65 
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 68 
 
 69 
 70 
 
 71 
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 75 
 76 
 
PART I. 
 LYRA VITAE. 
 
THE HOUSE OF REST. 
 
 DEDICATORY. 
 
 T Tow few, how bitter few, I save 
 '- ■'■ Of all my thoughts that bud and grow 
 To lay them on her lonely grave 
 Or keep to tell her when I go. 
 
 Yet in the sacred house of rest 
 
 It may be that" she lies asleep. 
 Still holding to her loving breast 
 
 My thoughts before I learnt to weep. 
 
THOUGHT AND FORM. 
 
 T^HE thought, perhaps, was mine 
 -*- But the song the song of the birds, 
 For I sat in the wood and listened 
 And they brought me golden words. 
 
 I thought of Love and Life, 
 
 And the earth where the dreamer delves, 
 And the great books of the dead 
 
 Flew out of their silent shelves. 
 
 They taught me what they could, 
 
 I learned the little I may. 
 Perhaps a child may take me 
 
 Out of a shelf some day. 
 
WHEN LIFE WAS BARE. 
 
 TTS Then Life was bare 
 
 ' ' And Joy a ghost 
 For all you were 
 I loved you most. 
 
 I ask no star 
 
 The Why or How — 
 For what you are 
 
 I love you now. 
 
 ALL MY SONGS. 
 
 A LL my songs 
 ■*^*- Have fled away : 
 All my words 
 
 Are turned to clay. 
 
 Again my pen 
 Is but a feather : 
 
 I can knit 
 No words together. 
 
 But the thoughts 
 
 Inside of me 
 Make you still 
 
 A melody. 
 
HER GARDEN. 
 
 TF all her garden 
 ■'■ Suffers change, 
 This flower will show 
 Blood-red and strange. 
 
 Though Fate deny 
 
 All love to her 
 Within her heart 
 
 One thought will stir. 
 
 In years to come 
 
 She will recall 
 How he with nothing 
 
 Gave her all. 
 
 If Life no joy 
 
 Or blessing give 
 Still in her soul 
 
 This thought will live. 
 
 Bitter and sweet — 
 That dream will see 
 
 A thousand thousand 
 Dead thoughts be. 
 
 10 
 
It must survive 
 
 Through all her pain 
 And in late peace 
 
 Shall bloom again. 
 
 That flower shall show 
 Blood-red, yet pure, 
 
 Andm her garden 
 Shall endure. 
 
 11 
 
REMEMBER ME. 
 
 T3 EMEMBER me when all your world grows chill, 
 -*- '^ And that may surely be. 
 When none who loved you lives to love you still 
 Remember me. 
 
 We passed together through a gloom more deep 
 
 Than death itself can be, 
 So when your old companion lies asleep 
 
 Remember me. 
 
 Not faultless but not faithless unto you, 
 
 All that might given be 
 He gave with a full heart and this you knew : 
 
 Remember me. 
 
 When I am gone the way the others went. 
 
 Who wait so patiently. 
 And he who loved you is at last content 
 
 Remember me. 
 
 12 
 
TO N. 
 
 OHE is soft — the gentlest She — 
 *^ And as hard as ivory. 
 Full of help for sore distress 
 And entirely pitiless. 
 Wise as any and as sweet 
 And as bitter, to complete 
 All the many ways she shows. 
 She a rock is — and a rose, 
 Honey and a sharpened sting : 
 Brave and fearful. She can bring 
 Knowledge of remote romance 
 From the castles of old France, 
 Then you find her on her knees 
 Poring on Thucydides, 
 Or upon a fireside mat 
 With great Caesar and a cat. 
 Books she loves and books she hates : 
 Life embraces and abates 
 Half her love because it seems 
 Woven not from tissued dreams. 
 
 13 
 
Machiavelli has more ruth 
 
 Yet she is so soft, forsooth, 
 
 That you wonder she forgives 
 
 Any bitterness that lives. 
 
 She is calm — and a cyclone. 
 
 And in one short hour is blown 
 
 Half a hundred ways at least. 
 
 East is West and West is East 1 
 
 With a south wind go they forth 
 
 Who at even meet the North 
 
 And as they begin to freeze 
 
 Find all summer at their knees. 
 
 She is earnest and once more 
 
 All its opposite : one door 
 
 To her mind seems folly blent 
 
 By the unintelligent. 
 
 And now, if any think they know her — 
 
 To help me, maybe they will show her. 
 
 14 
 
THE COMPANION. 
 
 A DOWN the valley sweet and wild 
 danced, for life was wild and sweet 
 And as I danced in starry meads 
 My shadow danced as wild and fleet. 
 
 My shadow my companion was 
 And more myself at times than I, 
 
 For he had thoughts that reached the stars 
 And when the sun went he would fly. 
 
 Then I was he, and both and one 
 Danced in the wilderness of night 
 
 Till day divided us once more 
 
 And drove my dreams away in flight. 
 
 I loved him dearly : he was more, 
 Much more, than I and wildly gay, 
 
 Until they told me who he was 
 And stole his secret life away. 
 
 And now my shadow is a ghost 
 
 And never any more can be 
 The dead companion of my youth 
 
 Who left the lonely world to me. 
 
 15 
 
THE NIGHT ITSELF IS ALL 
 FORLORN. 
 
 OlTH she has gone 
 *^ The silly hours 
 Have minutes still 
 But no more flowers. 
 
 The morning gay 
 
 Is no delight. 
 Nor moves so sweetly 
 
 To the night. 
 
 The night itself. 
 
 Is all forlorn, 
 And dreams no longer 
 
 Of the morn 
 
 But frets itself, 
 A sad dull thing, 
 , Where only joy 
 Is on the wing. 
 
