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Mice & Other Poems

<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN> <div id="container"> <hr /> <h1><big>MICE</big><br/> <small>& OTHER POEMS</small></h1> <hr class="hr3" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/cover.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="395" alt="" title="" /> <p class="center">MICE<br/> & OTHER POEMS<br/> by Gerald Bullett<br/> <br/> <i>With a General Note by<br/> Sir Arthur Quiller Couch</i><br/> <br/> <span style="float: left;">ONE FLORIN</span> <span style="float: right;">1921</span></p> </div> <hr /> <h2>MICE AND OTHER POEMS</h2> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/logo.jpg" width-obs="120" height-obs="116" alt="" title="" /></div> <hr class="hr3" /> <div class="figcenter"> <p class="noi">PRINTED IN CAMBRIDGE AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS AND SOLD IN LONDON BY SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & Co</p> </div> <hr class="white" /> <p class="center">FIRST IMPRESSION JANUARY 1921</p> <hr class="hr3" /> <p class="center"><span class="title1">MICE</span><br/> <span class="title2">& OTHER POEMS</span><br/> <br/> <span class="author">by Gerald Bullett</span><br/> <br/><br/><br/><br/><br/> <span class="pub">Perkin Warbeck<br/> 9 Market Hill<br/> Cambridge</span></p> <hr /> <p class="center"><i>Uniform with this volume</i><br/> <br/> HOME-MADE VERSES<br/> <small><span class="smcap">By D. B. HASELER AND<br/> R. H. D'ELBOUX</span></small><br/> <br/> LAUGHING GAS AND<br/> OTHER POEMS<br/> <small><span class="smcap">By MARGUERITE FEW</span></small></p> <hr class="white" /> <p class="center">GERALD BULLETT<br/> <small>IS THE AUTHOR OF</small><br/> THE PROGRESS OF KAY<br/> <br/> <small>PUBLISHED BY<br/> CONSTABLE & CO. LONDON</small></p> <hr /> <h2>NOTE</h2> <p class="cap">IF the mental attitude of any critic has ever, in his approach to a first book of verse, been conciliated by an appreciative notice from some older pen, I should say (speaking out of no little experience) that either the author was dead and the fact advertised in the preface, or, alternatively, that the critic was possessed by a gentler spirit than mine. I am sure at any rate that artistic work, great or small, should be sternly judged on what it is rather than on what it promises. The late J. Comyns Carr, in the days when he wrote dramatic criticism, let loose this restive truth in a couple of short sentences—'We are told that So-and-so is a promising young actor. Personally I don't care how much he promises so long as he never again performs.'</p> <p>Let me, then, pass over Mr Gerald Bullett's verses with the simple remark that I believe in them (he himself calls them 'MICE'—no overweening title, however boldly printed. Yet mice were dear to Apollo Smintheus, and his proper emblem): and let me come to the general purpose of this Note.</p> <p>It is meant to preface a series of small volumes of verse by young writers, mostly Cambridge men. That, since the War, young men in extraordinary numbers have taken to expressing themselves in verse is a plain fact, not to be denied: that they choose, as often as not, to express themselves in 'numbers' extraordinary to us can as hardly be contested. But the point is, they have a crowding impulse to say something; and to say it with the emotional seriousness proper to Poetry. For my part, I love the discipline of verse: but I love the impulse better. Time will soften—I hope not too soon, lest it sugar down and sentimentalise—a certain bitterness of resentment observable in this booklet and its next followers: but, as nothing in verse is nobler than true tradition, anything is more hopeful than convention.</p> <p>So these booklets have been planned to give youth its chance to make spoons or spoil horns. If anyone object that the print and page over-dignify the content of any one volume in the proposed series, why, that must be a particular criticism, which cannot honestly (I think) be enlarged to blame the publisher's wish, and the care he has taken, that what pretends, however modestly, to be a work of the Muse, should step forth to the public in honourable dress.</p> <p class="right">ARTHUR QUILLER-COUCH</p> <hr /> <h2><SPAN name="contents" id="contents"></SPAN>CONTENTS</h2> <table summary="Contents"> <tr> <td class="tdl">Mice</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#mice">9</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">Rest</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#rest">10</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">'The Strength, the Mellow Music, and the Laughter'</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#strength">11</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">Ashes</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#ashes">12</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">'Du bist wie eine Blume'</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#du">13</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">Home</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#home">14</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">'Maître de Ballet'</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#ballet">15</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">The Grudge</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#grudge">16</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">Wedding