Saturday Market Arracombe Wood Sea Love the Road to Kerity Q I Have Been Through the Gates the Cenotaph

SATURDAY MA RK ET

By CHARLOTTE M EW

NEW YO RK

TH E M ACM ILLAN CO M PANY Prin t ed in Engla nd at Th e Wes m n st e P e ss a ow Road t i r r , H rr , W Lon o n . d , THE AUTHOR begs to thank the Editors of The Na tion The Westmins ter Gazette The New Weekl , , y, ' The En lzshwoman The E oist Th e Gra hic Th e g , g , p , Ath em um Th e Cha book e r , and p for p mission to reprint some of the poems in this book .

fe of e u a o He li th e , and tho gavest him l ng life e ven for ever

CONTENTS

’ THE FARMER S BRIDE FAME ” THE NARROW DOOR THE FETE BESIDE THE BED IN NUNHEAD CEMETERY THE PEDLAR PEOHERESSE THE CHANGELING

A Q UOI BO N DIRE THE Q UIET HOUSE O N THE ASYLUM ROAD JOUR DES MORTS (CIMETIERE MONTPARNASSE) THE FOREST ROAD MADELEINE IN CHURCH EXSPECTO RESURRECTIONEM O N THE ROAD To THE SEA THE SUNLIT HOUSE THE SHADE CATCHERS LE SACRE C(EUR (MONTMARTRE) SONG SATURDAY MARKET ARRACOMBE WOOD SEA LOVE THE ROAD TO KERITY Q I HAVE BEEN THROUGH THE GATES THE CENOTAPH

THE FARMER ’ S BRIDE

HREE I Summers since chose a maid , — ’ TO O young maybe but more s to do

- At harvest time than bide and woo . When us was wed she turned afraid Of love and me and all things human ’ Like the shut of a winter s day . ’ ’ twasn t Her smile went out , and a woman t More like a li tle frightened fay .

One night , in the Fall , she runned away .

’ u t O mong the sheep , her be , they said , ’ Should properly have been abed But sure enough she wasn ’ t there L a ying awake with her wide brown st re . over seven- acre ﬁeld and u p -a long across the

We chased her , ﬂying like a hare

- Before our lanterns . To Church Town All in a shiver and a scare

We caught her , fetched her home at last

And turned the key upon her , fast .

She does the work ab out the house as As well most , but like a mouse Happy enough to chat and play

With birds and rabbits and such as they,

- SO long as men folk keep away . not Not near , near her eyes beseech

When one of us comes within reach . The women say that beasts in stall L ook round like children at her call . ’ I ve hardly heard her speak at all .

Shy as a leveret , swift as he ,

Straight and slight as a young larch tree , as ﬁr w i s h e Sweet the st ild v olets , ,

To her wild self . But what to me

I I d The short ays shorten and the oaks are brown , r sk The blue smoke ises to the low grey y, s One leaf in the still air falls lowly down , ’ A magpie s spotted feathers lie e On the black earth spread whit with rime , s - The berries redden up to Christma time . ’ What s Chris tmas- time without there be Some other in the house than we

She sleeps up in the attic there ’ e id Alon , poor ma . Tis but a stair x Betwi t us . Oh my God the down , Of The soft young down her , the brown , Of —h er The brown her eyes , her hair , her hair

1 2 FAME

O METIM ES - e a u bu t not for o in the over h ted ho se , l ng , and a h e S Smirking speaking r t r loud , I see o t he myself am ng crowd , S his Where no one ﬁts the inger to song , Or Sifts the unpainted from the painted faces Of the people who are always on my stair They were not with me when I walked in heavenly places But could I spare ’ an d In the blind Earth s great silences spaces , f The din , the scu ﬂe , the long stare If I went back and it was not there O ld Back to the known things that are the new , Th e of - r folded glory the gorse , the sweet b iar air , s To the larks that cannot prai e us , know n nothing of what we s And the divine , wise tree that do not care

Yet , to leave Fame , still with such eyes and that bright hair God If I might And before I go hence Take in he r stead ou r To tossed bed , h ow One little dream , no matter how small , wild . n Just now , I think I fou d it in a ﬁeld , under a fence

- A frail , dead , new born lamb , ghostly and pitiful and white ,

A blot upon the night , The moon ’s dropped child

I 3 THE NARROW DOOR

r HE na row door , the narrow door On the three steps of which the café children play

Mostly at shop with pebbles from the shore , It is always shut this narrow door for t o- But open a little while day .

An d his round it , each with pebbles in hand , A silenced crowd the café children stand To see the long b ox jerking down the bend i on Of tw sted stair then set end , Q uite ﬁlling up the narrow door not o Till it comes out and does g in any more .

ou see d Along the quay y it win , i The slow black line . Someone pulls up the bl nd Of the small window just above the narrow door ' Tzens u e veux- tu ach eter Réné e q cries , ’ ” M ais our ua t sous des oz nons , p q , lg , Jean replies And one pays down with pebbles from the shore . 3

I 4 THE PETE

’ O - NIGHT again the moon s white mat Stretches across the dormitory ﬂoor

While outside , like an evil cat ion The p prowls down the dark corridor , t o on e Planning , I know , pounce me , in spit For t o getting leave sleep in town last night . was of wh o But it none us made that noise , Only the old brown owl that hoots and ﬂies — Out Of the ivy h e will say it was us boys ' S ezgneur man Dieu the sacre soul of spies He would like t o catch each dream that lies Hidden behind ou r sleepy eyes — ’ Their dream But mine it is the moon and th at sees All my long life h ow I shall hate the trees

’ P lace d Armes In the , the dusty planes , all Summer through Dozed with the market women in the su n and scarcely stirred To see the quiet things that crossed the Square S A tiny funeral , the ﬂying hadow of a bird , - é L The hump backed barber C lestin emaire , - d Old madame Michel in her three wheele chair ,

And ﬁling past to Vespers , two and two , demoiselles ensionna t The of the p .

Towed like a ship through the harbour bar , a le etit em S fe into port , where p f Perhaps makes nothing Of the look they shot at you ’ S i c est dé endu mails ue e oulez- vous , f , q was su n s It the . The unshine weaves A pattern on dull stones the sunshine leaves The portraiture of dreams upon the eyes Before it dies All Summer through The dust hung white upon the drowsy planes / u Till suddenly they woke with the Aut mn rains .