 16 
 
But somehow still 
 I think the hours 
 
 Will soon be fair 
 
 With opening flowers. 
 
 The morning too 
 Will be so light, 
 
 And sing as sweetly 
 As the night. 
 
 And night itself 
 
 Though now forlorn 
 Will bring her back 
 
 Some happy morn. 
 
 17 
 
THE RETURN. 
 
 MY dear is coining back to-day : 
 What shall I say 
 Or how express 
 Past loneliness 
 To her who bids it fly away ? 
 
 Earth at the happy green of spring 
 Has birds to sing 
 
 And flowers that show 
 
 How well they know 
 That winter sere is vanishing. 
 
 But when the counted hours I sum 
 Cry, " she has come," 
 
 Will a sweet bird 
 
 Or flower be heard 
 To speak for me if joy be dumb ? 
 
 Ah, if I were a nightingale 
 Or lily pale, 
 
 I'd sing or shine 
 
 So gay and fine 
 That words would seem of less avail. 
 
 Poor gentle things that cannot spell 
 The miracle 
 
 Of her return, 
 
 Ah me, or learn 
 To speak what she must know so well. 
 
 18 
 
THE WISE THIEF. 
 
 T T E is the wisest man 
 ■'■ -*■ Who every wise man bleeds : 
 To know is not his aim, 
 His 'work takes all it needs. 
 
 The foolish ones are those 
 
 Who worship wisdom's throne, 
 
 But, to build a magic house, 
 Would never steal a stone. 
 
 By such no house is made 
 
 And none will ever be : 
 To build a great cathedral 
 
 Is more than honesty. 
 
 The maker builds for joy : 
 
 He steals for the home of a star. 
 
 And the robbed are as rich as they were 
 And the world is richer far. 
 
 19 
 
THE LITTLE MAID. 
 
 A H, such a maid she was, 
 ■^*- So sweet to see ! 
 I loved her just because 
 Love came to me. 
 
 She wearied to be kind 
 
 To everyone, 
 And found, as her like find, 
 
 Much to be done. 
 
 So many needing love, 
 
 A little thought : 
 A word, a touch, to prove 
 
 All else is naught. 
 
 Ah, such a maid was she 
 
 So sweet ! And so 
 All that she was to me 
 
 No one can know. 
 
 20 
 
THE CHILD BEARER. 
 
 TVTOUGHT so magical can be 
 
 ■'■ ^ As the thought within her now ; 
 
 Nature and Eternity 
 
 Sign themselves upon her brow. 
 
 All the passion of the past 
 
 Seems for this high purpose sent, 
 And her gentle soul at last 
 
 Savours a serene content. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 'T^HE grief is ours : she is at rest, 
 -*- Dear faithful heart, and so 
 H^r end untimely leaves her blest, 
 As well the living know. 
 
 For they are blest who die the first ; 
 
 Thank Death ! they need not fear 
 The life-long hunger and the thirst 
 
 Of those who linger here. 
 
 21 
 
SONNET. 
 
 TO W. H. HUDSON. 
 
 nr^HE city's snare the citizen betrays 
 -'- Till he forgets the earth : his gathered gold 
 Recks not of tilth or pasture or the fold 
 
 Nor how it sprang from men's laborious days : 
 
 Yet, as the streets resound and all their ways 
 
 Are thronged, the uplands and the deep-ploughed wold 
 Answer the summer's heat and winter's cold 
 
 And, on the downs, the shepherd stands at gaze. 
 
 Though unsubdued to the mysterious art 
 Which reckons life by means and not its end 
 My feet are tangled where I would not be, 
 Whilst you, by Nature led, seem set apart 
 To prove the earth, man's great forgotten friend, 
 Heals and forgives and sets the captive free. 
 
 22 
 
SONNET. 
 
 ' TOJ.G. 
 
 " I ''HERE is a sweetness in the lowland air, 
 -■- The daisies are my friends, a sparrow's nest 
 Seems homelike to me, and the robin's breast 
 As lovely as a thought that eases care : 
 And yet full oft my meadows anywhere 
 Yield me no pasture and I may not rest 
 Till on some distant mountain's difficult crest 
 I find the peace a few have found in prayer. 
 
 Even so I cannot scorn the lowliest men 
 
 And deem no heart with virtue unimbued, 
 In hall or cot, by pasture rich or fen : 
 
 Yet would I sometimes follow those afar 
 Who stir me deeply from my daily mood. 
 And build their eyries where the eagles are. 
 
 23 
 
HERITAGE. 
 
 A LL that I have is what I owe 
 -^~*- All that I owe was given to me, 
 And whence my thoughts I do not know 
 Nor whose my heritage shall be. 
 
 I have no reason for my pride 
 
 In all my thoughts', my hopes, my fears, 
 As we toward Death together ride 
 
 Down the dark Avenue of Years. 
 
 Oh, fearful troop ! Ye thoughts of those 
 Who gave me pride in fear, and strength 
 
 To see the opened years disclose 
 
 Their gifting powers to me at length ! 
 
 For all I have is what I owe : 
 
 I give what all things gave to me, 
 
 And whence my thoughts I shall not know 
 Nor whose my heritage shall be. 
 
 24 
 
FREEDOM. 
 
 T OVE never with the love that gains 
 ■*— ' Advantage or the low desire, 
 Love with a passion full of pains 
 Born in and purged by fire. 
 
 This is the love that faces death 
 Yet fears it not nor any shame. 
 
 It draws no hesitating breath 
 But leaps into the flame. 
 
 It sickens when advantage lies 
 With what cold kisses simulate 
 
 The passion of the pleading eyes 
 That truth could make so great. 
 