Day</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#wedding">17</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">Crucifixion</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#crucifixion">18</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">Spring in Winter</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#spring">19</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">The Exile</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#exile">20</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">Sonnet for Helen</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#sonnet">21</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">Song</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#song">22</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">Musings</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#musings">23</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">The Poet</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#poet">24</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">'If all the trees were magic trees'</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#trees">26</SPAN></td> </tr> <tr> <td class="tdl">'Alone with these my poems...'</td> <td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#alone">28</SPAN></td> </tr> </table> <hr class="white" /> <p class="center"><i>'The Exile' is reprinted by courtesy of the Proprietors of Punch</i></p> <hr /> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="mice" id="mice"></SPAN>Mice</h2> <div class="block34"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I see</span> the broken bodies of women and men,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Temples of God ruined; I see the claws<br/></span> <span class="i0">Of sinister Fate, from the reach of whose feline paws<br/></span> <span class="i0">Never are safe the bodies of women and men.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Almighty Cat, it sits on the Throne of the World,<br/></span> <span class="i0">With paw outstretched, grinning at us, the mice,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Who play our trivial games of virtue and vice,<br/></span> <span class="i0">And pray—to That which sits on the Throne of the World!<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">From our beginning till all is over and done,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Unwitting who watches, pursuing our personal ends,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Hither and thither we scamper....The paw descends;<br/></span> <span class="i0">The paw descends and all is over and done.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="rest" id="rest"></SPAN>Rest</h2> <div class="block28"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Here</span> is tranquillity and silvan shade;<br/></span> <span class="i0">For now, emerging from that waste of sand<br/></span> <span class="i0">Which was my life, I reach a fruitful glade,<br/></span> <span class="i0">A pool of water in a thirsty land.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Your gentle soul a well of beauty is,<br/></span> <span class="i0">And crystal clear the sunlit deeps thereof;<br/></span> <span class="i0">And from that fountain of unmeasured bliss<br/></span> <span class="i0">I draw the living water of your love.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Here is the goal of all my wandering,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Here is oblivion of my bitterness,<br/></span> <span class="i0">And here the temple where my heart shall sing<br/></span> <span class="i0">Your eyes that light me and your lips that bless.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <div class="block30"> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="strength" id="strength"></SPAN><i>The strength, the mellow music, and the laughter</i></h2> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> steadfast beauty of her eyes is balm,<br/></span> <span class="i0">And in her touch there's healing for my hurt;<br/></span> <span class="i0">She is unshaken as a vessel girt<br/></span> <span class="i0">Mid waters of unutterable calm.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The years grow fragrant with her fragrance: they,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Sipping her sweetness, leave her yet more sweet.<br/></span> <span class="i0">Laden with divers colours, at her feet<br/></span> <span class="i0">They shed their motley silks and go their way<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Like withered dreams. So youth must follow after,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Youth that is brief and beauty that is grass;<br/></span> <span class="i0">But from her gentle soul shall never pass<br/></span> <span class="i0">The strength, the mellow music, and the laughter.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="ashes" id="ashes"></SPAN>Ashes</h2> <div class="block24"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Bury</span> the ashes. The life, the gleam<br/></span> <span class="i0">Of love is gone: we have killed with kisses<br/></span> <span class="i0">The fragile soul of rapture: this is<br/></span> <span class="i0">Only the hollow husk of a dream,<br/></span> <span class="i0">The bitter waking, the end thereof.<br/></span> <span class="i0">Come, bury the ashes of love.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The music falters; the flame is spent;<br/></span> <span class="i0">The vision is gone, the splendour faded,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Leaving only a pitiful jaded<br/></span> <span class="i0">Half-desire, and a discontent.