October and Other Poems with Occasional Verses on the War 
Robert Bridges




Robert Bridges

October and Other Poems / with Occasional Verses on the War





PREFACE


This miscellaneous volume is composed of three sections. The first twelve poems were written in 1913, and printed privately by Mr. Hornby in 1914.

The last of these poems proved to be a “war poem,” and on that follow eighteen pieces which were called forth on occasion during the War, the last being a broadsheet on the surrender of the German ships. All of these verses appeared in some journal or serial. There were a few others, but they are not included in this collection, either because they are lost, or because they show decidedly inferior claims to salvage.

The last six poems or sonnets are of various dates.



    R. B.




OCTOBER


		April adance in play
		met with his lover May
		where she came garlanded.
		The blossoming boughs o’erhead
		were thrill’d to bursting by
		the dazzle from the sky
		and the wild music there
		that shook the odorous air.

		Each moment some new birth
		hasten’d to deck the earth
		in the gay sunbeams.
		Between their kisses dreams:
		And dream and kiss were rife
		with laughter of mortal life.

		But this late day of golden fall
		is still as a picture upon a wall
		or a poem in a book lying open unread.
		Or whatever else is shrined
		when the Virgin hath vanishèd:
		Footsteps of eternal Mind
		on the path of the dead.




THE FLOWERING TREE


		What Fairy fann’d my dreams
		while I slept in the sun?
		As if a flowering tree
		were standing over me:
		Its young stem strong and lithe
		went branching overhead
		And willowy sprays around
		fell tasseling to the ground
		All with wild blossom gay
		as is the cherry in May
		When her fresh flaunt of leaf
		gives crowns of golden green.

		The sunlight was enmesh’d
		in the shifting splendour
		And I saw through on high
		to soft lakes of blue sky:
		Ne’er was mortal slumber
		so lapt in luxury.

		Rather—Endymion—
		would I sleep in the sun
		Neath the trees divinely
		with day’s azure above
		When my love of Beauty
		is met by beauty’s love.

		So I slept enchanted
		under my loving tree
		Till from his late resting
		the sweet songster of night
		Rousing awaken’d me:
		Then! this—the birdis note—
		Was the voice of thy throat
		which thou gav’st me to kiss.




NOEL: CHRISTMAS EVE, 1913



Pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis

		A frosty Christmas Eve
		when the stars were shining
		Fared I forth alone
		where westward falls the hill,
		And from many a village
		in the water’d valley
		Distant music reach’d me
		peals of bells aringing:
		The constellated sounds
		ran sprinkling on earth’s floor
		As the dark vault above
		with stars was spangled o’er.

		Then sped my thought to keep
		that first Christmas of all
		When the shepherds watching
		by their folds ere the dawn
		Heard music in the fields
		and marveling could not tell
		Whether it were angels
		or the bright stars singing.

		Now blessed be the tow’rs
		that crown England so fair
		That stand up strong in prayer
		unto God for our souls:
		Blessed be their founders
		(said I) an’ our country folk
		Who are ringing for Christ
		in the belfries to-night
		With arms lifted to clutch
		the rattling ropes that race
		Into the dark above
		and the mad romping din.

		But to me heard afar
		it was starry music
		Angels’ song, comforting
		as the comfort of Christ
		When he spake tenderly
		to his sorrowful flock:
		The old words came to me
		by the riches of time
		Mellow’d and transfigured
		as I stood on the hill
		Heark’ning in the aspect
		of th’ eternal silence.




IN DER FREMDE


		Ah! wild-hearted wand’rer
		far in the world away
		Restless nor knowest why
		only thou canst not stay
		And now turnest trembling
		hearing the wind to sigh:
		’Twas thy lover calling
		whom thou didst leave forby.

		So faint and yet so far
		so far and yet so fain—
		“Return belov’d to me”
		but thou must onward strain:
		Thy trembling is in vain
		as thy wand’ring shall be.
		What so well thou lovest
		thou nevermore shalt see.




THE PHILOSOPHER AND HIS MISTRESS


		We watch’d the wintry moon
		Suffer her full eclipse
		Riding at night’s high noon
		Beyond the earth’s ellipse.

		The conquering shadow quell’d
		Her splendour in its robe:
		And darkling we beheld
		A dim and lurid globe;

		Yet felt thereat no dread,
		Nor waited we to see
		The sullen dragon fled,
		The heav’nly Queen go free.

		So if my heart of pain
		One hour o’ershadow thine,
		I fear for thee no stain,
		Thou wilt come forth and shine:

		And far my sorrowing shade
		Will slip to empty space
		Invisible, but made
		Happier for that embrace.




NARCISSUS


		Almighty wondrous everlasting
		Whether in a cradle of astral whirlfire
		Or globed in a piercing star thou slumb’rest
		The impassive body of God:
		Thou deep i’ the core of earth—Almighty!—
		From numbing stress and gloom profound
		Madest escape in life desirous
		To embroider her thin-spun robe.

		’Twas down in a wood—they tell—
		In a running water thou sawest thyself
		Or leaning over a pool: The sedges
		Were twinn’d at the mirror’s brim
		The sky was there and the trees—Almighty!—
		A bird of a bird and white clouds floating
		And seeing thou knewest thine own image
		To love it beyond all else.

		Then wondering didst thou speak
		Of beauty and wisdom of art and worship
		Didst build the fanes of Zeus and Apollo
		The high cathedrals of Christ.

		All that we love is thine—Almighty!—
		Heart-felt music and lyric song
		Language the eager grasp of knowledge
		All that we think is thine.

		But whence?—Beauteous everlasting!—
		Whence and whither? Hast thou mistaken?
		Or dost forget? Look again! Thou seest
		A shadow and not thyself.