 For Love is freedom, and will break 
 The very bars it strove to win, 
 
 Set free, it may return and make 
 Its chosen home therein. 
 
 For never aught that raises man 
 Was grown in prison save desire 
 
 For freedom since the world began 
 Wherein we still suspire. 
 
 25 
 
THE LAMP. 
 
 T)UT not your faith in faith 
 -*■ Nor be so sure 
 That by the gates of death 
 It must endure. 
 
 New Gods for old show scorn 
 
 And bitter spite : 
 Creeds pass : to all their morn 
 
 Their noon, their night. 
 
 Yet Man endures : his will 
 Gives new creeds birth : 
 
 And one lamp, quiveiring still. 
 Lights the sad earth. 
 
 The Lamp of human care 
 
 For those above 
 The opening grave : for there 
 
 Kneels hopeless love. 
 
 26 
 
NIGHT. 
 
 T RODE from the rising of the sun 
 -*- Till day was done, 
 And I loosed my horse on the plain : 
 His was night and the dewy grass, 
 Sweet water his, the gift of the rain. 
 And hours of sleep that swiftly pass : 
 I loosed my horse to the night. 
 
 I ride my spirit from dawn of day 
 
 Till the light's away, 
 And I loose my soul with tears 
 Unto the night and the silver dew. 
 And peace in the dust of sacred years 
 And speech with the past still new : 
 
 I loose my spirit at night. 
 
 27 
 
AN EPITAPH. 
 
 "\ TC 7'HEN at his hour Death oame to take me 
 " " I did not fear his voice and rave : 
 
 Since Life himself had failed to break me 
 I laughed with Death above my grave, 
 Shook hands with Death above my grave, 
 
 And never prayed a god should wake me. 
 
 I begged no god to scant his measure : 
 I wrestled Life for all I have : 
 
 I sought for no immortal treasure 
 To bribe my way beyond the grave 
 But sang and battled by the grave, 
 
 Wherein men lie and take their pleasure. 
 
 I took no ease in wild and clearing. 
 Desert or forest, plain or wave : 
 
 Beyond all sight and out of hearing 
 Of any prayers I dug my grave : 
 I smiled at Death beside my grave, 
 
 And laid me down at last, uhfearing. 
 
 I laid me down, in peace reclining. 
 Without the laurels many crave : 
 
 My memories, like soft jewels shining, 
 Lay at my heart and lit my grave, 
 They lit and warmed my happy grave: 
 
 I laid me down without repining. 
 
 28 
 
PART II. 
 
 LYRA AMORIS. 
 
LINES. 
 
 T DO not ask that she should be 
 -*- Divine in beauty : that her eyes 
 Should bring salvation, Paradise, 
 To any other man but me. 
 
 Let her at least be kind. I know 
 
 She will be lovely being so. 
 
 But that her soul should be divine, 
 
 Not wholly, yet far more than mine 
 
 I ask that humbly, and would claim 
 
 A certain equal cheerfulness, 
 
 A steady and unchanging ilame 
 
 To warn my heart when cold distress 
 
 Comes down upon me like a cloud. 
 
 And if this be by heaven allowed. 
 Of her full soul let one part lie 
 Even beyond me, for desire 
 For ever feeds my heart with fire 
 When I am linked with mystery. 
 
 31 
 
FAILURE. 
 
 A LAS, that man who is so fine 
 •^^- So strong and yet so delicate 
 Should lack the strength that's most divine 
 
 To rise above his low estate 
 And be no slave to love or hate. 
 
 Alas, that he whose gifts are such 
 That he might reach the starry skies 
 
 Should find the little earth too much 
 And faint and fail and never rise ; 
 
 Alas, that he should miss the prize ! 
 
 Alas, that he whose love is great 
 
 Whose thoughts are good, who strives to be 
 Worthy and purely passionate 
 
 Should seek and work in vain and see 
 The soul he loves in misery. 
 
 But most he grieves that still he must 
 Find simple faith so rare a thing 
 
 That, even while he strives to trust, 
 
 He views his faith, which once could wing 
 
 The way to heaven, lie withering. 
 
 32 
 
THE CAGE. 
 
 TDASSION is an iron cage 
 -*- Where imprisoned Love doth rage. 
 Beating on those iron bars, 
 Hungering for the wind and stars. 
 
 Ah, how sweet if love were mild 
 Nor by madness so beguiled ! 
 If at last Life set him free 
 From the Tower of Jealousy. 
 
 When a lover rides away 
 Who is left should still be gay. 
 Should a mistress's unfaith 
 Open up the House of Death ? 
 
 Sweet affection in the sun 
 Like a singing stream will run : 
 But fierce Love in Passion's cage 
 Must an endless warfare rage. 
 
 33 
 
w 
 
 BIRTH OF LOVE. 
 
 E have kissed a thousand times 
 In a thousand ages and climes, 
 
 For the love that binds us two 
 Never so suddenly grew ; 
 
 It once was a hidden spell 
 Unspoken till Life befell, 
 
 When we first as spirits saw 
 With a strange delightful awe 
 
 That life would give us birth 
 When he had prepared the earth : 
 
 So at last when the earth began 
 And out of the beasts came man 
 
 We were begotten and given 
 The gifts of the earth and heaven. 
 
 34 
 
THE BEGGARMAN. 
 
 TN sooth 'twas passing strange to see 
 
 -*- That beggarman. 
 
 Tho' sack he wore and took his dole 
 
 He was a strangely seeming soul 
 
 And sat beside the pillared door 
 
 Where bright attendants of the queen 
 
 Passed to the marble of the floor 
 
 Where none but rich clad folks were seen. 
 
