Works

What of the bow?
The bow was made in England:
Of true wood, of yew-wood,
The wood of English bows;
So men who are free
Love the old yew-tree
And the land where the yew-tree grows.
...

Let History boast of her Romans and Spartans,
And tell how they stood against tyranny's shock;
They were all, I confess, in my eye, Betty Martins
Compared to George Grote and his wonderful Box.
...

Oh, what would you have, you splendid sun,
With your restless eyes of fire?
And why do you lean o'er the lilies pale?
What more can your heart desire?
...

I

Heed me, feed me, I am hungry, I am red-tongued with desire;
Boughs of balsam, slabs of cedar, gummy fagots of the pine,
Heap them on me, let me hug them to my eager heart of fire,...

Out of the hills of Habersham,
Down the valleys of Hall,
I hurry amain to reach the plain,
Run the rapid and leap the fall,
Split at the rock and together again,
Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,...

The World is ours till sunset,
Holly and fire and snow;
And the name of our dead brother
Who loved us long ago.

The grown folk mighty and cunning,
They write his name in gold;...

BOMBAY

Royal and Dower-royal, I the Queen
Fronting thy richest sea with richer hands,
A thousand mills roar through me where I glean
All races from all lands.


CALCUTTA
...

The skies are brass and the plains are bare,
Death and ruin are everywhere,
And all that is left of the last year's flood
Is a sickly stream on the grey-black mud;...

Hear now the Song of the Dead, in the North by the torn berg-edges,
They that look still to the Pole, asleep by their hide-stripped sledges.
Song of the Dead in the South, in the sun by their skeleton horses,...

Ye have sung me your songs, ye have chanted your rimes
(I scorn your beguiling, O sea!)
Ye fondle me now, but to strike me betimes.
(A treacherous lover, the sea!)...

Ye have sung me your songs, ye have chanted your rimes
(I scorn your beguiling, O sea!)
Ye fondle me now, but to strike me betimes.
(A treacherous lover, the sea!)...

I have been kissed by the Priestess of the Thin and Deadly Blood--
With the kiss that men call Lightning, and yet I did not die,
For the kiss was a message from God; I felt it and understood,...

CANTO THE FIRST.


I.

Ye shores of England, as ye fast recede
The pain of parting rends my weary breast.
I must regret--yet there is little need
That I should mourn, for only wild unrest...

I.

Up with the country's flag!
And let the winds caress it, fold on fold,--
A stainless flag, and glorious to behold!
It is our honour's pledge;
It is the token of a truth sublime,...

(11th November, 1918)



I


To Thee, Most Holy, Most Obscure, light-hidden,
Shedding light in the darkness of the mind
As gold beams wake the air to birds a-wing;...

Down, down beneath the daisy beds,
O hear the cries of pain!
And moaning on the cinder-path
They're blind amid the rain.
Can murmurs of the worms arise
To higher hearts than mine?...

The woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;
Yet still she turns her restless head:...

A harper came over the Danube so wide,
And he came into Alaric's hall,
And he sang the song of the little Baltung
To him and his heroes all.

How the old old Balt and the young young Balt...

Ere Mor the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People cry,
Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a furlong sheer,
Through the Jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh,
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!...

Who said, 'Peacock Pie?'
The old King to the sparrow:
Who said, 'Crops are ripe?'
Rust to the harrow:
Who said, 'Where sleeps she now?'
Where rests she now her head,...