I S It is not only the little boys

Who have hardly got away from toys , x But I , who am seventeen ne t year ,

Some nights , in bed , have grown cold to hear That lonely passion of the rain

Which makes you think of being dead , And of somewhere living to lay your head

As if you were a child again , k Crying for one thing , nown and near u ar Yo r empty heart , to still the hunger and the fe a That pelts and beats with it gainst the pane .

But I remember smiling too At all the sun ’ s soft tricks and those Autumn dreads er th In wint time , when the grey light broke slowly rough - ou r The frosted window lace to drag us shivering from beds . And when at dusk the singing wind swu ng down Straight from the stars to the dark country roads w w Beyond the t inkling to n , i Strik ng the leaﬂess poplar boughs as he went by,

Like some poor , stray dog by the wayside lying dead , O ld We left behind us the world of dread , n n I and the wind as we strode whistli g on under the Wi ter sky .

And then in Spring for three days came the Fair Just as the planes were starting into bud Above the caravans you saw the dancing bear s u Pa s on his chain and heard the jingle and the th d . Only four days ago They let you out of this dull sh ow TO slither down the montagne russe and chaff the man (i de veau ’ S tir Hit , lick , the bull s eye at the , Spin round and round till your head went queer ‘ orcs- rou lants Oh Id Id la ete On the p . f ‘ Va our da win et le tete- a- téte p , t h e ue res P auvrette With the girl who sugars g f , b u t How thin she was she smiled , you bet , As she took your tip One does not

The good days , Monsieur . Said with a grace , But sacrebleu what a ghost Of a face And no fun too for the demoiselles ensiomza t Of the p , who were hurried past , ’ ’ Oh ue c est beau—Ah u elle est belle With their , q , q ’ A lap- dog s life from ﬁrst to last

The good nights are not made for sleep , nor the good days for dreaming in , And at the end in the big Circus tent we sat and shook and stewed like sin

Some children there had got—but where

Sent from the south , perhaps a red bouquet

Of roses , sweetening the fetid air

With scent from gardens by some far away blue bay . They threw one at the dancing bear e ’ The white clown caught it . From St . R my s tower

The deep , slow bell tolled out the hour c The bla k clown , with his dirty grin u Lay, sprawling in the d st , as She rode in . — She stood on a white horse and suddenly you saw the bend - off Of a far road at dawn , with knights riding by, A ﬁeld of spears—and then the gallant day GO n out in storm , with ragged clouds low dow , sullen and grey n Agai st red heavens wild and awful , such a sky As witnesses against you at the end

Of a great battle bugles blowing , blood and dust M orte (1 Arthur The old , ﬁght you must

It died in anger . But it was not death r That had you by the th oat , stopping your breath .

She looked like Victory . She rode my way .

She laughed at the black clown and then she ﬂew

A bird above us , on the wing

I 7 Of her white arms and you saw through Of A rent in the old tent , a patch sky so With one dim star . She flew , but not high An d then she did not fly She Stood in the bright moonlight at the door a fl or Of strange room , she threw her slippers on the o

Again , again

You heard the patter of the rain , —it was T The starving rain this hing , w as Summer this , the gold mist in your eyes God Oh it dies , But after death To- night the splendour and the sting

Blows back and catches at your breath , of s ea The smell beasts , the smell of dust , the scent of all the roses in the world , the ,

the Spring, th e m The beat of drums , the pad of hoofs , music , dream , the drea , the Enchanted Thing

ou At ﬁrst y scarcely saw her face ,

You knew the maddening feet were there , lf- n What called was that ha hidden , white u rest To which now and then s h e pressed Her ﬁnger tips but as she Slackened pace And turned and looked at you it grew quite bare There was not anything you did not dare Like trumpeters the hours passed until the last day of the

’ In the P lace d Armes all afternoon

The building birds had sung Soon , soon ,

The shuttered streets slept sound that night , It was full moon Th e was i path into the wood almost wh te , Th e trees were very still and seemed to stare Not ﬂit s far before your soul the Dream on ,

But when you touch it , it is gone

And quite alone your soul stands there .

BESIDE THE BED

O MEO NE h as shut the shining eyes , straightened and folded The wandering hands quietly covering the unquiet breast and ou i So , smoothed silenced y lie , like a child , not aga n to be questioned or scolded Bu t u s is , for you 'not one of believes that this rest .

Not so to close the windows down can cloud and deaden The blue beyond or to screen the wavering ﬂame subdue its breath Wh ch eck y, if I lay my cheek to your , your grey lips , like dawn , would quiver and redden , Odd Breaking into the old , smile at this fraud of death .

Because all night you have not tu rned to us or spoken It is time for you to wake your dreams were never very deep 1 and , for one , have seen the thin , bright , twisted threads of them dimmed suddenly broken , This is only a most piteous pretence of sleep IN NU NHEAD CEMETERY

T is the clay that makes the earth stick to his spade He ﬁlls in holes like this ' year after year

The others have gone they were tired , and half afraid , But I would rather be standing here

r The e is nowhere else to go . I have seen this place From the windows of the train that ’ s going past

Against the sky . This is rain on my face ’ It n saw was rai ing here when I it last .

There is something horrible about a ﬂower is This , broken in my hand , one of those He threw in just now : it will not live another hou r

There are thousands more you do not miss a rose .

One Of the children hanging about Pointed at the whole dre adful heap and smiled was This morning , after THAT carried out

There is something terrible about a child .

We were like children , last week , in the Strand That was the day you laughed at me Becau se I tried to make you u nderstand

The cheap , stale chap I used to be

Before I saw the things you made me see .

This is not a real place perhaps b y- and - b y I shall wake—I am getting drenched with all this rain To- morrow I will tell you about the eyes of the Crystal Palace train

Looking down on us , and you will laugh and I shall see what you see again .

not Not here , now . We said Not yet Across our low stone parapet c Will the qui k shadows of the sparrows fall .

2 1 But still it was a lovely thing Through the grey months t o wait for Spring With the birds that go a- gypsying

In the parks till the blue seas call . ’ ou And next to these , y used to care a For the lions in Trafalg r Square , ’ Wh o ll stand and speak for London when h er bell of Judgment tolls And the gulls at Westminster that were ’ sea- l The old captains sou s . - n To day again the brow tide splashes , step by step , the river stair , And the gulls are there

By a month we have missed ou r Day Th e children would have hung about Rou nd the carriage and over the way

AS you and I came out .