 And as he sat 
 
 And held his hat 
 
 And as he cried to those who came 
 
 His eyes shot fire 
 
 Of strange desire 
 
 That flickered like a windy flame. 
 
 In sooth ! I swear the Beggarman 
 
 Was little like the begging clan. 
 
 Within the walls 
 
 Whose lofty halls 
 
 Were white and bright with casements large 
 
 For sun and air 
 
 35 C2 
 
The queen was. Fair 
 
 As any lily of the marge 
 
 Of any lake in any hills 
 
 She was, God wot : 
 
 A man could not 
 
 Have made in any of the mills 
 
 Of fancy's thought 
 
 A fabric thus 
 
 Of white and gold 
 
 The which to fold 
 
 When amorous 
 
 The ruddy heart of love that beats 
 
 Like wings the empty air, and seats 
 
 The wing6d man 
 
 Upon the tree 
 
 Where ripe desire 
 
 Like sunset's fire 
 
 Is free, is free ! 
 
 But in this earth, this barren earth 
 Where beggarmen may sit them down 
 And grind dark thoughts in famine's dearth 
 Of charity in any town : 
 It is not strange 
 The very queen 
 Would wish to change. 
 If it had been 
 
 36 
 
Within the law, 
 
 Her body fair 
 
 For such a beggar's sitting there ; 
 
 For you must know, who nothing know 
 
 But bandy idly to and fro 
 
 Dead things for live ones, that her quick 
 
 And sudden spirit grew so sick 
 
 Of awed obeisance and the bonds 
 
 Which bind great souls that break like seas 
 
 Till they are quiet weedy ponds, 
 
 That even she was fain to seize 
 
 A moment of her guarded time 
 
 And breathe the air ; her feet would climb 
 
 Even as she sat, a mountain slope, 
 
 And when she slept her soul would cope 
 
 With problems that the beggarman 
 
 Could draw in dust 
 
 And so expound 
 
 True nature on the natural ground. 
 
 As beggars must 
 
 Who hope to earn 
 
 The right to live and right to learn. 
 
 So now within, as you may see. 
 
 There was the queen's bright company ; 
 
 The chanting company who chant 
 
 " Oh this God can, and this God can't ! " 
 
 37 
 
And settle laws with which to bind 
 
 Disorder, and the simple mind 
 
 Of him or her that cannot see 
 
 Why this or that should always be. 
 
 And so it chanced that from a book 
 
 The queen did look 
 
 And at the very portico 
 
 Where painted puppets in a row 
 
 Were wont to stand, she saw an odd 
 
 Preposterous thing allowed by God, 
 
 A real live man in beggar's dress. 
 
 She saw him, for in all the press 
 
 He made a dark spot, and his eye 
 
 She caught : Dear Heaven what ails the queen, 
 
 It must be, yes, the beggarman. 
 
 " Oh why, oh why " 
 
 The courtiers cry, 
 
 " Does any land allow the clan 
 
 To mock our decent order ? " Straight 
 
 They bade him pass beyond the gate. 
 
 But as he stood, and never moved 
 
 They feared to touch him, till reproved 
 
 By their own force, they courage got. 
 
 When sudden : " Courtiers, touch him not." 
 
 Alas, alas, the evil eye 
 
 Of this strange man hath charmed the queen 
 
 38 
 
Such things before had never been. 
 " Bring him before me. It is I 
 That speak." And so the beggar came. 
 What palace can forget its shame 
 When beggarmen tread haughtily 
 Among a glittering company ? 
 
 Oh, never think, 
 
 Because her voice 
 Was strangely strong, she did not shrink 
 
 To know her inmost heart rejoice : 
 To feel her blood, 
 Whose ordered flood 
 Rebelled at gates, had broken down 
 A barrier made 
 By Median law. 
 
 But bravely looking forth she saw 
 The beggarman who asked for alms. 
 Who asked, nay, kneeling down, he prayed, 
 With strange bright eyes and clasped palms. 
 
 Why was the innocent queen afraid ? 
 
 How should a crown so fear the bowl ? 
 
 Two emblems these of state and soul. 
 For had she not the ancient right 
 
 Of queenly power 
 
 Within her bower ? 
 
 39 
 
Ah, ye are wrong, no fears of might 
 Could touch her soul, but pity now 
 Of him none pitied wrung her heart. 
 For her high coronation vow 
 Had set her soul and self apart, 
 
 And tho' to live 
 
 A soul must give. 
 The law set bounds to charity. 
 Besides who knows what gifts may.be 
 Or how they work or weal or woe ? 
 
 Then in a voice full sweet and low 
 
 The gentle queen spake to the man, 
 
 " Oh is there aught I may or can 
 
 To help you ? answer, let me know," 
 
 And straight the beggar unashamed 
 
 Rose up full proudly and exclaimed : 
 
 " This day to eat and drink with thee." 
 
 A-trembling fell the company, 
 
 A palsy shook the painted throng ; 
 
 From sufferance came this hideous wrong, 
 
 A beggarman, ye heavens above 
 
 What next ? Will he demand her love ? 
 
 Oh, pity for the queen's estate, 
 
 Oh, is it queenly to be great 
 
 And yet be bound in stubborn chains ? 
 
 40 
 
Full was her soul of fierce new pains, 
 
 For surely all her sympathy 
 
 Was with the bold presumptuous man 
 
 Who begged yet looked as loftily 
 
 As even any monarch can. 
 
 The truth to say she could but scan 
 
 His form and features to be sure 
 
 She should not though her days endure 
 
 Beyond all limits ever see 
 
 Another beggar such as he. 
 
