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Poems, 1908-1919
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And the twilight will come,
And no crow will fly home.
VENUS IN ARDEN
Now Love, her mantle thrown,
Goes naked by,
Threading the woods alone,
Her royal eye
Happy because the primroses again
Break on the winter continence of men.
I saw her pass to-day
In Warwickshire,
With the old imperial way,
The old desire,
Fresh as among those other flowers they went
More beautiful for Adon’s discontent.
Those other years she made
Her festival
When the blue eggs were laid
And lambs were tall,
By the Athenian rivers while the reeds
Made love melodious for the Ganymedes.
And now through Cantlow brakes,
By Wilmcote hill,
To Avon-side, she makes
Her garlands still,
And I who watch her flashing limbs am one
With youth whose days three thousand years are done.
ON A LAKE
Sweet in the rushes
The reed-singers make
A music that hushes
The life of the lake;
The leaves are dumb,
And the tides are still,
And no calls come
From the flocks on the hill.
Forgotten now
Are nightingales,
And on his bough
The linnet fails, —
Midway the mere
My mirrored boat
Shall rest and hear
A slenderer note.
Though, heart, you measure
But one proud rhyme,
You build a treasure
Confounding time —
Sweet in the rushes
The reed-singers make
A music that hushes
The life of the lake.
HARVEST MOON
“Hush!” was my whisper
At the stair-top
When the waggoners were down below
Home from the barley-crop.
Through the high window
Looked the harvest moon,
While the waggoners sang
A harvest tune, —
“Hush!” was my whisper when
Marjory stept
Down from her attic-room,
A true-love-adept.
“Fill a can, fill a can,”
Waggoners of heart were they,
“Harvest-home, harvest-home,
Barleycorn is home to-day.” …
“Marjory, hush now —
Harvest – you hear?” —
Red was the moon’s rose
On the full year,
The cobwebs shook, so well
Did the waggoners sing —
“Hush!” – there was beauty at
That harvesting.
AT AN EARTHWORKS
Ringed high with turf the arena lies,
The neighbouring world unseen, unheard,
Here are but unhorizoned skies,
And on the skies a passing bird,
The conies and a wandering sheep,
The castings of the chambered mole, —
These, and the haunted years that keep
And no crow will fly home.
VENUS IN ARDEN
Now Love, her mantle thrown,
Goes naked by,
Threading the woods alone,
Her royal eye
Happy because the primroses again
Break on the winter continence of men.
I saw her pass to-day
In Warwickshire,
With the old imperial way,
The old desire,
Fresh as among those other flowers they went
More beautiful for Adon’s discontent.
Those other years she made
Her festival
When the blue eggs were laid
And lambs were tall,
By the Athenian rivers while the reeds
Made love melodious for the Ganymedes.
And now through Cantlow brakes,
By Wilmcote hill,
To Avon-side, she makes
Her garlands still,
And I who watch her flashing limbs am one
With youth whose days three thousand years are done.
ON A LAKE
Sweet in the rushes
The reed-singers make
A music that hushes
The life of the lake;
The leaves are dumb,
And the tides are still,
And no calls come
From the flocks on the hill.
Forgotten now
Are nightingales,
And on his bough
The linnet fails, —
Midway the mere
My mirrored boat
Shall rest and hear
A slenderer note.
Though, heart, you measure
But one proud rhyme,
You build a treasure
Confounding time —
Sweet in the rushes
The reed-singers make
A music that hushes
The life of the lake.
HARVEST MOON
“Hush!” was my whisper
At the stair-top
When the waggoners were down below
Home from the barley-crop.
Through the high window
Looked the harvest moon,
While the waggoners sang
A harvest tune, —
“Hush!” was my whisper when
Marjory stept
Down from her attic-room,
A true-love-adept.
“Fill a can, fill a can,”
Waggoners of heart were they,
“Harvest-home, harvest-home,
Barleycorn is home to-day.” …
“Marjory, hush now —
Harvest – you hear?” —
Red was the moon’s rose
On the full year,
The cobwebs shook, so well
Did the waggoners sing —
“Hush!” – there was beauty at
That harvesting.
AT AN EARTHWORKS
Ringed high with turf the arena lies,
The neighbouring world unseen, unheard,
Here are but unhorizoned skies,
And on the skies a passing bird,
The conies and a wandering sheep,
The castings of the chambered mole, —
These, and the haunted years that keep
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