’ We shou ld have stood on the gulls black cliﬂ s and heard the sea ’ An d seen the moon s white track , e I would have call d , you would have come to me

And kissed me back .

You have never done that I do not know Why I stood staring at your bed S And heard you , though you poke so low ,

But could not reach your hands , your little

There was nothing we could not do , you said ,

And you went , and I let you go

w Now I ill burn you back , I will burn you through , Though I am damned for it we two will lie An d burn , here where the starlings ﬂy To these white stones from the wet sky I Dear , you will say this is not

It would not be you , it would not be you

2 2 for only a little while l You wi l think of it you will understand , If you will touch my sleeve and smile As you did that morning in the Strand I can wait quietly with you Or go away if you want me t o God I What 1S God but your face h as hand

Let me stay here too .

When I was quite a little lad At Christmas time we went half mad all For joy of the toys we had , An d then we used to sing about the sheep The shepherds watched by night We used to pray to Christ to keep Our small souls safe till morning light

- I am scared , I am staying with you to night

Put me to sleep .

I shall stay here here you can see t h e sky Th e houses in the streets are much too high There is no one left to speak to there

Here they are everywhere , And just above them ﬁelds and ﬁelds Of roses lie

If he would dig it all up agam they would not die .

23 THE PEDLAR

END me, a little while , the key ’ That locks your heavy heart , and I ll give you back

Rarer than books and ribbons and beads bright to see ,

This little Key of Dreams out of my pack .

d ’ The road , the roa , beyond men s bolted doors , r The e shall I walk and you go free of me , u For yo rs lies North across the moors , To sea And mine South . what

if m How we stopped and let our sole n selves go by, ’ hi do W le my gay ghost caught and kissed yours , as ghosts don t , And by the wayside this forgotten you and I - Sat , and were twenty two

Give me the key that locks your tired eyes ,

And I will lend you this one from my pack , Brighter than coloured beads and painted books that make men wise

Take it . No , give it back

24 PEOHERESSE

OWN the long quay the slow boats glide, While here and there a house looms white A gainst the gloom of the waterside , And some high window throws a light

As they sail out into the night .

At dawn they will bring in again To women kni t ting on the quay , Wh o wait for him , their man of men

I stand with them , and watch the sea W k hich may have ta en mine from me .

Just so the long days come and go . é The nights, ma Dou the nights are cold ’ O u r d as z La y s heart is fro en snow , Since this one sin I have not told And I shall die or perhaps grow Old

e Before he comes . The for ign ships Bring many a one of face an d name As ra st nge as his , to buy your lips , A gold piece for a scarlet shame L n was ike mi e . But mine not the same .

O ne n t ight was ours , one shor grey day u Of s dden sin , unshrived , untold .

He found me , and I lost the way

To Paradise for him . I sold M y soul for love and not for gold .

2 5 so He bought my soul , but even ,

My face is all that he has seen ,

His is the only face I know , An d n in the dark church , like a scree , It shuts God out it comes between

While in some narrow foreign street

Or loitering on the crowded quay, Who knows what others he may meet To turn his eyes away from me Many are fair to such as he

There is but one for such as I for To love , to hate , to hunger

I shall , perhaps , grow old and die ,

With one short day to spend and store ,

One night , in all my life , no more .

u J st so the long days come and go , Yet this one sin I will not tell ’ Thou gh Mary s heart is as frozen snow And for all nights are cold one warmed too well . é th e ni hts o Hell But , oh ma Dou g f

2 6

’ u ou Sometimes I wo ldn t speak , y see ,

Or answer when you spoke to me ,

Because in the long , still dusks of Spring You can hear the whole world whispering e The shy green grass s making love ,

The feathers grow on the dear , grey dove ,

The tiny heart of the redstart beat , ’ The patter of the squirrel s feet ,

The pebbles pushing in the silver streams , ru The shes talking in their dreams , ’ - The swish swish of the bat s black wings , ’ - - The wild wood bluebell s sweet ting tings ,

Humming and hammering at your ear , Everything there is to hear a In the he rt of hidden things ,

But not in the midst of the nursery riot , ’ That s why I wanted to be quiet , ’ i Couldn t do my sums , or s ng ,

Or settle down to anything .

And when , for that , I was sent upstairs I did kneel down to say my prayers But the King who sits on your high church steeple Has nothing to do with us fairy people

’ t Times I pleased you , dear Fa her , dear Mother ,

Learned all my lessons and liked to play, And dearly I loved th e little pale brother

Whom some other bird must have called away . Why did They bring me here to make me

Not quite bad and not quite good , ’ me Why, unless They re wicked , do They want , in spite , to take w Back to their wet , ild wood NOW , every night I shall see the windows shining, ’ ’ The gold lamp s glow , and the ﬁre s red gleam , While the best of us are twining t wigs and the rest of us are whining

In the hollow by the stream . Black and chill are Their nights on the wold And They live so long and They feel no pain

I shall grow up , but never grow old ,

I shall always , always be very cold , I shall never come back again

2 8 KEN

HE town is old and very steep ,

A place of bells and cloisters and grey towers , And black clad people walking in their sleep ﬁ

A nun , a priest , a woman taking ﬂowers To her new grave and watched from end to end

By the great Church above , through the still hours But in the morning and the early dark The children wake to dart from doors and call

Down the wide , crooked street , where , at the bend , e B fore it climbs up to the park , ’ i Ken s s the gabled house facing the Castle wall .

When ﬁrst I came upon him there u - S ddenly , on the half lit stair , I think I hardly found a trace Of likeness to a human face his In . And I said then God If in His image made men , Some other must have made poor Ken But for his eyes which looked at you

As two red , wounded stars might do .

ou He scarcely spoke , y scarcely heard , His voice broke off in little jars

To tears sometimes . An uncouth bird

He seemed as he ploughed up the street ,

- Groping , with knarred , high lifted feet And arms thrust ou t as if to beat Of Always against a threat bars .

’ And Oftener than not there d be A child just higher than his knee his Trotting beside him . Through dim Long twilight this , at least , shone clear ,

That all the children and the deer , Whom every day he went to see u t O in the park , belonged to him .