 For all his rags he looked a king, 
 
 So thought perchance Penelope. 
 
 When sudden, " Let the people bring 
 The best there is." The queen thus spoke. 
 The courtiers vanished like thin smoke 
 Before a wind. And down they sat 
 The queen and beggarman together. 
 Surely a crown is but a hat 
 Tho' little good against the weather, 
 And now I pray you if you can 
 Interpret me the Beggarman. 
 
 41 
 
LOVE SONG. 
 
 TTER lips are white, her cheeks are white 
 ■■- -*■ Her bosom white to see 
 And whether she comes at noon or night 
 She wanly looks at me. 
 
 No lily blanched in the thick of a wood 
 
 Is half as white as she, 
 The moon on a corpse half rolled in a shroud 
 
 By a grave would warmer be. 
 
 Her hands are as thin as a shaking leaf 
 
 That's left on a winter tree ; 
 Her neck bends like a bending sheaf 
 
 When the rain falls heavily. 
 
 She never speaks — Oh ! if she spoke 
 
 What would she say to me 
 To make my white heart that she broke 
 
 Beat fast again and free ? 
 
 42 
 
THE VISION. 
 
 TVTO lily, nor the blossom of the rose, 
 
 ■'- ^ No, nor the vacant moon, or self set stars 
 
 Shall emblem her in her sufficiency. 
 
 The grace that marks the noblest, and the light 
 That is their sun, is neither light nor grace 
 To her strange wonder and comparison. 
 
 The volumed past of all the thought of things 
 
 Eternity unwritten and unknown. 
 
 Have not nor can- have aught to say of her. 
 
 The days that ripen now like trees whose seed 
 Is set apart unsowed, shall have no fruit 
 To balance with her till the end of time. 
 
 Like none she is whose dear humanity 
 Hangs like a crown of thorns about her brows. 
 Like none she is. I would not have her like. 
 
 You dear sweet women whom I loved so much 
 Whose arms were fetters and whose hairs were cords 
 Stronger than fetters, what strange things ye seem. 
 
 43 
 
Strange by your likeness to myself. I swear 
 
 My transfused blood would never stop your hearts, 
 
 In truth its passion might increase your own. 
 
 Your lips are kin unto my own male mouth, 
 
 Within your eyes I see myself again, 
 
 The words you speak you learnt from Life like me. 
 
 I love you ; aye, and so I love the day. 
 The reckoned, almanacked, appointed moon. 
 The sun, the usual sea, the expected air. 
 
 But she is of no order : hath no law : 
 Beholds no sister in you : finds me like 
 No brother as you may. And this is Love. 
 
 44 
 
WHY. 
 
 "DERHAPS when we are dead, my sweet, 
 ■*- Our thin white ghosts may chance to meet 
 Yet still go on and vainly sigh 
 And wonder why. 
 
 For your last farewell will be sweet, 
 And Death will say, " They shall not meet ! 
 Or if they yearn in passing by 
 Shall wonder why." 
 
 And my lost heart will beat and beat 
 Unanswered then by lips so sweet 
 That quail in kissing now and sigh 
 And wonder why. 
 
 And I who know I am more sweet 
 Than Passion and Delight that beat 
 Their barren wings and go, must sigh 
 And echo " Why ? " 
 
 We ask it now, and now repeat 
 That bitter judgment on the sweet 
 Award of Love that makes us sigh 
 And wonder why. 
 
 45 
 
But then there shall be nothing sweet 
 And we shall burn with ceaseless heat 
 And vain desires that pass not by 
 We know not why. 
 
 For tho' we know that something sweet 
 Leads on our burnt and v^eary feet 
 We shall for ever come not nigh 
 The reason why. 
 
 Yet though the earth be sometimes sweet 
 The pains of Hell can but repeat 
 The pain with which we lovers cry 
 When asking why. 
 
 46 
 
GHOSTS. 
 
 STEADY, be still, be still and calm, that wraith 
 The white ghost of a red sin which you see 
 Is nothing more than comes all day to me 
 All day and night. Hear you the words it saith ? 
 I mark them hourly, even now its breath 
 Breathes in my ear, but then I know a host, 
 This is but one ; each human hath its ghost 
 Of a dead self lamenting broken faith. 
 
 These others, they are calm : you think, I know. 
 No trouble haunts them. Take this word for truth 
 Your father, mother, brother and your friend 
 When they speak blithely and the brisk words go 
 Past your white face they see some ghost of youth, 
 Some sin, some shame, or sin and shame that blend. 
 
 47 
 
LOVE AND THE WORLD. 
 
 "\TOW let it go; the world is more than vain, 
 
 ■*■ ' Its windy words and wrath and all it gives 
 Are surely less than shining Love which lives 
 
 In tears of passion like the bow in rain : 
 
 You know I suffer : but to live again 
 Without this anguish would be worse than breath 
 Drawn hourly in disease and dread of death, 
 
 And for what life gives we must pay — in pain. 
 
 I let it go, and see the world depart 
 Down the long wind unsighed for, and to thee 
 
 For all thou hast been, yea, and all thou art. 
 Turn for my recompense for misery, 
 And all I lose, or may lose, is to me 
 
 Less than one lost throb of thy faithful heart. 
 
 48 
 
GRIEF. 
 
 A H, grief grows beautiful in growing old, 
 -^*- Being no more the dreadful thing she seemed 
 
 For what she speaks is but as if we dreamed 
 So gentle is her mien who once was bold. 
 And we who wept so sorely to behold 
 
 Her onward footsteps, or to feel the touch 
 Of her strong fingers, fear her not so much 
 As her departure, lest we too grow cold. 
 
