New Poems Part 12

GO, LITTLE BOOK-THE ANCIENT PHRASE

GO, little book-the ancient phrase And still the daintiest-go your ways, My Otto, over sea and land, Till you shall come to Nelly's hand.

How shall I your Nelly know?

By her blue eyes and her black brow, By her fierce and slender look, And by her goodness, little book!

What shall I say when I come there?

You shall speak her soft and fair: See-you shall say-the love they send To greet their unforgotten friend!

Giant Adulpho you shall sing The next, and then the cradled king: And the four corners of the roof Then kindly bless; and to your perch aloof, Where Balzac all in yellow dressed And the dear Webster of the west Encircle the prepotent throne Of Shakespeare and of Calderon, Shall climb an upstart.

There with these You shall give ear to breaking seas And windmills turning in the breeze, A distant undetermined din Without; and you shall hear within The blazing and the bickering logs, The crowing child, the yawning dogs, And ever agile, high and low, Our Nelly going to and fro.

There shall you all silent sit, Till, when perchance the lamp is lit And the day's labour done, she takes Poor Otto down, and, warming for our sakes, Perchance beholds, alive and near, Our distant faces reappear.

MY LOVE WAS WARM

MY love was warm; for that I crossed The mountains and the sea, Nor counted that endeavour lost That gave my love to me.

If that indeed were love at all, As still, my love, I trow, By what dear name am I to call The bond that holds me now

DEDICATORY POEM FOR "UNDERWOODS"

TO her, for I must still regard her As feminine in her degree, Who has been my unkind bombarder Year after year, in grief and glee, Year after year, with oaken tree; And yet betweenwhiles my laudator In terms astonishing to me- To the Right Reverend The Spectator I here, a humble dedicator, Bring the last apples from my tree.

In tones of love, in tones of warning, She hailed me through my brief career; And kiss and buffet, night and morning, Told me my grandmamma was near; Whether she praised me high and clear Through her unrivalled circulation, Or, sanctimonious insincere, She d.a.m.ned me with a misquotation- A chequered but a sweet relation, Say, was it not, my granny dear?

Believe me, granny, altogether Yours, though perhaps to your surprise.

Oft have you spruced my wounded feather, Oft brought a light into my eyes- For notice still the writer cries.

In any civil age or nation, The book that is not talked of dies.

So that shall be my termination: Whether in praise or execration, Still, if you love me, criticise!

FAREWELL

FAREWELL, and when forth I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles, Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south, Isle upon island, sea upon sea, Why should I sail, why should the breeze?

I have been young, and I have counted friends.

A hopeless sail I spread, too late, too late.

Why should I from isle to isle Sail, a hopeless sailor?

THE FAR-FARERS

THE broad sun, The bright day: White sails On the blue bay: The far-farers Draw away.

Light the fires And close the door.

To the old homes, To the loved sh.o.r.e, The far-farers Return no more.

COME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE SONGS FOR YOU

COME, my little children, here are songs for you; Some are short and some are long, and all, all are new.

You must learn to sing them very small and clear, Very true to time and tune and pleasing to the ear.

Mark the note that rises, mark the notes that fall, Mark the time when broken, and the swing of it all.

So when night is come, and you have gone to bed, All the songs you love to sing shall echo in your head.

HOME FROM THE DAISIED MEADOWS

HOME from the daisied meadows, where you linger yet- Home, golden-headed playmate, ere the sun is set; For the dews are falling fast And the night has come at last.

Home with you, home and lay your little head at rest, Safe, safe, my little darling, on your mother's breast.

Lullaby, darling; your mother is watching you; she'll be your guardian and shield.

Lullaby, slumber, my darling, till morning be bright upon mountain and field.

Long, long the shadows fall.

All white and smooth at home your little bed is laid.

All round your head be angels.

EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO

EARLY in the morning I hear on your piano You (at least, I guess it's you) proceed to learn to play.

Mostly little minds should take and tackle their piano While the birds are singing in the morning of the day.