<br/></span> <span class="i0">The end of love is a weary kiss—<br/></span> <span class="i0">Surely hate were better than this!<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="du" id="du"></SPAN><i>Du bist wie eine Blume</i></h2> <div class="block24"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">So</span> like a flower, so gentle,<br/></span> <span class="i0">So fair, so pure thou art,<br/></span> <span class="i0">That musing on thy beauty<br/></span> <span class="i0">Brings sadness to my heart.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I lay my hands, in spirit,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Upon thy gleaming hair,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Praying that God may keep thee<br/></span> <span class="i0">So sweet, so pure, so fair.<br/></span> <p class="right"><i>From the German of Heine</i></p> </div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="home" id="home"></SPAN>Home</h2> <div class="block24"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Five</span> weary days...and I shall creep<br/></span> <span class="i0">Into the shadow of her hair<br/></span> <span class="i0">And of her loveliness drink deep<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">And lose my desolation there,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Feeling her cool lips quench my own.<br/></span> <span class="i0">Lying so still, we shall not dare<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">To let one murmur like a stone<br/></span> <span class="i0">Into the pool of silence fall.<br/></span> <span class="i0">All senses will be fused in one:<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Peace will surround us with a wall<br/></span> <span class="i0">Of visible music, moments go<br/></span> <span class="i0">Melodiously by, and all<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The stillness brim with beauty; so<br/></span> <span class="i0">Our hearts will whisper, throbbing fast:<br/></span> <span class="i0">'Must time undeviating flow<br/></span> <span class="i0">And bear this fragile moment past?'<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="ballet" id="ballet"></SPAN><i>Maître de Ballet</i></h2> <div class="block16"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">On</span> a gossamer thread<br/></span> <span class="i0">Of light that stretches<br/></span> <span class="i0">From dark to dark<br/></span> <span class="i0">Over the void<br/></span> <span class="i0">We giddily jig<br/></span> <span class="i0">To the mad music<br/></span> <span class="i0">The Master makes.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">From the Green Room<br/></span> <span class="i0">He calls us forth,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Sensitive puppets,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Live automata,<br/></span> <span class="i0">And with a gesture<br/></span> <span class="i0">Sets us jerkily<br/></span> <span class="i0">Dancing the tightrope.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">From a seat in the stalls<br/></span> <span class="i0">Of the cosmic theatre<br/></span> <span class="i0">Silently<br/></span> <span class="i0">He watches our antics.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">When we call to him<br/></span> <span class="i0">'Master, Master!<br/></span> <span class="i0">Help, we are falling!'<br/></span> <span class="i0">Out of the darkness<br/></span> <span class="i0">Comes no word<br/></span> <span class="i0">....Only a chuckle.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="grudge" id="grudge"></SPAN>The Grudge</h2> <blockquote> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><i>We grudged not those that were dearer than all we possessed,</i><br/></span> <span class="i0"><i>Lovers, brothers, sons.</i><br/></span> <span class="i0"><i>Our hearts were full, and out of a full heart</i><br/></span> <span class="i0"><i>We gave our beloved ones.</i><br/></span> <p class="right nt">(Laurence Binyon)</p> </div> </div> </blockquote> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> are of baser quality: we have been<br/></span> <span class="i0">Tried by fire and judged a spurious gold.<br/></span> <span class="i0">We are little of soul; and yet in our pigmy way<br/></span> <span class="i0">We have suffered and loved with a love that cannot be told.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Being less than you, we did not eagerly quaff<br/></span> <span class="i0">The cup of gall: we prayed that it might pass.<br/></span> <span class="i0">We are not gods: we are pitiful human stuff;<br/></span> <span class="i0">And the blood of our passion has stained Gethsemane's grass.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">We were not blind to the vision. We heard the call<br/></span> <span class="i0">And followed, or watched our belovèd steadfastly go.<br/></span> <span class="i0">But our grief is naked, and shivers, and will not be soothed<br/></span> <span class="i0">By splendid phrases, or clothed in a moral glow.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">We cannot say for our comfort: 'Losing them,<br/></span> <span class="i0">We gain a glimpse of noble terrible heights,<br/></span> <span class="i0">A cleansing exquisite pain, a sacred grief,<br/></span> <span class="i0">A dream to cherish'—we think of the vanished lights;<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">We think of the fine nerves shattered, the warm blood chilled,<br/></span> <span class="i0">The laughter silenced, the zest and the beauty gone,<br/></span> <span class="i0">The desolation of wasted wonderful dreams<br/></span> <span class="i0">That will never be lived, of work that cannot be done.