Poems of To-Day: an Anthology Part 25

117. MARTHA

"Once . . . once upon a time . . ."

Over and over again, Martha would tell us her stories, In the hazel glen.

Hers were those clear grey eyes You watch, and the story seems Told by their beautifulness Tranquil as dreams.

{136}

She'd sit with her two slim hands Clasped round her bended knees; While we on our elbows lolled, And stared at ease.

Her voice and her narrow chin, Her grave small lovely head, Seemed half the meaning Of the words she said.

"Once . . . once upon a time . . ."

Like a dream you dream in the night, Fairies and gnomes stole out In the leaf-green light.

And her beauty far away Would fade, as her voice ran on, Till hazel and summer sun And all were gone:--

All fordone and forgot; And like clouds in the height of the sky, Our hearts stood still in the hush Of an age gone by.

_Walter de la Mare._

118. A FRIEND

All, that he came to give, He gave, and went again: I have seen one man live, I have seen one man reign, With all the graces in his train.

{137}

As one of us, he wrought Things of the common hour: Whence was the charmed soul brought, That gave each act such power; The natural beauty of a flower?

Magnificence and grace, Excellent courtesy: A brightness on the face, Airs of high memory: Whence came all these, to such as he?

Like young Shakespearian kings, He won the adoring throng: And, as Apollo sings, He triumphed with a song: Triumphed, and sang, and pa.s.sed along.

With a light word, he took The hearts of men in thrall: And, with a golden look, Welcomed them, at his call Giving their love, their strength, their all.

No man less proud than he, Nor cared for homage less: Only, he could not be Far off from happiness: Nature was bound to his success.

{138}

Weary, the cares, the jars, The lets, of every day, But the heavens filled with stars, Chanced he upon the way: And where he stayed, all joy would stay.

Now, when sad night draws down, When the austere stars burn: Roaming the vast live town, My thoughts and memories yearn Toward him, who never will return.

Yet have I seen him live, And owned my friend, a king: All that he came to give He gave: and I, who sing His praise, bring all I have to bring.

_Lionel Johnson._

118. TWILIGHT

Twilight it is, and the far woods are dim, and the rooks cry and call.

Down in the valley the lamps, and the mist, and a star over all, There by the rick, where they thresh, is the drone at an end, Twilight it is, and I travel the road with my friend.

I think of the friends who are dead, who were dear long ago in the past, Beautiful friends who are dead, though I know that death cannot last;

{139}

Friends with the beautiful eyes that the dust has defiled, Beautiful souls who were gentle when I was a child.

_John Masefield._

120. ON THE DEATH OF ARNOLD TOYNBEE

Good-bye; no tears nor cries Are fitting here, and long lament were vain.

Only the last low words be softly said, And the last greeting given above the dead; For soul more pure and beautiful our eyes Never shall see again.

Alas! what help is it, What consolation in this heavy chance, That to the blameless life so soon laid low This was the end appointed long ago, This the allotted s.p.a.ce, the measure fit Of endless ordinance?

Thus were the ancient days Made like our own monotonous with grief; From una.s.suaged lips even thus hath flown Perpetually the immemorial moan Of those that weeping went on desolate ways, Nor found in tears relief.

For faces yet grow pale, Tears rise at fortune, and true hearts take fire In all who hear, with quickening pulse's stroke, That cry that from the infinite people broke, When third among them Helen led the wail At Hector's funeral pyre.

{140}

And by the Latin beach At rise of dawn such piteous tears were shed, When Troy and Arcady in long array Followed the princely body on its way, And Lord Aeneas spoke the last sad speech Above young Pallas dead.

Even in this English clime The same sweet cry no circling seas can drown, In melancholy cadence rose to swell Some dirge of Lycidas or Astrophel When lovely souls and pure before their time Into the dusk went down.

These Earth, the bounteous nurse, Hath long ago lapped in deep peace divine.

Lips that made musical their old-world woe Themselves have gone to silence long ago, And left a weaker voice and wearier verse, O royal soul, for thine.

Beyond our life how far Soars his new life through radiant orb and zone, While we in impotency of the night Walk dumbly, and the path is hard, and light Fails, and for sun and moon the single star Honour is left alone.

The star that knows no set, But circles ever with a fixed desire, Watching Orion's armour all of gold; Watching and wearying not, till pale and cold Dawn breaks, and the first shafts of morning fret The east with lines of fire.

{141}