A Channel Passage and Other Poems Part 12

Sound of trumpets blowing down the merriest winds of morn, Flash of hurtless lightnings, laugh of thunders loud and glad, Here should hail the summer day whereon a light was born Whence the sun grew brighter, seeing the world less dark and sad.

Man of men by right divine of boyhood everlasting, France incarnate, France immortal in her deathless boy, Brighter birthday never shone than thine on earth, forecasting More of strenuous mirth in manhood, more of manful joy.

Child of warriors, friend of warriors, Garibaldi's friend, Even thy name is as the splendour of a sunbright sword: While the boy's heart beats in man, thy fame shall find not end: Time and dark oblivion bow before thee as their lord.

Youth acclaims thee gladdest of the G.o.ds that gild his days: Age gives thanks for thee, and death lacks heart to quench thy praise.

AT A DOG'S GRAVE

I

Good night, we say, when comes the time to win The daily death divine that shuts up sight, Sleep, that a.s.sures for all who dwell therein Good night.

The shadow shed round those we love s.h.i.+nes bright As love's own face, when death, sleep's gentler twin, From them divides us even as night from light.

Shall friends born lower in life, though pure of sin, Though clothed with love and faith to usward plight, Perish and pa.s.s unbidden of us, their kin, Good night?

II

To die a dog's death once was held for shame.

Not all men so beloved and mourned shall lie As many of these, whose time untimely came To die.

His years were full: his years were joyous: why Must love be sorrow, when his gracious name Recalls his lovely life of limb and eye?

If aught of blameless life on earth may claim Life higher than death, though death's dark wave rise high, Such life as this among us never came To die.

III

White violets, there by hands more sweet than they Planted, shall sweeten April's flowerful air About a grave that shows to night and day White violets there.

A child's light hands, whose touch makes flowers more fair, Keep fair as these for many a March and May The light of days that are because they were.

It shall not like a blossom pa.s.s away; It broods and brightens with the days that bear Fresh fruits of love, but leave, as love might pray, White violets there.

THREE WEEKS OLD

Three weeks since there was no such rose in being; Now may eyes made dim with deep delight See how fair it is, laugh with love, and seeing Praise the chance that bids us bless the sight.

Three weeks old, and a very rose of roses, Bright and sweet as love is sweet and bright.

Heaven and earth, till a man's life wanes and closes, Show not life or love a lovelier sight.

Three weeks past have renewed the rosebright creature Day by day with life, and night by night.

Love, though fain of its every faultless feature, Finds not words to match the silent sight.

A CLASP OF HANDS

I

Soft, small, and sweet as sunniest flowers That bask in heavenly heat When bud by bud breaks, breathes, and cowers, Soft, small, and sweet.

A babe's hands open as to greet The tender touch of ours And mock with motion faint and fleet

The minutes of the new strange hours That earth, not heaven, must mete; Buds fragrant still from heaven's own bowers, Soft, small, and sweet.

II

A velvet vice with springs of steel That fasten in a trice And clench the fingers fast that feel A velvet vice--

What man would risk the danger twice, Nor quake from head to heel?

Whom would not one such test suffice?

Well may we tremble as we kneel In sight of Paradise, If both a babe's closed fists conceal A velvet vice.

III

Two flower-soft fists of conquering clutch, Two creased and dimpled wrists, That match, if mottled overmuch, Two flower-soft fists--

What heart of man dare hold the lists Against such odds and such Sweet vantage as no strength resists?

Our strength is all a broken crutch, Our eyes are dim with mists, Our hearts are prisoners as we touch Two flower-soft fists.

PROLOGUE TO DOCTOR FAUSTUS

Light, as when dawn takes wing and smites the sea, Smote England when his day bade Marlowe be.

No fire so keen had thrilled the clouds of time Since Dante's breath made Italy sublime.

Earth, bright with flowers whose dew shone soft as tears, Through Chaucer cast her charm on eyes and ears: The l.u.s.trous laughter of the love-lit earth Rang, leapt, and lightened in his might of mirth.

Deep moonlight, hallowing all the breathless air, Made earth and heaven for Spenser faint and fair.

But song might bid not heaven and earth be one Till Marlowe's voice gave warning of the sun.

Thought quailed and fluttered as a wounded bird Till pa.s.sion fledged the wing of Marlowe's word.

Faith born of fear bade hope and doubt be dumb Till Marlowe's pride bade light or darkness come.

Then first our speech was thunder: then our song Shot lightning through the clouds that wrought us wrong.

Blind fear, whose faith feeds h.e.l.l with fire, became A moth self-shrivelled in its own blind flame.