<br/></span></div> </div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="wedding" id="wedding"></SPAN>Wedding Day</h2> <div class="block30"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Was</span> it for this we loved: to settle down<br/></span> <span class="i0">(Having once paid the necessary fee)<br/></span> <span class="i0">In some nice suburb not too far from town,<br/></span> <span class="i0">To eat and sleep and kiss complacently,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Loving by rote as decent people do:<br/></span> <span class="i0">Was it for this we hungered, I and you?<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">A lover's vows are gossamer, they say;<br/></span> <span class="i0">But we have registered our mutual vow<br/></span> <span class="i0">For seven and sixpence, dearest. Yesterday<br/></span> <span class="i0">There was but love to bind our hearts, but now<br/></span> <span class="i0">We owe it to the Vicar to be good<br/></span> <span class="i0">And love each other as we said we would.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">That promise at the altar is a link<br/></span> <span class="i0">(Which only death can break) between us two;<br/></span> <span class="i0">For every time I kiss you I shall think:<br/></span> <span class="i0">'How this would please the Vicar if he knew!'<br/></span> <span class="i0">And we shall put our youthful dreams to bed,<br/></span> <span class="i0">And so live on—long after we are dead.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">We are made one. One mind will serve us both.<br/></span> <span class="i0">('Oh yes, we think Locke's novels rather sweet!')<br/></span> <span class="i0">In ever-living witness of our troth<br/></span> <span class="i0">You'll serve the vegetables, I the meat...<br/></span> <span class="i0">O happiness! It is our wedding day!<br/></span> <span class="i0">Embrace me, dear: the Prayer Book says you may.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="crucifixion" id="crucifixion"></SPAN>Crucifixion</h2> <div class="block32"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> wage eternal war on the losing side;<br/></span> <span class="i0">Ever defeated we by the sinister foe<br/></span> <span class="i0">That only pathetic piety seeks to hide<br/></span> <span class="i0">In a theological costume of long ago.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The goal we seek to attain will never be ours:<br/></span> <span class="i0">All our hopes will end in ashes and dust;<br/></span> <span class="i0">All our dreams will be dead desolate flowers,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Plucked by the pitiless Hand we were taught to trust.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Doomed to eternal defeat in the endless strife,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Scornful of Chance the Almighty, we worship with pride<br/></span> <span class="i0">The divine, frail, terrible Beauty of Life<br/></span> <span class="i0">On the Cross of Fate incessantly crucified.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="spring" id="spring"></SPAN>Spring in Winter</h2> <div class="block34"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">My</span> memories of you are singing birds<br/></span> <span class="i0">In the green forest of my mind, where I<br/></span> <span class="i0">May roam, recapturing your whispered words,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Or on a bank of glowing bluebells lie,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Listening for ever. Spring is come again<br/></span> <span class="i0">In all her glory; the erst withered trees<br/></span> <span class="i0">That creaked, like living skeletons in pain,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Defying the wind, have donned green garments: these<br/></span> <span class="i0">New shoots, these blossoms and these buds, the springing<br/></span> <span class="i0">Grass, and the sky where many colours blend,<br/></span> <span class="i0">My songsters by the magic of their singing<br/></span> <span class="i0">Have in a moment made. My thoughts of you<br/></span> <span class="i0">Are music which to all my spirit's rue<br/></span> <span class="i0">Is the ineffable answer and the end.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="exile" id="exile"></SPAN>The Exile</h2> <div class="block32"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Now</span> I return to my own land and people,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Old familiar things so to recover,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Hedgerows and little lanes and meadows,<br/></span> <span class="i0">The friendliness of my own land and people.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I have seen a world-frieze of glowing orange,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Palms painted black on the satin horizon,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Palm-trees in the dusk and the silence standing<br/></span> <span class="i0">Straight and still against a background of orange;<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">A gorgeous magical pomp of light and colour,<br/></span> <span class="i0">A dream-world, a sparkling gem in the sunlight,<br/></span> <span class="i0">The minarets and domes of an Eastern city;<br/></span> <span class="i0">And in the midst of all the pomp of colour<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">My heart cried out for my own land and people;<br/></span> <span class="i0">My heart cried out for the lush meadows of England,<br/></span> <span class="i0">The hedgerows and little lanes of England,<br/></span> <span class="i0">And for the faces of my own people.