bright—
Larger sparrows of the town,
Nested ’mong the vapours brown.
Far away the starry mirth
Hangs o’er all the wooded earth.
If these merry ones should know,
Footing in the feeble glow,
Of a wide wood’s leafy leisure,
Would they foot so fleet a measure?
Ah no!
Maybe now in some far lane,
Dancing on the moon’s broad stain,
Watched of placid poplar trees,
Children sing in twos and threes.
Hush! hush! hush! on every lip
Lies a chubby finger-tip,
As there floats from fields afar
Clamour of the lone nightjar.
If these merry ones should know,
Footing in the feeble glow,
Other people’s mirth and pleasure,
Would they foot so fleet a measure?
Ah no!
Maybe in some isle of isles,
In the south seas’ azure miles,
Dance the savage children small,
Singing to their light footfall.
Hush! hush! hush! they pause and point
Where a shell, the seas anoint,
Dropping liquid rainbow light,
Rolls along the sea-sands white.
If these merry ones should know,
Footing in the feeble glow,
Other people’s mirth and pleasure,
Would they foot so fleet a measure?
Ah no!
Maybe now a Bedouin’s brood
Laughing goes in wildest mood,
Past the spears and palm-stems dry,
Past the camel’s dreaming eye.
Hush! hush! hush! they pause them where
Bows the Bedouin’s whitening hair—
Peace of youth and peace of age,
Thoughtless joys and sorrows sage.
If these merry ones should know,
Footing in the feeble glow,
Other people’s mirth and pleasure,
Would they foot so fleet a measure?
Ah no!
Others know the healing earth,
Others know the starry mirth;
They will wrap them in the shroud,
Sorrow-worn, yet placid browed.
London streets have heritage
Blinder sorrows, harder wage—
Sordid sorrows of the mart,
Sorrows sapping brain and heart.
If these merry ones should know,
Footing in the feeble glow,
All the healing earth may treasure,
Would they foot so fleet a measure?
Ah no!
Quatrains and Aphorisms
I
The child who chases lizards in the grass,
The sage who deep in central nature delves,
The preacher watching for the ill hour to pass—
All these are souls who fly from their dread selves.
II
Two spirit-things a man hath for his friends—
Sorrow, that gives for guerdon liberty,
And joy, the touching of whose finger lends
To lightest of all light things sanctity.
III
Long thou for nothing, neither sad nor gay;
Long thou for nothing, neither night nor day;
Not even “I long to see thy longing over,”
To the ever-longing and mournful spirit say.
IV
The ghosts went by me with their lips apart
From death’s late languor as these lines I read
On Brahma’s gateway, “They within have fed
The soul upon the ashes of the heart.”
V
This heard I where, amid the apple trees,
Wild indolence and music have no date,
“I laughed upon the lips of Sophocles,
I go as soft as folly; I am Fate.”
VI
“Around, the twitter of the lips of dust
A tossing laugh between their red abides;
With patient beauty yonder Attic bust
In the deep alcove’s dimness smiles and hides.”
VII
The heart of noon folds silence and folds sleep,
For noon and midnight from each other borrow,
And Joy, in growing deeper and more deep,
Walks in the vesture of her sister Sorrow.
When You Are Sad
When you are sad,
The mother of the stars weeps too,
And all her starlight is with sorrow mad,
And tears of fire fall gently in the dew.
When you are sad,
The mother of the wind mourns too,
And her old wind that no mirth ever had,
Wanders and wails before my heart most true
When you are sad,
The mother of the wave sighs too,
And her dim wave bids man be no more glad,
And then the whole world’s trouble weeps with you.
To the Rose Upon the Rood of Time
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways:
Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide;
The Druid, gray, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed,
Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;
And thine own sadness, whereof stars, grown old
In dancing silver sandalled on the sea,
Sing in their high and lonely melody.
Come near, that no more blinded by man’s fate,
I find under the boughs of love and hate,
In all poor foolish things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering on her way.
Come near, come near, come near—Ah, leave me still
A little space for the rose-breath to fill!
Lest I no more hear common things that crave;
The weak worm hiding down in its small cave,
The field mouse running by me in the grass,
And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;
But seek alone to hear the strange things said
By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,
And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know.
Come near; I would, before my time to go,
Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.
Fergus and the Druid
| Fergus |
The whole day have I followed in the rocks,
And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape,
First as a raven on whose ancient wings
Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed
A weasel moving on from stone to stone,
And now at last you wear a human shape,
A thin gray man half lost in gathering night.
|
| Druid |
What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?
|
| Fergus |
This would I say, most wise of living souls:
Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me
When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,
And what to me was burden without end,
To him seemed easy, so I laid the crown
Upon his head to cast away my sorrow.
|
| Druid |
What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?
|
| Fergus |
A king and proud! and that is my despair.
I feast amid my people on the hill,
And pace the woods, and drive my chariot wheels
In the white border of the murmuring sea;
And still I feel the crown upon my head.
|
| Druid |
What would you, Fergus?
|
| Fergus |
Be no more a king
But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.
|
| Druid |
Look on my thin gray hair and hollow cheeks
And on these hands that may not lift the sword,
This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.
No
|