God help the folk that next him sits ” fid ets so He g , with his poor wits . The neighbours said on Sunday nights When he would go to Church t o see the lights Although for these he used t o fix His eyes upon a crucifix on In a dark corner , staring

Till everybody else had gone . ﬁts And sometimes , in his evil , You could not move him from his chair

You did not look at him as he sat there ,

Biting his rosary to bits . While pointing to the Christ he tried to say ” Take it away .

Nothing was dead

He said a bird if he picked up a broken wing , A perished leaf or any such thing Was just a rose and once when I had said k He must not stand and nock there any more , i He left a tw g on the mat outside my door .

Not long ago ff The last thrush sti ened in the snow , While black against a sullen sky

The sighing pines stood by . But now the wind has left our rattled pane ’ - To ﬂutter the hedge sparrow s wing , The birches in the wood are red again And only yesterday The larks went up a little way to sing

30 What lovers say Who loiter in the lanes to - day The buds begin to talk Of May

With learned rooks on city trees , An d if God please With all of these

We too , shall see another Spring .

But in that red brick barn upon the hill — o n I wonder can one w the deer , And does one walk with children still As one did here DO roses grow Beneath those twenty windows in a row And if some night When you have not seen any light They cannot move you from your chair Wh at happens there

I do not know .

So , when they took K en to that place , I did not look After he called and turned on me T His eyes . hese I shall see AQ UOI BO N DIRE

EVENTEEN years ago you said Something that sounded like Good- bye

And everybody thinks that you are dead ,

But I .

as ff So I , I grow sti and cold To this and that say Good - bye t oo And everybody sees that I am Old

And one ﬁne m ornmg m a sunny lane Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear That nobody can love their way again While over there

You r. will have smiled , I shall have tossed your hai THE Q UIET HOUSE

HEN we were children Old Nurse used t o Th e house was like an auction or a fair lot Until the Of us were safe in bed . It h as been quiet as the country- side Since Ted and Janey and then Mother died Tom c s And ro sed Father and was sent away . not After the lawsuit he could hold up his head , d n t Poor Father , and he oes o care For or t o o people here , g anywhere .

’ To get away to Aunt s for that week- end Was n hard enough (since the , a year ago, He scarcely lets me slip ou t of his sight ’ n ot At ﬁrst I did like my cousin s friend , I did not think I should remember him his His voice has gone , face is growing dim now do not And if I like him I know . He frightened me before he smiled He did not ask me if he might one He said that he would come Sunday night , t o as hi He spoke me if I were a c ld .

No year has been like this that has just gone by It may be that what Father says is true If things are s o it does n ot matter why not But everything has burned , and quite through . The colours of the world have turned

To ﬂame , the blue , the gold has burned

In what used to be such a leaden sky .

When you are burned quite through you die .

33 Red is the strangest pain to bear In Spring the leaves on the budding trees

In Summer the roses are worse than these , More terrible than they are sweet A rose can stab you across the street Deeper than any knife And the crimson haunts you everywhere of Thin shafts Of sunlight , like the ghosts reddened swords struck As if, coming down , you had spilt your life .

I think that my soul is red Like the soul of a sword or a scarlet ﬂower But when these are dead T hey have had their hour .

t oo I shall have had mine , ,

For from head to feet ,

I am burned and stabbed half through ,

And the pain is deadly sweet .

The things that kill us seem Blind to the death they give It is only in our dream Th e things that kill us live .

s The room is hut where Mother died , as The other rooms are they were ,

The world goes on the same outside ,

The sparrows ﬂy across the Square , Th e as children play we four did there , and The trees grow green and brown bare , Th e su n r shines on the dead Chu ch spire ,

ON THE ASYLUM ROAD — HEIRS is the house whose windows every pane T Are made Of darkly stained or clouded glass ou Sometimes y come upon them in the lane , Th e ou saddest crowd that y will ever pass .

But still we merry town or village folk T t o i hrow their scattered stare a k ndly grin , And think no sham e t o stop and crack a joke ’ of sin With the incarnate wages man s .

ou r None but ourselves in long gallery we meet , - ai The moor hen stepping from her reeds with d nty feet , - on The hare bell bowing his stem , D an ce not with us their pulses beat TO fainter music nor do we to them

Make their life sweet .

The gayest crowd that they will ever pass Are we t o brother - Shadows in the lane t oo Our windows , , are clouded glass o T them , yes , every pane JOUR DES MORTS

IM E E O TPA A E (C ETI R M N RN SS . )

EETHEART of ou r W , is this the last all posies

And little festivals , my ﬂowers are they But white and wistful ghosts Of gayer roses

- Shut with you in this grim garden Not to day, Ah no I come out With me before the grey gate closes It is your fete and here is your bouquet

37 THE FOREST ROAD E a H forest ro d , The inﬁnite straigh t road stretching away World without end the breathless road between the walls

Of the black listening trees the hushed , grey road Beyond the window that you shu t to- night Crying that you would look at it by day There is a shadow there that sings and calls ou in slee But not for y . Oh hidden eyes that plead i p e fear

Groping for me in sleep I could go free . I wish that God would take them ou t of mine And fold them like the wings Of frightened birds n so Shot cruelly dow , but ﬂuttering into quietness soon , n is no Broke , forgotten things there grief for them in the green Spring old e When the new birds ﬂy back to the tr es . not so ou n But it shall be with y . I will look back . I wish I k ew that God would w on ou Smiling and looking do n y when morning comes , ou ou a To hold y , when y w ke, closer than I , So gently though and not with famished lips or hu ngry arms ai He does not hurt the fr lest , dearest things do As we in the dark . See , dear , your hair I must unloose this hair that sleeps and dreams

About my face , and clings like the brown weed w sea To dro ned , delivered things , tossed by the tired

Back to the beaches . Oh your hair If you had lain t on u A long ime dead the ro gh , glistening ledge f Of some black cli f, forgotten by the tide , u u The raving winds would tear , the dripping brine wo ld r st away Fold after fold of all the loveliness ou un and m ou That wraps y ro d , akes y , lying here ,

The passionate fragrance that the roses are . But death would spare the glory of your head In the long sweetness of the hair that does not die t o The spray would leap it in every storm , The scent of the unsilenced sea would linger on was ou In these dark waves , and round the silence that y Only the nesting gulls would hear—but there would still be whispers in your hair for for is on Keep them me keep them me . What this singing the road That makes all other music like the music in a dream ' to a ou Dumb the d ncing and the marching feet y know , in dreams , you see