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="sonnet" id="sonnet"></SPAN>Sonnet for Helen</h2> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> you're very old, when in the candlelight your hair<br/></span> <span class="i0">Silver shews—when by the fire you spinning sit and weaving,<br/></span> <span class="i0">You will croon my verses, but in wonder, scarce believing<br/></span> <span class="i0">'Ronsard hymned my beauty in the days when I was fair.'<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Never servant could you have, tho' half-asleep she were,<br/></span> <span class="i0">But would rouse herself to listen to your lyric grieving,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Wake to hear my name and your glory, my achieving,<br/></span> <span class="i0">My immortal praise of your beauty past compare.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I shall be beneath the earth, an unsubstantial shade;<br/></span> <span class="i0">Where the myrtles throw their shadow will my bones be laid.<br/></span> <span class="i0">You will be a squatting crony sighing by the fire,<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Sighing for the love you scorned, recalling it with sorrow.<br/></span> <span class="i0">Live, O live and love to-day; delay not till the morrow:<br/></span> <span class="i0">Gather now the roses of youth and desire.<br/></span> <p class="right"><i>From the French of Ronsard</i></p> </div> </div> <hr /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="song" id="song"></SPAN>Song</h2> <div class="block26"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">How</span> did we dim that wistful dream,<br/></span> <span class="i0">That shy first love without caress,<br/></span> <span class="i0">That breathless wonder, that supreme<br/></span> <span class="i0">Vision of all love's loveliness?<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">For surely had we parted then,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Kissed once with tears and said Good-bye,<br/></span> <span class="i0">We had been speaking truly when<br/></span> <span class="i0">We said our love could never die.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Because we did a moment cling,<br/></span> <span class="i0">With trembling senses cling and kiss—<br/></span> <span class="i0">Does it not seem a bitter thing<br/></span> <span class="i0">That bliss should die of too much bliss?<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Love is a fair and fragile flower<br/></span> <span class="i0">Which Youth must needs, poor foolish boy,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Pluck greedily....Within the hour<br/></span> <span class="i0">He weeps to see his withered joy.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="musings" id="musings"></SPAN>Musings</h2> <div class="block30"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Be</span> calmer, O my Grief, be quieter:<br/></span> <span class="i0">The dusk you craved enfolds us; everywhere<br/></span> <span class="i0">The twilight veil of blue-grey gossamer<br/></span> <span class="i0">Falls, bringing peace to some, to others care.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">While thralls of Pleasure, that most merciless<br/></span> <span class="i0">Of tyrants, hasten to his board (although<br/></span> <span class="i0">His wine is gall, and his fruit, bitterness),<br/></span> <span class="i0">Come with me, O my Grief, and let us go<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Far from them. See the bygone years that throng<br/></span> <span class="i0">Heaven's balconies; see smiling Sorrow, strong<br/></span> <span class="i0">In fortitude, rise from the waters; see<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The dying sun, low sinking, disappear<br/></span> <span class="i0">Beyond the verge. The rustling mystery<br/></span> <span class="i0">Of night approaches—hear, beloved, hear.<br/></span> <p class="right"><i>From the French of Baudelaire</i></p> </div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="poet" id="poet"></SPAN>The Poet</h2> <div class="block24"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Where</span> the flowers are most tall,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Heedless of his mother's call,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Wooden sword in his hand<br/></span> <span class="i0">Tightly clasped, I see him stand.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">He is pondering with eyes<br/></span> <span class="i0">Full of four-year-old surmise<br/></span> <span class="i0">Two great hollyhocks that sway<br/></span> <span class="i0">This way, that way,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Till they almost touch his cheek.<br/></span> <span class="i0">Queer, solemn souls they seem,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Spell-bound, lost in dream,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Always just about to speak...