Late Lyrics and Earlier, With Many Other Verses Part 11

THE CHILD AND THE SAGE

You say, O Sage, when weather-checked, "I have been favoured so With cloudless skies, I must expect This dash of rain or snow."

"Since health has been my lot," you say, "So many months of late, I must not chafe that one short day Of sickness mars my state."

You say, "Such bliss has been my share From Love's unbroken smile, It is but reason I should bear A cross therein awhile."

And thus you do not count upon Continuance of joy; But, when at ease, expect anon A burden of annoy.

But, Sage--this Earth--why not a place Where no reprisals reign, Where never a spell of pleasantness Makes reasonable a pain?

December 21, 1908.

MISMET

I

He was leaning by a face, He was looking into eyes, And he knew a trysting-place, And he heard seductive sighs; But the face, And the eyes, And the place, And the sighs, Were not, alas, the right ones--the ones meet for him - Though fine and sweet the features, and the feelings all abrim.

II

She was looking at a form, She was listening for a tread, She could feel a waft of charm When a certain name was said; But the form, And the tread, And the charm Of name said, Were the wrong ones for her, and ever would be so, While the heritor of the right it would have saved her soul to know!

AN AUTUMN RAIN-SCENE

There trudges one to a merry-making With a st.u.r.dy swing, On whom the rain comes down.

To fetch the saving medicament Is another bent, On whom the rain comes down.

One slowly drives his herd to the stall Ere ill befall, On whom the rain comes down.

This bears his missives of life and death With quickening breath, On whom the rain comes down.

One watches for signals of wreck or war From the hill afar, On whom the rain comes down.

No care if he gain a shelter or none, Unhired moves one, On whom the rain comes down.

And another knows nought of its chilling fall Upon him at all, On whom the rain comes down.

October 1904.

MEDITATIONS ON A HOLIDAY (A NEW THEME TO AN OLD FOLK-JINGLE)

'Tis May morning, All-adorning, No cloud warning Of rain to-day.

Where shall I go to, Go to, go to? - Can I say No to Lyonnesse-way?

Well--what reason Now at this season Is there for treason To other shrines?

Tristram is not there, Isolt forgot there, New eras blot there Sought-for signs!

Stratford-on-Avon - Poesy-paven - I'll find a haven There, somehow! - Nay--I'm but caught of Dreams long thought of, The Swan knows nought of His Avon now!

What shall it be, then, I go to see, then, Under the plea, then, Of votary?

I'll go to Lakeland, Lakeland, Lakeland, Certainly Lakeland Let it be.

But--why to that place, That place, that place, Such a hard come-at place Need I fare?

When its bard cheers no more, Loves no more, fears no more, Sees no more, hears no more Anything there!

Ah, there is Scotland, Burns's Scotland, And Waverley's. To what land Better can I hie? - Yet--if no whit now Feel those of it now - Care not a bit now For it--why I?

I'll seek a town street, Aye, a brick-brown street, Quite a tumbledown street, Drawing no eyes.

For a Mary dwelt there, And a Percy felt there Heart of him melt there, A Claire likewise.

Why incline to THAT city, Such a city, THAT city, Now a mud-bespat city! - Care the lovers who Now live and walk there, Sit there and talk there, Buy there, or hawk there, Or wed, or woo?

Laughters in a volley Greet so fond a folly As nursing melancholy In this and that spot, Which, with most endeavour, Those can visit never, But for ever and ever Will now know not!

If, on lawns Elysian, With a broadened vision And a faint derision Conscious be they, How they might reprove me That these fancies move me, Think they ill behoove me, Smile, and say:

"What!--our h.o.a.r old houses, Where the past dead-drowses, Nor a child nor spouse is Of our name at all?

Such abodes to care for, Inquire about and bear for, And suffer wear and tear for - How weak of you and small!"

May 1921.

AN EXPERIENCE

Wit, weight, or wealth there was not In anything that was said, In anything that was done; All was of scope to cause not A triumph, dazzle, or dread To even the subtlest one, My friend, To even the subtlest one.

But there was a new afflation - An aura zephyring round, That care infected not: It came as a salutation, And, in my sweet astound, I scarcely witted what Might pend, I scarcely witted what.

The hills in samewise to me Spoke, as they grayly gazed, --First hills to speak so yet!