 She sits beside us and her voice at last 
 
 Fails to a wordless song of melody 
 As sweet as rippling seas when storms are past, 
 
 For tho' Fate smite me by the land and sea 
 His skies are not for ever overcast 
 
 And those whom I remember live for me. 
 
 4-9 
 
THE PERFECT HOUR. 
 
 t~^ IVE me a perfect hour 
 ^^ When the golden minutes run 
 Like the sea's bright waves which flower 
 In foam for the wind and sun ! 
 
 And when that hour is sent 
 
 To make my soul sublime 
 I will build me a monument 
 
 To outlast the end of time. 
 
 And the monument shall be 
 But the few weak words I had 
 
 To tell all Eternity 
 
 How once a man was glad. 
 
 And all who know of this 
 
 Will never forgive the sun 
 For counting an hour of bliss 
 
 And evermore yielding none. 
 
 50 
 
PART III. 
 LYRA FEMINEA. 
 
THE VIRGIN. 
 
 T WISH I had a child, 
 ■*• A little noisy elf, 
 I might then be beguiled 
 , From thinking of myself. 
 
 But now the whole day's light 
 I think the thoughts I must, 
 
 And they come again at night 
 Like clouds of choking dust. 
 
 For 1 am all alone, 
 
 I cannot halve my fears, 
 
 And when I lie and moan 
 At night there's no one hears. 
 
 I have no man to share 
 My fearful narrow bed. 
 
 To kiss my wasting hair, 
 Or stroke my aching head. 
 
 I never had my man : 
 
 This night where doth be lie ? 
 No other woman can 
 
 Love him as much as I. 
 
 53 
 
Yet some have looked at me 
 As though they were half-won 
 
 To dream that I might be 
 The mother of their son. 
 
 But I never understood 
 What lies my life beguiled ; 
 
 I wish I had not been good 
 But had my little child. 
 
 SECRETS. 
 
 TVyTY secret thoughts 
 ^^^ Less secret are 
 Than those I show 
 To sun and star. 
 
 They're in the core 
 
 Of every mind. 
 Look in your own 
 
 And seek and find. 
 
 The thoughts I utter . 
 
 Only teach 
 How far away 
 
 Each is from each. 
 
 54 
 
THE GOODLY STREET. 
 
 TV yTY heart lay groaning on my bed, 
 
 ±V± ^y fearful thoughts crouched on the ground. 
 
 For I had bitter dread of love 
 
 And passion, hunting like a hound. 
 
 My red heart failed outside my breast, 
 
 I had no'heart inside to beat. 
 As I saw the sacred hunting hound 
 
 Come questing down my virgin street. 
 
 My thoughts I gathered up in haste 
 
 And dropped them weeping into fire ; 
 I shut my sullen window close 
 
 Against the hound of love's desire. 
 
 I took my pale heart to my breast, 
 
 I gathered ashes of each thought ; 
 And safe I walk the goodly street, 
 
 The bitter street of Good-for-Naught. 
 
 55 
 
THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 
 
 " I "HE living may love the dead 
 -*- When their gift of life is done, 
 But the half-dead have no friends 
 And now I have scarcely one. 
 
 Yet never a word I said 
 
 When they stared and went away, 
 For how can the half-dead speak 
 
 And what can their dry lips say ? 
 
 Life is a thing one spends 
 
 And I have no more to give. 
 So the living turn to the living 
 
 And the half-dead do not live. 
 
 FRIENDS. 
 
 OF all your friends I find this true : 
 Their love will just so long endure 
 As there is mirth and help in you 
 To make their comfort more secure. 
 
 Yet one I know is always mine. 
 
 There may be two, that for my head 
 
 Bring sacring oil and holy wine — 
 Gifts to the living from the dead. 
 
 56 
 
M 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 Y little beauty fades away, 
 None but myself bids it to stay. 
 
 My hair grows thin : it's not so long : 
 Nothing but kisses could keep it strong. 
 
 My little breasts they wither so : 
 For only love could make them grow. 
 
 The pleasant curves about my knee 
 Are dead of thirst and jealousy. 
 
 I see my cheeks, my throat and chin 
 Die for the love that some call sin. 
 
 My sister's beauty, who has it not, 
 Is still as great in one man's thought. 
 
 But no man's thought my body sees, 
 And no man's lips have kissed my knees. 
 
 I have been naught : I've nothing done : 
 I've not been lost and not been won. 
 
 57 
 
THE WEEPING MOTHER. 
 
 TV TY little maid was sweet 
 
 ■^^■^ And trim and fleet 
 
 And to those dull dead rooms 
 
 She brought perfumes, 
 
 Roses, 
 
 Aye, her fair cheeks 
 
 Were such as one supposes 
 
 In naiads, or in oreads in their mountains. 
 
 Her eyes were fountains 
 
 And I, drugged hard with many a book 
 
 To lull my aching soul to sleep, 
 
 My labours half forsook 
 
 To talk with her, and presently to weep. 
 
 I saw her roses go. 
 
 Thus autumn comes 
 
 With foot at first aglow. 
 
 Then heavy she, and slow, 
 
 The glory of the summer all benumbs. 
 
 And so my maid grew pale 
 
 And seemed to ail 
 
 As if some terror came to mar 
 
 The glory of the sun and her lone star. 
 
 58 
 
I saw her heaven cloud, 
 
 Beheld her bowed 
 
 With something hard to tell, 
 
 Something intolerable. 
 
 And yet and yet 
 
 She was more sweet 
 
 And more complete 
 
 Although I, too, beheld the ghost 
 
 She feared, and I. It was too true, 
 
 They fail who love the most. 
 
 I saw chill fear bedew 
 
 Her paling cheek. 
 
