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Poems, 1908-1919
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My cones of lilac, and my wagon team,
More than a world of dream.
But still
A voice calls from the hill —
I must away —
I cannot hear your argument to-day.
FOR A GUEST ROOM
All words are said,
And may it fall
That, crowning these,
You here shall find
A friendly bed,
A sheltering wall,
Your body’s ease,
A quiet mind.
May you forget
In happy sleep
The world that still
You hold as friend,
And may it yet
Be ours to keep
Your friendly will
To the world’s end.
For he is blest
Who, fixed to shun
All evil, when
The worst is known,
Counts, east and west,
When life is done,
His debts to men
In love alone.
DAY
Dawn is up at my window, and in the May-tree
The finches gossip, and tits, and beautiful sparrows
With feathers bright and brown as September hazels.
The sunlight is here, filtered through rosy curtains,
Docile and disembodied, a ghost of sunlight,
A gentle light to greet the dreamer returning.
Part the curtains. I give you salutation
Day, clear day; let us be friendly fellows.
Come… I hear the Liars about the city.
DREAMS
We have our dreams; not happiness.
Great cities are upon the hill
To lighten all our dream, and still
We have no cities to possess
But cities built of bitterness.
We see gay fellows top to toe,
And girls in rainbow beauty bright —
’Tis but of silly dreams I write,
For up and down the streets we know,
The scavengers and harlots go.
Give me a dozen men whose theme
Is honesty, and we will set
On high the banner of dreams … and yet
Thousands will pass us in a stream,
Nor care a penny what we dream.
RESPONSIBILITY
You ploughmen at the gate,
All that you are for me
Is of my mind create,
And in my brain to be
A figure newly won
From the world’s confusion.
And if you are of grace,
That’s honesty for me,
And if of evil face,
Recorded then shall be
Dishonour that I saw
Not beauty, but the flaw.
PROVOCATIONS
I am no merry monger when
I see the slatterns of the town:
I hate to think of docile men
Whose angers all are driven down;
For sluts make joy a thing obscene,
And in contempt is nothing clean.
I like to see the ladies walk
With heels to set their chins atilt:
I like to hear the clergy talk
Of other clergy’s people’s guilt;
More than a world of dream.
But still
A voice calls from the hill —
I must away —
I cannot hear your argument to-day.
FOR A GUEST ROOM
All words are said,
And may it fall
That, crowning these,
You here shall find
A friendly bed,
A sheltering wall,
Your body’s ease,
A quiet mind.
May you forget
In happy sleep
The world that still
You hold as friend,
And may it yet
Be ours to keep
Your friendly will
To the world’s end.
For he is blest
Who, fixed to shun
All evil, when
The worst is known,
Counts, east and west,
When life is done,
His debts to men
In love alone.
DAY
Dawn is up at my window, and in the May-tree
The finches gossip, and tits, and beautiful sparrows
With feathers bright and brown as September hazels.
The sunlight is here, filtered through rosy curtains,
Docile and disembodied, a ghost of sunlight,
A gentle light to greet the dreamer returning.
Part the curtains. I give you salutation
Day, clear day; let us be friendly fellows.
Come… I hear the Liars about the city.
DREAMS
We have our dreams; not happiness.
Great cities are upon the hill
To lighten all our dream, and still
We have no cities to possess
But cities built of bitterness.
We see gay fellows top to toe,
And girls in rainbow beauty bright —
’Tis but of silly dreams I write,
For up and down the streets we know,
The scavengers and harlots go.
Give me a dozen men whose theme
Is honesty, and we will set
On high the banner of dreams … and yet
Thousands will pass us in a stream,
Nor care a penny what we dream.
RESPONSIBILITY
You ploughmen at the gate,
All that you are for me
Is of my mind create,
And in my brain to be
A figure newly won
From the world’s confusion.
And if you are of grace,
That’s honesty for me,
And if of evil face,
Recorded then shall be
Dishonour that I saw
Not beauty, but the flaw.
PROVOCATIONS
I am no merry monger when
I see the slatterns of the town:
I hate to think of docile men
Whose angers all are driven down;
For sluts make joy a thing obscene,
And in contempt is nothing clean.
I like to see the ladies walk
With heels to set their chins atilt:
I like to hear the clergy talk
Of other clergy’s people’s guilt;
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