New Poems Part 8

SOON our friends perish, Soon all we cherish Fades as days darken-goes as flowers go.

Soon in December Over an ember, Lonely we hearken, as loud winds blow.

AS ONE WHO HAVING WANDERED ALL NIGHT LONG

AS one who having wandered all night long In a perplexed forest, comes at length In the first hours, about the matin song, And when the sun uprises in his strength, To the fringed margin of the wood, and sees, Gazing afar before him, many a mile Of falling country, many fields and trees, And cities and bright streams and far-off Ocean's smile:

I, O Melampus, halting, stand at gaze: I, liberated, look abroad on life, Love, and distress, and dusty travelling ways, The steersman's helm, the surgeon's helpful knife, On the lone ploughman's earth-upturning share, The revelry of cities and the sound Of seas, and mountain-tops aloof in air, And of the circling earth the unsupported round:

I, looking, wonder: I, intent, adore; And, O Melampus, reaching forth my hands In adoration, cry aloud and soar In spirit, high above the supine lands And the low caves of mortal things, and flee To the last fields of the universe untrod, Where is no man, nor any earth, nor sea, And the contented soul is all alone with G.o.d.

STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF MEN

STRANGE are the ways of men, And strange the ways of G.o.d!

We tread the mazy paths That all our fathers trod.

We tread them undismayed, And undismayed behold The portents of the sky, The things that were of old.

The fiery stars pursue Their course in heav'n on high; And round the 'leaguered town, Crest-tossing heroes cry.

Crest-tossing heroes cry; And martial fifes declare How small, to mortal minds, Is merely mortal care.

And to the clang of steel And cry of piercing flute Upon the azure peaks A G.o.d shall plant his foot:

A G.o.d in arms shall stand, And seeing wide and far The green and golden earth, The killing tide of war,

He, with uplifted arm, Shall to the skies proclaim The gleeful fate of man, The n.o.ble road to fame!

THE WIND BLEW SHRILL AND SMART

THE wind blew shrill and smart, And the wind awoke my heart Again to go a-sailing o'er the sea, To hear the cordage moan And the straining timbers groan, And to see the flying pennon lie a-lee.

O sailor of the fleet, It is time to stir the feet!

It's time to man the dingy and to row!

It's lay your hand in mine And it's empty down the wine, And it's drain a health to death before we go!

To death, my lads, we sail; And it's death that blows the gale And death that holds the tiller as we ride.

For he's the king of all In the tempest and the squall, And the ruler of the Ocean wild and wide!

MAN SAILS THE DEEP AWHILE

MAN sails the deep awhile; Loud runs the roaring tide; The seas are wild and wide; O'er many a salt, o'er many a desert mile, The unchained breakers ride, The quivering stars beguile.

Hope bears the sole command; Hope, with unshaken eyes, Sees flaw and storm arise; Hope, the good steersman, with unwearying hand, Steers, under changing skies, Unchanged toward the land.

O wind that bravely blows!

O hope that sails with all Where stars and voices call!

O s.h.i.+p undaunted that forever goes Where G.o.d, her admiral, His battle signal shows!

What though the seas and wind Far on the deep should whelm Colours and sails and helm?

There, too, you touch that port that you designed- There, in the mid-seas' realm, Shall you that haven find.

Well hast thou sailed: now die, To die is not to sleep.

Still your true course you keep, O sailor soul, still sailing for the sky; And fifty fathom deep Your colours still shall fly.

THE c.o.c.k'S CLEAR VOICE INTO THE CLEARER AIR

THE c.o.c.k's clear voice into the clearer air Where westward far I roam, Mounts with a thrill of hope, Falls with a sigh of home.

A rural sentry, he from farm and field The coming morn descries, And, mankind's bugler, wakes The camp of enterprise.

He sings the morn upon the westward hills Strange and remote and wild; He sings it in the land Where once I was a child.

He brings to me dear voices of the past, The old land and the years: My father calls for me, My weeping spirit hears.

Fife, fife, into the golden air, O bird, And sing the morning in; For the old days are past And new days begin.

NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS

NOW when the number of my years Is all fulfilled, and I From sedentary life Shall rouse me up to die, Bury me low and let me lie Under the wide and starry sky.

Joying to live, I joyed to die, Bury me low and let me lie.

Clear was my soul, my deeds were free, Honour was called my name, I fell not back from fear Nor followed after fame.

Bury me low and let me lie Under the wide and starry sky.

Joying to live, I joyed to die, Bury me low and let me lie.