Old pipers playing that you cannot hear , em t o T t o And ghostly drums that only se beat . his seems climb of ou r t oo Is it the music a larger place P It makes room small it is like a stair , t o ou see A calling stair that climbs up a smile y scarcely , Dim so for ou is h ow , but waited and y know what a smile , it calls , ou a t o How if I smiled y alw ys ran me . do Now you must sleep forgetfully, as children There is a Spirit sits by us in sleep wh o Nearer than those walk with us in the bright day . h as I think he a tranquil , saving face I think he came ff Straight from the hills he may have su ered there in time gone by ,

And once , from those forsaken heights , looked down , of a Lonely himself, on all the lonely sorrows the e rth . is his — ou It kingdom Sleep . If I could leave y there k ou If, without wa ing y , I could get up and reach the door

- We used to go together Shut , scared eyes , h not Poor , desolate , desperate ands , it is I r Off 0 Who th ust you . N , take your hands away

I cannot strike your lonely hands . Yes , I have struck your heart , so ou It did not come near . Then lie y there Dear and wild heart behind this quivering snow With two red stains on it and I will strike and tear t o Mine out , and scatter it yours . Oh throbbing dust , ou r - You that were life , little wind blown hearts The road the road see There is a shadow there I my soul ,

I hear my soul , singing among the trees MADELEINE IN CHURCH

ERE , in the darkness , where this plaster saint n God t o ou r Stands nearer tha stands distress , one S not so And small candle hines , but faint As the far lights Of everlastingness ’ n e I d rather k eel than over there , in Op n day

Where Christ is hanging , rather pray ' hi own To somet ng more like my clay, Not t oo divine ' For , once , perhaps my little saint ot w Before he g his niche and cro n , Had one short stroll about the town

It brings him closer , just that taint And anyone can wash the paint Off ou r poor faces , his and mine

see sa as l Is that why I Monty now P equal to any int , poor boy, as good go d ,

But still , with just the proper trace Of earthliness on his shining wedding face ' An d then gone suddenly blank and Old The hateful day of the divorce of s Stuart got his, hands down , cour e Crowing like twenty cocks and grinning like a horse

But Monty took it hard . All said and done I liked him best , as r ou t a He w the ﬁ st , he stands clearer th n the rest . It seems t oo funny all we other rips Should have immortal souls Monty and Redge quite damnably o Keep theirs aﬂoat while we g down like scuttled ships . ’ It s s funny too , how easily we ink , o One might put up a m nument , I think To half the world and cut across it Lost at Sea r him - I should drown Jim , poor little spa row , if I netted to night ’ no u se No , it s this penny light O r my poor saint with his tin- pot crown Th e trees Of Calvary are where they were , When we are sure that we can spare o The tallest , let us g and strike it down nd two A leave the other still standing there . t oo ask t o I , , would Him remember me

If there were any Paradise beyond this earth that I could see .

Oh quiet Christ wh o never knew The poisonous fangs that bite us through u s do do And make the things we , h ow ff and See we su er and ﬁght die ,

h ow ' low How helpless and we lie , God You You so holds , and hang high , no one a You Though looking long t , You do not t oo Can think suffer , u - But , p there , from your still , star lighted tree W k You hat can You now , what can really see of Of this dark ditch , the soul me

We are What we are when I was half a child I could not sit S d on Watching black ha ows green lawns and red carnations burning in the sun , Without paying s o heavily for it one That joy and pain , like any mother and her unborn child were almost . I could hardly bear of The dreams upon the eyes white geraniums in the dusk, Th e of thick , close voice musk , Th e a on jess mine music the thin night air , e own w Or , sometim s , my hands about me any here was own The sight of my own face (for it lovely then) even the scent of my hair, n ot t o Oh there was nothing , nothing that did sweep the high seat o Of laughing g ds , and then blow down and beat i as do My soul into the h ghway dust , hoofs the dropped roses of the street .

I think my body was my soul , And when we are made thus Wh o shall control ou r of Our hands , eyes , the wandering passion our feet , Who shall teach us of to s a To thrust the world out our heart y, till perhaps in death ,

When the race is run ,

4 1 And it is forced from us with ou r last breath Thy will be done 1t u we is Yo r will that should be content with the tame , bloodless

As pale as angels smirking by, with folded wings . n Oh I k ow Virtue , and the peace it brings

- The temperate , well worn smile one ou ou own The man gives y , when y are evermore his ’ af for And terwards the child s , a little while , With its unknowing and all- seeing eyes SO ou h ow soon to change , and make y feel quick one The clock goes round . If had learned the trick How one P a ( does though ) quite e rly on , t u Of long green pas res under placid skies , now One might be walking with patient truth . wh o for What did we ever care for it , have asked youth ,

' God hi or When , Oh my t s is going has gone

There is a portrait of my mother , at nineteen ,

With the black spaniel , standing by the garden seat , The dainty head held high against the painted green An d throwing out the youngest smile , shy , but half haughty and half sweet . or Her picture then but simply Youth , simply Spring To t o- on me day a radiance the wall , 80 s o - exquisite , heart breaking a thing

Beside the mask that I remember , shrunk and small ,

Sapless and lined like a dead leaf, Of Oh All that was left the loveliest face , by time and grief

saw And in the glass , last night , I a ghost behind my chair wh one o Yet y remember it , when can still g moderately gay — one of Or could With any the old crew , But Oh these boys the solemn w ay sa They take you , and the things they y This I have only as long as you When you remind them you are not precisely twenty- two Although at heart perhaps—God if it were

Only the face , only the hair

' how a to To know jewels t ste , just as I used think There was the scent in every red and yellow rose t Of all the sunsets . But his place is grey , too NO one And much quiet . here ,

Why , this is awful , this is fear to se e no Nothing , face , Nothing to hear except \ you r heart beating in space A 1 s if the world was ended . Dead at last

Dead soul , dead body , tied together fast . o on wi an d to These to g th alone , the slow end h l or t o to to No one to sit wit , rea ly , speak , friend friend or or Out of the long procession , black white red sa i s ee ou a Not one left now to y St ll I am here , then y , dear , lay here your he d . ’ Only the doll s house looking on the Park To - night , all nights , I know , when the man puts the lights out , very dark . ’ th e of e b e With , upstairs , in blue and gold box a room , just the maids footst ps over e Then utter silence and the empty world—the room—the bed NO not ou t The corpse , quite dead , while this cries in me, But nearly very soon to be A handful of forgotten dust