 And yet I could not speak 
 
 I, who had been too strong 
 
 And parted Love and Life, too long, too long ! 
 
 And then one day 
 
 Oh, bitter day and dear ! 
 
 I heard my little maid, a maid no more, 
 
 Outside my door, 
 
 Weeping in shame and fear 
 
 While she who held that sombre house in thrall 
 
 Stood bellowing in the hall. 
 
 Most bestial, coarse of wit. 
 
 Mouthed like a bladder slit. 
 
 Servile, sagacious in the meanest theft. 
 
 Scrag-necked, flat-bosomed, and accurst, 
 
 59 
 
The vilest virgin left 
 
 In all our village, and she said her worst. 
 
 She called her " slut " and " drab " 
 
 Each word a jab 
 
 Of poison. And my face grew like a flame 
 
 (Oh, if I'd had her little victim's shame ! ) 
 
 I pulled the door wide open and drew in 
 
 That child of human sin. 
 
 I looked just once at her who used her tongue. 
 
 I looked : I saw her quail, 
 
 Almost grow pale. 
 
 And angrily I flung 
 
 The door to, and my little maid 
 
 Then came to me, 
 
 And almost unafraid. 
 
 She bowed. 
 
 Weeping not loud. 
 
 Her sacred head upon my trembling knee. 
 
 I stroked her hair and blessed her child unborn 
 
 And from my misery 
 
 And her distress 
 
 1 brought her comfort, even I, forlorn 
 
 In self-impos6d utter barrenness. 
 
 I held her to my aching childless heart, 
 
 She was a part 
 
 Of me, and I, half mother that I felt, 
 
 60 
 
Beside her knelt. 
 
 She told me all she could ; 
 
 I understood, 
 
 And that was like a saving miracle ; 
 
 But I, the virgin, shook 
 
 To read her book 
 
 And know it all so well, so wildly well ! 
 
 Outside that woman spoke of drabs and men 
 
 And harlots once again, 
 
 That I might understand that her intent 
 
 Was moral, insolent. 
 
 My little maid's small box she forced, and strowed 
 
 Upon the ground 
 
 Things that she found, 
 
 The baby clothes that child. 
 
 In bitter nights beguiled 
 
 To labour in her grief and fear, had sewed .... 
 
 I set the door wide open .... And that day 
 
 I took the child away. 
 
 Her man I said I'd be 
 
 Till he returned from wandering on the sea. 
 
 And thus it was she blessed me, 
 
 Even me ! 
 
 61 
 
DEATH. 
 
 '\7'EARS ago my body died 
 
 -*■ But my murder was concealed : 
 That my soul was crucified 
 Only now have I revealed. 
 
 For my body, fine and sweet 
 
 Soon an iron cage became, 
 And my soul shut up in it 
 
 Leapt in sacrilegious flame. 
 
 Yet it soon must cease from woe. 
 
 They will say I am resigned 
 When to their church again I go 
 
 With my quiet murdered mind. 
 
 On their altar I shall put 
 
 All my bitter heart of ice, 
 Life that I trod underfoot 
 
 As a social sacrifice. 
 
 They will say God hears my prayer, 
 
 He who never answered one. 
 He who bleached my waning hair 
 
 And watched my own self-murder done ! 
 
 62 
 
HOPE. 
 
 /^NE thing I hate 
 
 ^-^ And then no more, 
 That ever still 
 Beats at my door. 
 
 I hear her knock, 
 She shakes the bars 
 
 That close my house 
 On wind and stars. 
 
 Ghosts I endure ; 
 
 The thoughts of all 
 My dearest dead 
 
 I can recall. 
 
 I might have peace 
 
 My house within 
 Did she not come 
 
 Who's not my kin. 
 
 But this strange child, 
 
 That's ever one. 
 Spurs those towards life 
 
 Who would be done. 
 
 I fear not death. 
 
 With life I cope, 
 The thing I dread 
 
 Is human Hope. 
 
 63 
 
THE FOOL. 
 
 T TOLD the fools 
 -*- What fools they were : 
 They laughed at me 
 And my despair. 
 
 They took their joy 
 Where it might be 
 
 And kissed again 
 And laughed at me. 
 
 I told the wise 
 
 How wise they were 
 That they might help 
 
 Me in despair. 
 
 And when they stooped 
 
 To share with me 
 All that they knew 
 
 Was misery. 
 
 64 
 
THE MENTAL HARLOT. 
 
 T LOVED a friend 
 -*■ She loved not me : 
 For all she did 
 Was harlotry. 
 
 Her. radiant hair, 
 
 Her winning face, 
 Made any room 
 
 A goodly place. 
 
 Slender was she 
 
 And strong and lithe, 
 Her lips were red, 
 
 Her words were blithe. 
 
 She used my heart 
 
 To deck her board ; 
 Her own was hollow 
 
 Like a gourd. 
 
 She stole my gifts 
 
 And took their tilth : 
 She drank my blood 
 
 And ate my health. 
 
 65 
 
With both white hands 
 She scooped my brains 
 
 She made my gold 
 Her secret gains. 
 
 She sucked my life 
 And left me clay 
 
 And then she laughed 
 And went her way. 
 
 But still I think 
 She was so sweet ; 
 
 In Hell I'll say so 
 When we meet. 
 
 THE ROAD. 
 
 "IT 7E learn and in our learning 
 
 ' ' We break more hearts than one, 
 For the road which has no turning 
 Leads downward from the sun. 
 
 And if, towards darkness going, 
 Our wounds seem like to heal 
 
 'Tis not our wisdom growing, 
 'Tis age that cannot feel. 
 
 66 
 
THE FRIEND. 
 
