Collected Poems Volume II Part 8

VII

_Once upon a time_--perhaps a hundred thousand years ago-- Whisper to me, Peterkin, I have forgotten when!

Once upon a time there was a way, a way we used to know For stealing off at twilight from the weary ways of men.

VIII

Whisper it, O whisper it--the way, the way is all I need!

All the heart and will are here and all the deep desire!

_Once upon a time_--ah, now the light is drawing near indeed, I see the fairy faces flush to roses round the fire.

IX

_Once upon a time_--the little lips are on my cheek again, Little fairy fingers clasped and clinging draw me nigh, Dreams, no more than dreams, but they unloose the weary prisoner's chain And lead him from his dungeon! "What's a thousand years?" they cry.

X

A thousand years, a thousand years, a little drifting dream ago, All of us were hunting with a band of merry men, The skies were blue, the boughs were green, the clouds were crisping isles of snow ...

... So Robin blew his bugle, and the Now became the Then.

THE TRAMP TRANSFIGURED

(AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF A CORN-FLOWER MILLIONAIRE)

I

All the way to Fairyland across the thyme and heather, Round a little bank of fern that rustled on the sky, Me and stick and bundle, sir, we jogged along together,-- (Changeable the weather? Well--it ain't all pie!) Just about the sunset--Won't you listen to my story?-- Look at me! I'm only rags and tatters to your eye!

Sir, that blooming sunset crowned this battered hat with glory!

Me that was a crawling worm became a b.u.t.terfly-- (Ain't it hot and dry?

Thank you, sir, thank you, sir!) a blooming b.u.t.terfly.

II

Well, it happened this way! I was lying loose and lazy, Just as, of a Sunday, you yourself might think no shame, Puffing little clouds of smoke, and picking at a daisy, Dreaming of your dinner, p'raps, or wishful for the same: Suddenly, around that ferny bank there slowly waddled-- Slowly as the finger of a clock her shadow came-- Slowly as a tortoise down that winding path she toddled, Leaning on a crooked staff, a poor old crooked dame, Limping, but not lame, _Tick, tack, tick, tack_, a poor old crooked dame.

III

Slowly did I say, sir? Well, you've heard that funny fable Consekint the tortoise and the race it give an 'are?

This was curiouser than that! At first I wasn't able Quite to size the memory up that bristled thro' my hair: Suddenly, I'd got it, with a nasty shivery feeling, While she walked and walked and yet was not a bit more near,-- Sir, it was the tread-mill earth beneath her feet a-wheeling Faster than her feet could trot to heaven or anywhere, Earth's revolvin' stair Wheeling, while my wayside clump was kind of anch.o.r.ed there.

IV

_Tick, tack, tick, tack_, and just a little nearer, Inch and 'arf an inch she went, but never gained a yard: Quiet as a fox I lay; I didn't wish to scare 'er, Watching thro' the ferns, and thinking "What a rum old card!"

Both her wrinkled tortoise eyes with yellow resin oozing, Both her poor old bony hands were red and seamed and scarred!

Lord, I felt as if myself was in a public boozing, While my own old woman went about and scrubbed and charred!

Lord, it seemed so hard!

_Tick, tack, tick, tack_, she never gained a yard.

V

Yus, and there in front of her--I hadn't seen it rightly-- Lurked that little finger-post to point another road, Just a tiny path of poppies twisting infi-nite-ly Through the whispering seas of wheat, a scarlet thread that showed White with ox-eye daisies here and there and chalky cobbles, Blue with waving corn-flowers: far and far away it glowed, Winding into heaven, I thinks; but, Lord, the way she hobbles, Lord, she'll never reach it, for she bears too great a load; Yus, and then I knowed, If she did, she couldn't, for the board was marked _No Road_.

VI

_Tick, tack, tick, tack_, I couldn't wait no longer!

Up I gets and bows polite and pleasant as a toff-- "Arternoon," I says, "I'm glad your boots are going stronger; Only thing I'm dreading is your feet 'ull both come off."

_Tick, tack, tick, tack_, she didn't stop to answer, "Arternoon," she says, and sort o' chokes a little cough, "I must get to Piddinghoe to-morrow if I can, sir!"

"Demme, my good woman! Haw! Don't think I mean to loff,"

Says I, like a toff, "Where d'you mean to sleep to-night? G.o.d made this gra.s.s for go'ff."

VII

_Tick, tack, tick, tack_, and smilingly she eyed me (Dreadful the low cunning of these creechars, don't you think?) "That's all right! The weather's bright. Them bushes there 'ull hide me.

Don't the gorse smell nice?" I felt my derned old eyelids blink!

"Supper? I've a crust of bread, a big one, and a bottle,"

(Just as I expected! Ah, these creechars always drink!) "Sugar and water and half a pinch of tea to rinse my throttle, Then I'll curl up cosy!"--"If you're cotched it means the clink!"

--"Yus, but don't you think If a star should see me, G.o.d 'ull tell that star to wink?"

VIII

"Now, look here," I says, "I don't know what your blooming age is!"

"Three-score years and five," she says, "that's five more years to go _Tick, tack, tick tack_, before I gets my wages!"

"Wages all be d.a.m.ned," I says, "there's one thing that I know-- Gals that stay out late o' nights are sure to meet wi' sorrow.

Speaking as a toff," I says, "it isn't _comme il faut_!

Tell me why you want to get to Piddinghoe to-morrow."-- "That was where my son worked, twenty years ago!"-- "Twenty years ago?

Never wrote? May still be there? Remember you?... Just so!"

IX

Yus, it was a drama; but she weren't my long-lost parent!

_Tick, tack, tick, tack_, she trotted all the while, Never getting forrarder, and not the least aware on't, Though I stood beside her with a sort of silly smile Stock-still! _Tick, tack_! This blooming world's a bubble: There I stood and stared at it, mile on flowery mile, Chasing o' the sunset,--"Gals are sure to meet wi' trouble Staying out o' nights," I says, once more, and tries to smile, "Come, that ain't your style, Here's a shilling, mother, for to-day I've made my pile!"