Georgian Poetry 1916-1917 Part 2

I was playing with my hoop along the road Just where the bushes are, when, suddenly, There came a shout,--I ran away and stowed Myself beneath a bush, and watched to see What made the noise, and then, around the bend, I saw a woman running. She was old And wrinkle-faced, and had big teeth.--The end Of her red shawl caught on a bush and rolled Right off her, and her hair fell down.--Her face Was awful white, and both her eyes looked sick, And she was talking queer. 'O G.o.d of Grace!'

Said she, 'where is the child?' and flew back quick The way she came, and screamed, and shook her hands; ... Maybe she was a witch from foreign lands.

A VISIT FROM ABROAD

A speck went blowing up against the sky As little as a leaf: then it drew near And broadened.--'It's a bird,' said I, And fetched my bow and arrows. It was queer!

It grew from up a speck into a blot, And squattered past a cloud; then it flew down All crumply, and waggled such a lot I thought the thing would fall.--It was a brown Old carpet where a man was sitting snug Who, when he reached the ground, began to sew A big hole in the middle of the rug, And kept on peeping everywhere to know Who might be coming--then he gave a twist And flew away.... I fired at him but missed.

J.C. SQUIRE

A HOUSE

Now very quietly, and rather mournfully, In clouds of hyacinth the sun retires, And all the stubble-fields that were so warm to him Keep but in memory their borrowed fires.

And I, the traveller, break, still unsatisfied, From that faint exquisite celestial strand, And turn and see again the only dwelling-place In this wide wilderness of darkening land.

The house, that house, O now what change has come to it.

Its crude red-brick facade, its roof of slate; What imperceptible swift hand has given it A new, a wonderful, a queenly state?

No hand has altered it, that parallelogram, So inharmonious, so ill-arranged; That hard blue roof in shape and colour's what it was; No, it is not that any line has changed.

Only that loneliness is now accentuate And, as the dusk unveils the heaven's deep cave, This small world's feebleness fills me with awe again, And all man's energies seem very brave.

And this mean edifice, which some dull architect Built for an ignorant earth-turning hind, Takes on the quality of that magnificent Unshakable dauntlessness of human kind.

Darkness and stars will come, and long the night will be, Yet imperturbable that house will rest, Avoiding gallantly the stars' chill scrutiny, Ignoring secrets in the midnight's breast.

Thunders may shudder it, and winds demoniac May howl their menaces, and hail descend; Yet it will bear with them, serenely, steadfastly, Not even scornfully, and wait the end.

And all a universe of nameless messengers From unknown distances may whisper fear, And it will imitate immortal permanence, And stare and stare ahead and scarcely hear.

It stood there yesterday; it will to-morrow, too, When there is none to watch, no alien eyes To watch its ugliness a.s.sume a majesty From this great solitude of evening skies.

So lone, so very small, with worlds and worlds around, While life remains to it prepared to outface Whatever awful unconjectured mysteries May hide and wait for it in time and s.p.a.ce.

TO A BULL-DOG

(W. H. S., Capt. [Acting Major] R. F. A.; killed, April 12, 1917)

We shan't see w.i.l.l.y any more, Mamie, He won't be coming any more: He came back once and again and again, But he won't get leave any more.

We looked from the window and there was his cab, And we ran downstairs like a streak, And he said, 'Hullo, you bad dog,' and you crouched to the floor, Paralysed to hear him speak,

And then let fly at his face and his chest Till I had to hold you down, While he took off his cap and his gloves and his coat, And his bag and his thonged Sam Browne.

We went upstairs to the studio, The three of us, just as of old, And you lay down and I sat and talked to him As round the room he strolled.

Here in the room where, years ago Before the old life stopped, He worked all day with his slippers and his pipe, He would pick up the threads he'd dropped,

Fondling all the drawings he had left behind, Glad to find them all still the same, And opening the cupboards to look at his belongings ... Every time he came.

But now I know what a dog doesn't know, Though you'll thrust your head on my knee, And try to draw me from the absent-mindedness That you find so dull in me.

And all your life you will never know What I wouldn't tell you even if I could, That the last time we waved him away w.i.l.l.y went for good.

But sometimes as you lie on the hearthrug Sleeping in the warmth of the stove, Even through your muddled old canine brain Shapes from the past may rove.

You'll scarcely remember, even in a dream, How we brought home a silly little pup, With a big square head and little crooked legs That could scarcely bear him up,

But your tail will tap at the memory Of a man whose friend you were, Who was always kind though he called you a naughty dog When he found you on his chair;

Who'd make you face a reproving finger And solemnly lecture you Till your head hung downwards and you looked very sheepish: And you'll dream of your triumphs too,

Of summer evening chases in the garden When you dodged us all about with a bone: We were three boys, and you were the cleverest, But now we're two alone.

When summer comes again, And the long sunsets fade, We shall have to go on playing the feeble game for two That since the war we've played.

And though you run expectant as you always do To the uniforms we meet, You'll never find w.i.l.l.y among all the soldiers In even the longest street,

Nor in any crowd; yet, strange and bitter thought, Even now were the old words said, If I tried the old trick and said 'Where's w.i.l.l.y?'

You would quiver and lift your head,

And your brown eyes would look to ask if I was serious, And wait for the word to spring.

Sleep undisturbed: I shan't say 'that' again, You innocent old thing.

I must sit, not speaking, on the sofa, While you lie asleep on the floor; For he's suffered a thing that dogs couldn't dream of, And he won't be coming here any more.