There must be someone . Christ there must , one h o Tell me there will be some . W P no one You If there were else , could it be P

How old was Mary ou t of whom you cast So many devils P Was sh e young or perhaps for years

had sat staring , with dry eyes , at this and that man going past ’ Till suddenly she saw You on the steps of Simon s house d o An stood and looked at Y u through tears . I think she must have kn own by those T for a t o h e w s . thing , what it that had come her of u s For some there is a passion , I suppose So far from earthly cares and earthly fears That in its stillness you can hardly stir

Or in its nearness , lift your hand , So great that you have simply got to stand L k oo ing at it through tears , through tears

44 Then straight from these there broke the kiss , I think You must have known by this for was t o You The thing , what it , that had come not You She did love like the rest , own wa It was in her y, but at the worst , the best , ou She gave y something altogether new . no And through it all from her , word , saw You She scarcely , scarcely heard Surely You knew when sh e so touched You with her wet Or by the cheek lying there , her perfume clung to You from head t o feet all through th e day You for That can change the things which we care , You not But even You , unless kill us , the way .

was c for assmn too This,then pea e her , but p . was i I wonder it like a k ss that once I knew , Th e only one that I would care t o take r Into the grave with me , to which if there were afte wards , to wake . Almost as happy as the carven dead In some dim chancel lying head by head t o We slept with it , but face face , the whole night through ou r breath , one throbbing quietness , as if the thing behind lips was as t o ou Lost , I woke , hear in the strange earthly dawn , his Are y t o ﬁrs And lie still , listening the wind outside , among the .

of for was t o So Mary chose the dream Him What left her of night and day, is the only truth it is the dream in us that neither life nor death nor any other thing can take away But if she had not touched Him in the doorway of the dream could she have cared so much P we a u She was a sinner , we are what are the spirit fterwards , but ﬁrst , the to ch .

And He has never shared with me my haunted house beneath the trees

Of Eden and Calvary , with its ghosts that have not any eyes for tears , not And the happier guests who would see , or if they did , remember these ,

Though they lived there a thousand years . u O tside , too gravely looking at me , He seems to stand ,

45 And looking at Him , if my forgotten spirit came

Unwillingly back , what could it claim

Of those calm eyes , that quiet speech ,

Breaking like a slow tide upon the beach , P The scarred , not quite human hand Unwillingly back to the burden of Old imaginings h as so not t o When it learned long think , not to be , again it would speak as it has spoken to me of things That I shall not see

‘ I cannot b ear to look at this divinely bent and gracious head When I was small I never quite believed that He was dead And at the Convent school I used to lie awake in bed h T inking about His hands . It did not matter what they said , was l a ive to me , so hurt , so hurt And most of all in Holy Week When there was no one else to see so e I used to think it would not hurt me too, t rribly, If He had ever seemed to notice me if Or , , for once, He would only speak . EXSPECTO RESU RRECTIO NEM O H King who hast the key Of that dark room ,

The last which prisons us but held not Thee, ’ know st Thou its gloom . Dost Thou a little love this one - Shut in to night , u Yo ng and so piteously alone, Cold—out of sight P ’ Thou know st how hard and bare

- The pillow of that new made narrow bed , Then leave not there So dear a head

47 ON THE ROAD TO THE SEA

for w ou r E passed each other , turned and stopped half an hour , then ent way, I wh o make other women smile did not make you

But no man can move mountains in a day . SO is t o do this hard thing yet .

But ﬁrst I want your life —before I die I want to see of e The world that lies behind the strangeness your ey s , is or for There nothing gay green there my gathering , it may be, Yet on brown ﬁelds there lies A haunting purple bloom is there not something in grey skies And in grey sea P

I want What world there is behind your eyes , ou not I want your life and y will give it me .

Now see ou l , if I look , I y wa king down the years , ﬁ elds— a r on Young , and through August face , a thought , a swinging dream pe ched a stile I would have liked (so vile we are t o have taught you tears t o ou But most have made y smile .

T0- day is not enough or yesterday God sees it all u on h ow to ask Yo r length sunny lawns , the wakeful rainy nights tell me ( vain ) , — but it is not a question just a call

Show me then , only your notched inches climbing up the garden wall , ou ou I like y best when y were small .

Is this a stupid thing to say Not having spent with you one day P NO matter I shall never touch your hair

Or hear the little tick behind your breast ,

Still it is there , And as a ﬂying bird Brushes the branches where it may not rest I have brushed your hand and heard The child in you I like that best

S s o ou So small , O dark , sweet and were y also then too grave and wise P Off n — it Always I think . Then put your far little ha d in mine Oh let rest stat e I will not into the early world beyond the opening eyes , or Or vex scare what I love best .

48 But I want your life before mine bleeds away —not — Here in heavenly hereafters soon , r I want your smile this very afte noon , of sa (The last all my vices , pleasant people used to y, I wanted and I sometimes got—the Moon

’ You know , at dusk , the last bird s cry, ’ of And round the house the ﬂap the bat s low ﬂight , Trees that go black against the Sky And then—how soon the night

No shadow of you on any bright road again , — ’ And at the darkening end of this what voice P whose kiss P As if you d say t wh o not It is no I have walked with you , it will be I who take away ’ Peace , peace , my little handful of the gleaner s grain

From your reaped ﬁelds at the shut of day .

Pe—ace Would you not rather die Reeling , with all the cannons at your ear P So , at least , would I , And I may not be here To- - night , to morrow morning or next year . i Still I will let you keep your life a little wh le , See dear P I have made ou smile y .

49 THE SUNLIT HOUSE

HITE through the gate it gleamed and slept In shuttered sunshine the parched garden ﬂowers

Their fallen petals from the beds unswept , Like children unloved and ill - kept

Dreamed through the hours . u r Two bl e hydrangeas by the blistered door , bu ned brown , Watched there and no one in the town

Cared to go past , it night or day , ’ Though why this was they wouldn t say . Bu t , I the stranger , knew that I must stay , - Pace up the weed grown paths and down , Till one afternoon—there is just a doubt But I fancy I heard a tiny shout From an upper Window a bird ﬂew ou t

And I went my way .

