Poems by Sir John Collings Squire Volume I Part 6

IN THE PARK

This dense hard ground I tread.

These iron bars that ripple past, Will they unshaken stand when I am dead And my deep thoughts outlast?

Is it my spirit slips, Falls, like this leaf I kick aside; This firmness that I feel about my lips, Is it but empty pride?

Mute knowledge conquers me; I contemplate them as they are, Faint earth and shadowy bars that shake and flee, Less hard, more transient far

Than those unbodied hues The sunset flings on the calm river; And, as I look, a swiftness thrills my shoes And my hands with empire quiver.

Now light the ground I tread, I walk not now but rather float; Clear but unreal is the scene outspread, Pitiful, thin, remote.

Poor vapour is the gra.s.s, So frail the trees and railings seem, That, did I sweep my hand around, 'twould pa.s.s Through them, as in a dream.

G.o.dlike I fear no changes; Shatter the world with thunders loud, Still would I ray-like flit about the ranges Of dark and ruddy cloud.

IN AN ORCHARD

Airy and quick and wise In the shed light of the sun, You clasp with friendly eyes The thoughts from mine that run.

But something breaks the link; I solitary stand By a giant gully's brink In some vast gloomy land.

Sole central watcher, I With steadfast sadness now In that waste place descry 'Neath the awful heavens how

Your life doth dizzy drop A little foam of flame From a peak without a top To a pit without a name.

THE s.h.i.+P

There was no song nor shout of joy Nor beam of moon or sun, When she came back from the voyage Long ago begun; But twilight on the waters Was quiet and grey, And she glided steady, steady and pensive, Over the open bay.

Her sails were brown and ragged, And her crew hollow-eyed, But their silent lips spoke content And their shoulders pride; Though she had no captives on her deck, And in her hold There were no heaps of corn or timber Or silks or gold.

ODE: IN A RESTAURANT

In this dense hall of green and gold, Mirrors and lights and steam, there sit Two hundred munching men; While several score of others flit Like scurrying beetles over a fen, With plates in fanlike spread; or fold Napkins, or jerk the corks from bottles, Ministers to greedy throttles.

Some make noises while they eat, Pick their teeth or shuffle their feet, Wipe their noses 'neath eyes that range Or frown whilst waiting for their change.

Gobble, gobble, toil and trouble.

Soul! this life is very strange, And circ.u.mstances very foul Attend the belly's stormy howl.

How horrible this noise! this air how thick!

It is disgusting ... I feel sick...

Loosely I prod the table with a fork, My mind gapes, dizzies, ceases to work...

The weak unsatisfied strain Of a band in another room; Through this dull complex din Comes winding thin and sharp!

The gnat-like mourning of the violin, The faint stings of the harp.

The sounds pierce in and die again, Like keen-drawn threads of ink dropped into a gla.s.s Of water, which curl and relax and soften and pa.s.s.

Briefly the music hovers in unstable poise, Then melts away, drowned in the heavy sea of noise.

And I, I am now emasculate.

All my forces dissipate; Conquered by matter utterly, Moving not, willing not, I lie, Like a man whom timbers pin When the roof of a mine falls in.

Halt! ... as a cloud condenses I press my mind, recover Dominion of my senses.

With newly flowing blood I lift, and now float over The restaurant's expanses Like a draggled sea-gull over dreary flats of mud.

An effort ... ah ... I urge and push, And now with greater strength I flush, The hall is full of my pinions' rush; No drooping now, the place is mine, Beating the walls with shattering wings, Over the herd my spirit swings, In triumph shouts "Aha, you swine!

Grovel before your lord divine!

I, only I, am real here! ..."

Through the uncertain firmament, Still b.e.s.t.i.a.l in their dull content.

The despicable phantoms leer...

Hogs! even now in my right hand I hold at my will the thunderbolts Measured not in mortal volts, Would crash you to annihilation!

Lit with a new illumination, What need I of ears and eyes Of flesh? Imperious I will rise, Dominate you as a G.o.d Who only does not trouble to wield the rod Of death, or kick your weak spheroid Like a football through the void!

Ha! was it but a dream?

And did it merely seem?

Ha! not yet free of your cage, Soul, spite of all your rage?

Come now, this foe engage!

With explosion of your might Oh heave, oh leap and flash up, soul.

Like a stabbing scream in the night!

Hurl aside this useless bowl Of a body...

But there comes a shock A soft, tremendous shock Of contact with the body; I lose all power, And fall back, back, like a solitary rower Whose prow that debonair the waves did ride Is suddenly hurled back by an iron tide.

O sadness, sadness, feel the returning pain Of touch with unescapable mortal things again!

The cloth is linen, the floor is wood, My plate holds cheese, my tumbler toddy; I cannot get free of the body, And no man ever could.

Self! do not lose your hold on life, Nor coward seek to shrink the strife Of body and spirit; even now (Not for the first time), even now Clear in your ears has rung the message That tense abstraction is the pa.s.sage To nervelessness and living death.

Never forget while you draw breath That all the hammers of will can never Your chained soul from matter sever; And though it be confused and mixed, This is the world in which you're fixed.

Never despise the things that are.

Set your teeth upon the grit.

Though your heart like a motor beat, Hold fast this earthly star, The whole of it, the whole of it.

Look on this crowd now, calm now, look.

Remember now that each one drew Woman's milk (which you partook) And year by year in wonder grew.

Scorn not them, nor scorn not their feasts (Which you partake) nor call them beasts.

These be children of one Power With you, nor higher you nor lower.

They also hear the harp and fiddle, And sometimes quail before the riddle.

They also have hot blood, quick thought, And try to do the things they ought, They also have hearts that ache when stung.

And sigh for days when they were young, And curse their wills because they falter, And know that they will never alter.