 T LOVED a friend 
 -*• And she loved me 
 With all her heart's 
 Sincerity. 
 
 I gave to her 
 All that I could 
 
 She gave me more — 
 She understood. 
 
 For Life had given 
 Her all it may : 
 
 She proved her joy 
 And had her day. 
 
 Love, and a friend 
 She kept them till 
 
 The end of joy 
 
 And keeps them still. 
 
 She never bovyed 
 Her drooping head 
 
 Beside a tomb 
 Uncomforted. 
 
 67 E2 
 
And now I have 
 No friend, and I 
 
 Must live too long 
 Before I die. 
 
 Ah, happy she 
 
 In this great boon, 
 To live and love 
 
 And die so soon. 
 
 QUATRAIN. 
 
 A TY wisest thoughts, like water sunk in sand, 
 ■'■-'■ Have none to drink them, none to understand : 
 My nearest thoughts are those I never tell 
 Because the world would understand too well. 
 
 68 
 
TIME. 
 
 OF all the past I made a friend : 
 I never knew I had begun, 
 Nor did I dream that all things end 
 Beneath the sun. 
 
 But why the future secret seemed 
 I did not understand at all, 
 
 Nor how it was no gateway gleamed 
 Within its wall. 
 
 And many, many, hours I'd sit 
 Wondering if it were like the past 
 
 And I could not remember it 
 But should at last. 
 
 69 
 
THE HOUSE THAT STARES. 
 
 A COT to please 
 With roof of thatch, 
 A few old trees 
 
 Whose lichens match 
 My house and all the houses by : 
 For these I sigh ! 
 
 A house that's big 
 
 And sheer and stark, 
 That cocks its wig 
 
 Across the Park 
 And stares (a thing I can't forgive) 
 - Is where I live ! 
 
 70 
 
I 
 
 THE GREAT PLAY. 
 
 N the Great Play that's never done 
 I have my part, a splendid one. 
 
 In it I sing and dance and play 
 
 Or weep and laugh the live long day. 
 
 No one can take this part from me, 
 'Twas cast at my nativity. 
 
 For only Death who taketh all 
 Can end my hour majestical. 
 
 Each day's my flower, I watch it grow : 
 I love the blossoms as they blow. 
 
 I walk the paths my garden in 
 
 And watch the crowns my roses win. 
 
 What if I die and drift away. 
 What if I weep ? 'Tis in the Play ! 
 
 I might have had an empty part 
 Without my children next my heart. 
 
 I might have owned no garden sweet, 
 No grass to cool my burning feet. 
 
 71 
 
I might have lacked the gifts I'm given, 
 I might have seen no stars in heaven. 
 
 I might have lived, a lampless one 
 Who lit no candle at the sun. 
 
 I might have been too dull and slow 
 
 To watch with tears the young buds grow. 
 
 What if I'm sad when all alone 
 And i,n that winter make my moan ? 
 
 For yet again Spring laughs with glee 
 And all my joy comes back to me ! 
 
 I play I'm old and yet a child 
 ,F"Qjr with life's magic I'm begiuled. 
 
 I know that Youth is old, so old, 
 But th^t the years new gifts unfold,. 
 
 And as they open like a rose 
 
 The leaf-Uke days their joy disclose. 
 
 And if a canker spoils one bloom 
 The coming bud shall spill perfume. 
 
 For so I'll play the part I'm given 
 
 An^ for these gifts thank earth and heaven. 
 
 72 
 
THE PERFECT HUSBAND. 
 
 "I "HE perfect husband without doubt 
 -•- Is not the man who cannot sin : 
 He waves his hand when he goes put 
 And kisses me when he comes in. 
 
 He is not certain I must know 
 His love is solid to the core : 
 
 He sometimes wants to tell me so 
 And every time I love him more. 
 
 I know, too w-ell, my hair grows \*hite 
 But when he often says, " I see 
 
 How beautiful you are to-night ! " 
 My youth comes dancing back to me. 
 
 73 
 
THE MOTHER. 
 
 TF I had been an angel 
 ■*■ I'd have given away my wings 
 To get a little human house 
 And live with human things. 
 
 I would not cry for heaven 
 When love was on my stair ; 
 
 I'd give the blessfed stars away 
 For earth if he were there. 
 
 The shining paths of Paradise 
 Are not so much to keep 
 
 As the three little stairs I tread 
 To watch my children sleep. 
 
 If I had been an angel 
 
 I'd give my splendid wings 
 
 To have one little human house 
 And live with human things. 
 
 74 
 
THE CHILD. 
 
 A yTY little baby is so sweet 
 
 -'■'-■- Her flower-like face and amber hair, 
 
 Her blessed body and her feet 
 
 And all the thoughts she's hiding there. 
 
 My dear old Nanna doesn't know 
 Half that she says when we're alone. 
 
 I sometimes hope she will not grow 
 For now she's mine, my very own. 
 
 She is so wise, I don't know why, 
 Nor what it is she thinks about 
 
 But in our home my man and I 
 Have all the years to find it out. 
 
 75 
 
TO-DAY. 
 
 ly/TY child's long life 
 -'-'-*• Is just one day : 
 From dawn to night 
 He has to play. 
 
 He's got no more 
 And so he cries 
 
 On going to bed 
 For then he dies. 
 
 My httle life 
 
 Is only one 
 And when it's over 
 
 All is done. 
 
 I have no more 
 
 Than my short day 
 To live and love 
 
 And work and play. 
 
 76 
 
PRINTED AT THE VINCENT WORKS, OXFORD. 
 
From BASIL BLACKWELUS LIST. 
 
 POETRY j^ 
 
 THE LITTLE ^INGS % 
 
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