LE SACRE- CCEU R

(M ontmartre)

on T is dark up here the heights , too 1 Between the dome and the stars it is quiet , While down there under the crowded lights t e Flares h importunate face of you , of h ot d Dear Paris the white hands , the. scarlet lips , the scente Une olie lle d vendre tre cher j ﬁ , s

A thing of gaiety , a thing of sorrow ,

- Bought to night , possessed , and tossed

- Back to the mart again to morrow ,

Worth and over , what you cost While half your charm is that you are

Withal , like some unpurchasable star , old so SO , young and inﬁnite and lost .

It is dark on the dome- capped h 1ll

Serenely dark , divinely still , Yet here is the Man wh o bought you ﬁrst

Dying of his immortal smart , u Yo r Lover , the King with the broken heart ,

Who while you , feasting , drink your ﬁll , Pass round the cup Not looking up

Calls down to you , I thirst .

A king with a broken heart M on Dieu cela ent se croire One breaks so many, p , ’ c est la mer d boire To remember all , ’ mais comme c es t vieux And the ﬁrst , . — Perhaps there is still some keepsake or One h as possibly sold it for a song n ne eu t as tou ours leurer les morts O p p , p j— And this One He h as been dead so long

5 2 SONG

- OVE , Love to day, my dear , Love is not always here Wise maids know h ow soon grows sere The greenest leaf of Spring But no man knoweth Whither it goeth When the wind bloweth

So frail a thing .

o - L ve , Love , my dear , to day, ’ If the ship s in the bay, the bird has come your way That sings on summer trees When his song faileth And the ship saileth N0 voice availeth

To call back these . SATURDAY MARKET

URY your heart in some deep green hollow Or hide it up in a kind old tree

Better still , give it the swallow sh e When goes over the sea .

’ ’ In Saturday Market there s eggs a plenty And dead - alive ducks with their legs tied Grey old gaffers and boys of twenty Girls and the women of the town - s Pitchers and sugar sticks , ribbon and laces , ’ - Posies and whips and dicky birds seed ,

Silver pieces and smiling faces , ’ In Saturday Market they ve all they need .

What were you showing in Saturday Market That set it grinning from end t o end ' — Girls and gaﬂ ers and boys of twenty P S Cover it close with your hawl , my friend ou ou Hasten y home with the laugh behind y ,

Over the down out of sight , ou Fasten your door , though no one will ﬁnd y one No will look on a Market night .

See , you , the shawl is wet , take out from under The red dead thing In the white of the moon

On the ﬂags does it stir again P Well , and no wonder

Best make an end of it bury it soon . ’ If there is blood on the hearth who ll know it P

Or blood on the stairs , Wh en a murder is over and done why Show it P r In Saturday Market nobody ca es .

r Then lie you straight on your bed for a short , sho t weeping

And still , for a long , long rest , ’ There s never a one in the town so sure Of sleeping As ou ur t y , in the house on the down with a hole in yo breas .

of Think no more the swallow , ou sea Forget , y , the , Never again remember the deep green hollow Or the t op of the kind Old tree

54 ARRACO M BE WOOD

‘ ’ wu d n OME said , because he spaik to No Any words women but Yes and , Nor put ou t his hand for Parson to shake - do o He mun be bird witted . But I g of sow By the lie the barley that he did , And I wish no better thing than to hold a rake or t o m ow Like Dave , in his time , see him .

a o Put up in churchyard a month g , ” ’ old wadn t so A bitter soul , they said , but it . ’ His heart were in Arracomb e Wood where he d used to go ’ To sit wi his sh adder su n low and talk till went , ’ u s ll Though what it was all about never know . ’ And there baint no m em ry in the place ’ ’ th nor Of Old man s footmark , his face Arracomb e Wood do think more of a crow ’Will be violets there in the Spring in Summer time the spider ’s zz And come the Fall , the whi le and race

Of the dry, dead leaves when the wind gies chase ’ on of And the Eve Christmas , fallin snow .

55 SEA LOVE

’ IDE be runnin the great world over ’ T was only last Ju ne month I mind that we ’ Was thinkin the toss and the call in the breast of the lover ’ everlastin as So the sea .

’ eer H s the same little ﬁshes that sputter and swim , Wi’ ’ the moon s old glim on the grey, wet sand ' ’ An him no more to me nor me to him ’ Than the wind goin over my hand . ’ THE ROAD TO KERITY

0 on e you remember the two old people we passed the road to K rity,

Resting their sack on the stones , by the drenched wayside u s ra m ai Looking at with their lightless eyes through the driving , and then out ag n

To the rocks , and the long white line of the tide z Fro en ghosts that were children once , husband and wife , father , and mother , Looking at us with those frozen eyes have you ever seen anything quite so chilled or so old ' Bu t we— a t with our rms about each o her , We did not feel the cold I HAVE BEEN THROUGH THE GATES

t o was of IS heart , me , a place palaces and pinnacles and shining towers saw as see —I not I it then we things in dreams , do remember how long I slept h ow was I remember the trees , and the high , white walls , and the sun always on the towers t o- : The walls are standing day, and the gates I have been through the gates , I have

groped , I have crept B is e ack , back . There is dust in the streets, and blood they are empty darkness ov r them His is ou t heart a place with the lights gone , forsaken by great winds and the heavenly

rain , unclean and unswept , of old Like the heart the holy city, , blind , beautiful Jerusalem , r Over which Ch ist wept .

A SELECTION FROM E LIST O F PU BL ICATIONS O F THE PO ETRY BOOKS HO P

De vons ire S t re e t T e o b a lds Road London W 1 h , h , , . C . .

A nt hologies

E 1 1 1 - 1 2 1 G ORGIAN POETRY , 9 . Edited by E . M . Pp . 97 . Brown Fi teenth Thousand Boards . f . Price net . (Postage — Contributors z Lascelles Abercrombie Gordon Bottomley

. r Rupert Brooke G K . Chesterton W . H . Davies Walte De La Mare John Drinkwater James Elroy Flecker Wilfrid Wilson L M aseﬁeld Gibson D . H . awrence John Harold Monro T , Sar ant Sturge Moore Ronald Ross E . B . g James Stephens

R . C . Trevelyan .

