I think how, when our seasons all are sealed, Shall come the unchanging harvest from the field. I see the barns and comely manors planned By men who somehow moved in comely thought, Who, with a simple shippon to their hand, As men upon some godlike business wrought; I see the little cottages that keep Their beauty still where since Plantagenet Have come the shepherds happily to sleep, Finding the loaves and cups of cider set; I see the twisted shepherds, brown and old, Driving at dusk their glimmering sheep to fold. And now the valleys that upon the sun Broke from their opal veils are veiled again, And the last light upon the wolds is done, And silence falls on flocks and fields and men; And black upon the night I watch my hill, And the stars shine, and there an owly wing Brushes the night, and all again is still, And, from this land of worship that I sing, I turn to sleep, content that from my sires I draw the blood of England's midmost shires. CLOUDS BECAUSE a million voices call Across the earth distractedly, Because the thrones of reason fall And beautiful battalions die, My mind is like a madrigal Played on a lute long since put by. In common use my mind is still Eager for every lovely thing The solitudes of tarn and hill, Bright birds with honesty to sing, Bluebells and primroses that spill Cascades of colour on the spring. But now my mind that gave to these Gesture and shape, colour and song, Goes hesitant and ill at ease, And the old touch is truant long, Because the continents and seas Are loud with lamentable wrong. JAMES ELROY FLECKER THE OLD SHIPS I HAVE seen old ships sail like swans asleep With leaden age o'ercargoed, dipping deep Questing brown slaves or Syrian oranges, Hell raked them till they rolled Blood, water, fruit, and corpses up the hold. But now through friendly seas they softly run, Painted the mid-sea blue or the shore-sea green, Still patterned with the vine and grapes in gold. TENEBRIS INTERLUCENTEM A LINNET Who had lost her way At last they knew that they had died When they heard music in that land, And some one there stole forth a hand To draw a brother to his side. TO A POET A THOUSAND YEARS I WHO am dead a thousand years, I care not if you bridge the seas, But have you wine and music still, And statues and a bright-eyed love, And foolish thoughts of good and ill, And prayers to them who sit above? How shall we conquer? Like a wind That falls at eve our fancies blow, And old Mæonides the blind Said it three thousand years ago. O friend unseen, unborn, unknown, Since I can never see your face, And never shake you by the hand, I send my soul through time and space To greet you. You will understand. WILFRID WILSON GIBSON FLANNAN ISLE "THOUGH three men dwell on Flannan Isle To keep the lamp alight, As we steer'd under the lee, we caught A passing ship at dawn had brought The winter day broke blue and bright, But, as we near'd the lonely Isle ; Of comfort through the dark, It seem'd, that we were struck the while And, as into the tiny creek We stole beneath the hanging crag, We saw three queer, black, ugly birds Too big, by far, in my belief, For guillemot or shag Like seamen sitting bolt-upright But, as we near'd, they plunged from sight, We landed; and made fast the boat; So it be far from Flannan Isle: Yet, all too soon, we reached the door - As, on the threshold, for a spell, We paused, we seem'd to breathe the smell Of limewash and of tar, Familiar as our daily breath, As though 'twere some strange scent of death: And so, yet wondering, side by side, To leave the sunlight for the gloom: Till, plucking courage up, at last, Hard on each other's heels we pass'd Into the living-room. Yet, as we crowded through the door, We only saw a table, spread For dinner, meat and cheese and bread; Alarm had come; and they in haste We listen'd; but we only heard And, listening still, without a word, We hunted high, we hunted low, And stole into the room once more Aye: though we hunted high and low, Of the three men's fate we found no trace But a door ajar, and an untouch'd meal, And an overtoppled chair. And, as we listen'd in the gloom We thought how ill-chance came to all And how the rock had been the death How six had come to a sudden end And one whom we'd all known as friend And fallen dead by the lighthouse wall: And long we thought On the three we sought, And of what might yet befall. Like curs a glance has brought to heel, And look'd, and look'd, on the untouch'd meal And the overtoppled chair. We seem'd to stand for an endless while, RAINING THE night I left my father said: "You'll go and do some stupid thing You've no more sense in that fat head Than Silly Billy Witterling. "Not sense to come in when it rains Not sense enough for that, you've got. You'll get a bullet through your brains, Before you know, as like as not." And now I'm lying in the trench And shells and bullets through the night Are raining in a steady drench, I'm thinking the old man was right. IN THE MEADOW THE smell of wet hay in the heat Perched on the hard and jolting seat, In his dazzled sight, till, dozing, |