Works

"He is my friend," I said, -
"Be patient!" Overhead
The skies were drear and dim;
And lo! the thought of him
Smited on my heart - and then
The sun shone out again!
...

When first I looked upon the face of Pain
I shrank repelled, as one shrinks from a foe
Who stands with dagger poised, as for a blow.
I was in search of Pleasure and of Gain;...

The man above was a murderer, the man below was a thief;
And I lay there in the bunk between, ailing beyond belief;
A weary armful of skin and bone, wasted with pain and grief.
...

"My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day."
- Southey.


Some to and fro for converse flit
And on their friends intrude,
Or shun society and sit...

If I could put my woods in song
And tell what's there enjoyed,
All men would to my gardens throng,
And leave the cities void.

In my plot no tulips blow,--
Snow-loving pines and oaks instead;...

A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Ferned grot,
The veriest school
Of peace; and yet the fool
Contends that God is not,
Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool?...

Only the commonest flowers
Grow in my garden small,
Like buttercups, and bouncing-bets,
And hollyhocks by the wall,
And sunflowers nodding their stately heads,
Like grenadiers so tall....

Montparnasse,

April 1914.
...

My gentle harp, once more I waken
The sweetness of thy slumbering strain;
In tears our last farewell was taken,
And now in tears we meet again.
No light of joy hath o'er thee broken,...

Say, which Immortal
Merits the highest reward?
With none contend I,
But I will give it
To the aye-changing,
Ever-moving
Wondrous daughter of Jove.
His best-beloved offspring....

My God! O let me call Thee mine!
Weak wretched sinner though I be,
My trembling soul would fain be Thine,
My feeble faith still clings to Thee,
My feeble faith still clings to Thee.
...

Shall they bury me in the deep,
Where wind-forgetting waters sleep?
Shall they dig a grave for me,
Under the green-wood tree?
Or on the wild heath,
Where the wilder breath
Of the storm doth blow?...

A'a, Jonny! a'a Johnny! aw'm sooary for thee!
But come thi ways to me, an' sit o' mi knee,
For it's shockin' to hearken to th' words 'at tha says: -
Ther wor nooan sich like things i' thi gronofayther's days....

("J'aime ' me figure.")

[Bk. III. vii. and viii.]


I love to look, as evening fails,
On vestals streaming in their veils,
Within the fane past altar rails,
Green palms in hand....

My harp has one unchanging theme,
One strain that still comes o'er
Its languid chord, as 'twere a dream
Of joy that's now no more.
In vain I try, with livelier air,
To wake the breathing string;...

Tune - "Highland's Lament."


I.

My Harry was a gallant gay,
Fu' stately strode he on the plain:
But now he's banish'd far away,
I'll never see him back again,
O for him back again!...

I.

Night, with her power to silence day,
Filled up my lonely room,
Quenching all sounds but one that lay
Beyond her passing doom,
Where in his shed a workman gay
Went on despite the gloom....

I heard, in darkness, on my bed,
The beating of my heart
To servant feet and regnant head
A common life impart,
By the liquid cords, in every thread
Unbroken as they start.
...

I.
Enough! we're tired, my heart and I.
We sit beside the headstone thus,
And wish that name were carved for us.
The moss reprints more tenderly
The hard types of the mason's knife,...

I give thee all--I can no more--
Tho' poor the offering be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute whose gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well;...