1 1 - 1 2 GEORGIAN POETRY , 9 3 5 . Edited by E . M . Pp . 44 . Blue Boards . Fourteenth Thousand . Price net . (Postage Contributors Lascelles Abercrombie Gordon Bottomley

Rupert Brooke W . H . Davies Walter De La Mare John Drink water James Elroy Flecker Wilfrid Wilson Gibson Ralph L L M aseﬁeld Hodgson D . H . awrence Francis edwidge John

Harold Monro James Stephens .

1 1 6 - 1 1 86 . . . n GEORGIAN POETRY , 9 7 Edited by E M Pp . . Gree Thirteenth Thousand Boards . . Price net . (Postage

W . Contributors . J . Turner James Stephens J C . Squire

Siegfried Sass oon I . Rosenberg Robert Nichols Harold Monro John M as eﬁeld Ralph Hodgson Robert Graves Wilfrid Wilson Gibson John Freeman John Drinkwater Walter

L - W De a Mare . H . Davies Gordon Bottomley Maurice Baring

Herbert Asquith . E E 1 1 - 1 8 . 1 6 O G ORGIAN PO TRY , 9 9 Edited by E . M . Pp . 9 . range

’ Fi teenth Thousand Boards . f . Price net . (Postage

Contributors : Lascelles Abercrombie Gordon Bottomley

Francis Brett Young W . H . Davies Walter De La Mare John Drinkwater John Freeman Wilfrid Wilson Gibson Robert L Graves D . H . awrence Harold Monro Robert Nichols J . Fr de ond D . C . Pellow Siegfried Sassoon Edward Shanks e g u Shove J . C . Squire W . J . T rner .

The obj ect of the volumes of Georgian P oetry is to provide a convenient survey o the work o some oets o the newer eneration f f p f g . In each case the oems inclu ded are drawn rom the ears indicated in the title p f y .

ER OTH WORLD CADENCES . By F . S . FLINT . 5/ net .

R E RO D O O ST ANGE ME TINGS . By HA L M NR . 'A New Edition . Thousand r s ) in black paper boa d ' 5/ net .

ERO O MAGPIES IN PICARDY . By T . P . CAM N WILS N . Paper Boards . 4/

net .

E m a m s A u E Z oa C . OV R TH BRA IER . By R . ' New Edito ' 3/ net .

OH FO D 2 N . POEMS . By J AL R . / net

R C O NFORD W Raverat SPRING MORNING . By F AN ES C R . ( oodcuts by G . . ) S econd Thousand . net .

E RO CK Third Thousand I TH OLD SHIPS . By JAMES EL Y FLE ER . . / net .

E E Third Thousand 8d R RO D O O . . . CHILD N OF LOV . By HA L M NR . net

A E F With one hundred decorations COLL CTION O NURSERY RHYMES . b O E Third Thou and 1 C V s . y . L AT FRAS R . . Wrappers , / net Paper

Boards , net (Postage Th e D ram atic Wo rk s O f M ic hae l Fie ld

BORGIA net . (Postage E Q UE N MARIAMNE net . (Postage

THE TRAGEDY OF PARDON and DIAN net . (Postage

LEO NO IS THE ACCUSER , TRISTAN DE and A MESSIAH net . (Postage

RAS BYZ N E A C . DEIRDRE , A Q UESTION OF MEMORY , and 5/ net . (Postage

IN THE NAME OF TIME . 4/ net . (Postage

d Size 2 ins b 8 ins (Price 5 . net each . ) 3 . y .

1 L ' OH , WHAT SHA L THE MAN

’

2 . CHILDREN S . (Three Poems )

3 POEMS BY WORD SWORTH .

O D M e m o o R . w T . 4 OVE HEARD ON A SALTMARSH (HAR L . ) Poems

A DE LA A W . 5 ARABIA . ( LTER M RE )

6 GE OORE BEAUTIFUL MEALS . (T . STUR M . ) Two Poems .

E N O AN . 7 THE VULGAR LITTLE LADY . (JAN and TAYL R )

8 Y OH KW E THE CIT . (J N DRIN AT R .) Two Poems .

BR H OW E 9 DRINKING . (A A AM C L Y . )

I O RAVELSTO N D OBE KEITH OF . (SY NEY D LL . )

’ The Decorations o No s I 2 and are b Charles Winzer No b Albert f . , , 4 5 y . 3 y Ru therston 6 b tur e M oore No b Rachel M arshal 8 and I O b C T S l . y . g . 7 y , 9 y Lovat Fraser . u 1 d 1 0 (Postage p to 4 items , 4 the set of , Rhy me She e ts (Se cond Se rie s )

d Size 1 ins b . ins (Price 4 . net each ) 4 . y 7 .

E E OW . VESP RS . (T . . BR N )

E ODE OE . TH OLD . (R N N L )

X DE OPE ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT . (ALE AN R P . ) E m TH RE IS A LADY SWEET AND KIND . (Anony ous )

I ‘ E AM GH M U A M MORY . (WILLI ALLIN A . )

N HOMA AMP IO O SONG . (T S C N . )

CH E RA TO Q THE PARTING . (MI A L D Y N . ) O AM MMO D O . FOR THE BAPTIST . (WILLI DRU N )

OH Em m a A . C MEL NCHOLY . (J N )

HOMA LATMAN 1 0 THE SAD DAY . (T S F . ) HA E E E 1 1 BOG LOVE . (S N L SLI . )

OH KWA 1 2 FOR A GUEST ROOM . (J N DRIN TER . )

’ rat ons o No 1 6 I O 1 1 and 1 2 are b C Lovat Fra er h Deco i s . T e . s f , 4 , , 7 , , y ’ b aul Nash No s and are b ohn Nash No 8 is b Charles is y P . 3 5 y j . y

No b Ru ert Lee . . 9 y p

e 1 d (Postag up to 4 items , 4 the set ,

THE POETRY BOOKSHOP was founded in 1 9 1 2 with the object estab lishing a practical relation between poetry and the public. THE FOLLOWING LISTS will be sent on application

A List of some of the P rincipal Volumes tocked b the P oetr B ooksh o Revised s y y p . (

A Lis t o B ooks on ts connected with the Techni ue f q , tr y .

t o oetr B ooksho P ub ications A Lis f P y p l .

E E WC I N L . . . 35 D VO SHIRE STR ET , THEOBA DS ROAD , LONDON ,

r ri or : ARO D O O (P Op et H L M NR .)

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