OUR LADY



I

		Goddess azure-mantled and aureoled
		That standing barefoot upon the moon
		Or throned as a Queen of the earth
		Tranquilly smilest to hold
		The Child-god in thine arms,
		Whence thy glory? Art not she
		The country maiden of Galilee
		Simple in dowerless poverty
		Who from humble cradle to grave
		Hadst no thought of this wonder?

		When to man dull of heart
		Dawn’d at length graciously
		Thy might of Motherhood
		The starry Truth beam’d on his home;
		Then with insight exalted he gave thee
		The trappings—Lady—wherewith his art
		Delighteth to picture his spirit to sense
		And that grace is immortal.

		Fount of creative Love
		Mother of the Word eternal
		Atoning man with God:
		Who set thee apart as a garden enclosed
		From Nature’s all-producing wilds
		To rear the richest fruit o’ the Life
		Ever continuing out from Him
		Urgent since the beginning.


II

		Behold! Man setteth thine image in the height of Heaven
		And hallowing his untemper’d love
		Crowneth and throneth thee ador’d
		(Tranquilly joyous to hold
		The man-child in thine arms)
		God-like apart from conflict to save thee
		To guard thy weak caressive beauty
		With incontaminate jewels of soul
		Courage, patience, and self-devotion:
		All this glory he gave thee.

		Secret and slow is Nature
		Imperceptibly moving
		With surely determinate aim:
		To woman it fell to be early in prime
		Ready to labour, mould, and cherish
		The delicate head of all Production
		The wistful late-maturing boy
		Who made Knowing of Being.

		Therefore art thou ador’d
		Mother of God in man
		Naturing nurse of power:
		They who adore not thee shall perish
		But thou shalt keep thy path of joy
		Envied of Angels because the All-father
		Call’d thee to mother his nascent Word
		And complete the creation.




THE CURFEW TOWER


		Thro’ innocent eyes at the world awond’ring
		Nothing spake to me more superbly
		Than the round bastion of Windsor’s wall

		That warding the Castle’s southern angle
		An old inheritor of Norman prowess
		Was call’d by the folk the Curfew Tow’r.

		Above the masonry’s rugged courses
		A turreted clock of Caroline fashion
		Told time to the town in black and gold.

		It charmed the hearts of Henry’s scholars
		As kingly a mentor of English story
		As Homer’s poem is of Ilion:

		Nor e’er in the landscape look’d it fairer
		Than when we saw its white bulk halo’d
		In a lattice of slender scaffoldings.

		Month by month on the airy platforms
		Workmen labour’d hacking and hoisting
		Till again the tower was stript to the sun:

		The old tow’r? Nay a new tow’r stood there
		From footing to battlemented skyline
		And topt with a cap the slice of a cone

		Archæologic and counterfeited
		The smoothest thing in all the high-street
		As Eton scholars to-day may see:

		They—wherever else they find their wonder
		And feed their boyhood on Time’s enchantment—
		See never the Tow’r that spoke to me.




FLYCATCHERS


		Sweet pretty fledgelings, perched on the rail arow,
		Expectantly happy, where ye can watch below
		Your parents a-hunting i’ the meadow grasses
		All the gay morning to feed you with flies;

		Ye recall me a time sixty summers ago,
		When, a young chubby chap, I sat just so
		With others on a school-form rank’d in a row,
		Not less eager and hungry than you, I trow,
		With intelligences agape and eyes aglow,
		While an authoritative old wise-acre
		Stood over us and from a desk fed us with flies.

		Dead flies—such as litter the library south-window,
		That buzzed at the panes until they fell stiff-baked on the sill,
		Or are roll’d up asleep i’ the blinds at sunrise,
		Or wafer’d flat in a shrunken folio.

		A dry biped he was, nurtured likewise
		On skins and skeletons, stale from top to toe
		With all manner of rubbish and all manner of lies.




GHOSTS


		Mazing around my mind like moths at a shaded candle,
		In my heart like lost bats in a cave fluttering,
		Mock ye the charm whereby I thought reverently to lay you,
		When to the wall I nail’d your reticent effigys?




Έτώσιον ἄχθος ἀρούρης


		Who goes there? God knows. I’m nobody. How should I answer?
		Can’t jump over a gate nor run across the meadow.
		I’m but an old whitebeard of inane identity. Pass on!
		What’s left of me to-day will very soon be nothing.




HELL AND HATE


		Two demons thrust their arms out over the world,
		Hell with a ruddy torch of fire,
		And Hate with gasping mouth,
		Striving to seize two children fair
		Who play’d on the upper curve of the Earth.

		Their shapes were vast as the thoughts of man,
		But the Earth was small
		As the moon’s rim appeareth
		Scann’d through an optic glass.

		The younger child stood erect on the Earth
		As a charioteer in a car
		Or a dancer with arm upraised;
		Her whole form—barely clad
		From feet to golden head—
		Leapt brightly against the uttermost azure,
		Whereon the stars were splashes of light
		Dazed in the gulfing beds of space.

		The elder might have been stell’d to show
		The lady who led my boyish love;
		But her face was graver than e’er to me
		When I look’d in her eyes long ago,
		And the hair on her shoulders fal’n
		Nested its luminous brown
		I’ the downy spring of her wings:
		Her figure aneath was screen’d by the Earth,
		Whereoff—so small that was
		No footing for her could be—
		She appeared to be sailing free
		I’ the glide and poise of her flight.

		Then knew I the Angel Faith,
		Who was guarding human Love.

		Happy were both, of peaceful mien,
		Contented as mankind longeth to be,
		Not merry as children are;
		And show’d no fear of the Fiends’ pursuit,




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/robert-bridges-2/october-and-other-poems-with-occasional-verses-on-the-war/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.