<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Then he with thirsty eyes<br/></span> <span class="i0">Drinks the intoxicating skies.<br/></span> <span class="i0">Done with earth, he bestrides<br/></span> <span class="i0">The galloping white horses, rides<br/></span> <span class="i0">The blue valleys and the red hills<br/></span> <span class="i0">Of sunset, and his pocket fills<br/></span> <span class="i0">With golden apples. Days pass,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Long full days...<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</SPAN></span><br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i8">The grass<br/></span> <span class="i0">Suddenly stirs, and he plunges<br/></span> <span class="i0">Into the perilous wood and lunges<br/></span> <span class="i0">Stoutly at the dragon's head<br/></span> <span class="i0">Till the fiery beast is dead...<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Now that dusk is fast falling<br/></span> <span class="i0">He'll obey his mother's calling.<br/></span> <span class="i0">Out of Fairyland with slow<br/></span> <span class="i0">Thoughtful steps he turns to go.<br/></span> <span class="i0">Yet there's just time to float<br/></span> <span class="i0">In the water-butt his boat<br/></span> <span class="i0">Made of cork and spent matches:<br/></span> <span class="i0">So, at the last he snatches<br/></span> <span class="i0">Great adventure from the dread<br/></span> <span class="i0">Unrelenting jaws of Bed.<br/></span> <span class="i0">Round the magic world rides he,<br/></span> <span class="i0">And lives a breathless Odyssey.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="trees" id="trees"></SPAN><i>If all the trees were magic trees</i></h2> <div class="block26"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">If</span> all the trees were magic trees<br/></span> <span class="i0">And talked among themselves,<br/></span> <span class="i0">If kings could sleep in daffodils<br/></span> <span class="i0">And bishops danced on window-sills,<br/></span> <span class="i0">If all the valleys changed to hills<br/></span> <span class="i0">And all the tens to twelves,<br/></span> <span class="i4">The world would be nonsensical,<br/></span> <span class="i4">And we should all be elves.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">If every street in Camden Town<br/></span> <span class="i0">Were paved with precious stones,<br/></span> <span class="i0">If modest souls began to drape<br/></span> <span class="i0">Their table-legs in decent crape,<br/></span> <span class="i0">If every squirrel wore a cape<br/></span> <span class="i0">And had the name of Jones,<br/></span> <span class="i4">I'd weave a robe of beetles' eyes<br/></span> <span class="i4">And jellyfishes' bones.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</SPAN></span><br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">If kingcups blossomed in the sky<br/></span> <span class="i0">And fell like golden rain<br/></span> <span class="i0">In grey half-light shot through and through<br/></span> <span class="i0">With shafts of green and shafts of blue,<br/></span> <span class="i0">If pink and purple chickweed grew<br/></span> <span class="i0">On every window pane,<br/></span> <span class="i4">All truly tidy folk would deem<br/></span> <span class="i4">The universe insane.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">If we were sensible enough<br/></span> <span class="i0">To hear the bluebells ring,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Were sight so true and hearts so wise<br/></span> <span class="i0">That we could see with glowing eyes<br/></span> <span class="i0">Enchantment flaming from the skies<br/></span> <span class="i0">And joy in everything,<br/></span> <span class="i4">Then every girl a queen would be,<br/></span> <span class="i4">And every boy a king.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /> <h2><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</SPAN></span> <SPAN name="alone" id="alone"></SPAN><i>Alone with these my poems...</i></h2> <div class="block30"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Alone</span> with these my poems, when night is still,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Earth seems but a speck of fluttering dust,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Moth-like, in a waste of eternity.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Alone with these symbols of human thought,<br/></span> <span class="i0">All our measureless system of whirling worlds<br/></span> <span class="i0">Seems itself a symbol, a chance phrase<br/></span> <span class="i0">In a poem wrought by the hand of a brooding god,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Where we ourselves are less than commas and dots.<br/></span> <span class="i0">And had he smeared out with careless thumb<br/></span> <span class="i0">All life, from its first birth in the waters<br/></span> <span class="i0">To the ultimate dissolution of stars and suns,<br/></span> <span class="i0">He had made no more than an ill-timed caesura.<br/></span></div> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Alone with these my poems, when night is still,<br/></span> <span class="i0">I am less than a speck of dust on the wing of a moth<br/></span> <span class="i0">Fluttering in a waste of eternity.<br/></span></div> </div></div> <hr class="white" /></div> <SPAN name="endofbook"></SPAN> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

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