Baffled gardener, you behold New beginnings and new shoots Spring again from hidden roots.

Pull or stab or cut or burn, They will ever yet return.

Gardener, cursing at the weed, Ere you curse it further, say: Who but you planted the seed In my fertile heart, one day?

Ere you curse me further, say!

New beginnings and new shoots String again from hidden roots Pull or stab or cut or burn, Love must ever yet return.

THE LADY VISITOR IN THE PAUPER WARD

Why do you break upon this old, cool peace, This painted peace of ours, With harsh dress hissing like a flock of geese, With garish flowers?

Why do you churn smooth waters rough again, Selfish old skin-and-bone?

Leave us to quiet dreaming and slow pain, Leave us alone.

LOVE AND BLACK MAGIC

To the woods, to the woods is the wizard gone; In his grotto the maiden sits alone.

She gazes up with a weary smile At the rafter-hanging crocodile, The slowly swinging crocodile.

Scorn has she of her master's gear, Cauldron, alembic, crystal sphere, Phial, philtre--"Fiddlededee For all such trumpery trash!" quo' she.

"A soldier is the lad for me; Hey and hither, my lad!

"Oh, here have I ever lain forlorn: My father died ere I was born, Mother was by a wizard wed, And oft I wish I had died instead-- Often I wish I were long time dead.

But, delving deep in my master's lore, I have won of magic power such store I can turn a skull--oh, fiddlededee For all this curious craft!" quo' she.

"A soldier is the lad for me; Hey and hither, my lad!

"To bring my brave boy unto my arms, What need have I of magic charms-- 'Abracadabra!' and 'Prestopuff'?

I have but to wish, and that is enough.

The charms are vain, one wish is enough.

My master pledged my hand to a wizard; Transformed would I be to toad or lizard If e'er he guessed--but fiddlededee For a black-browed sorcerer, now," quo' she.

"Let Cupid smile and the fiend must flee; Hey and hither, my lad."

SMOKE-RINGS

BOY Most venerable and learned sir, Tall and true Philosopher, These rings of smoke you blow all day With such deep thought, what sense have they?

PHILOSOPHER Small friend, with prayer and meditation I make an image of Creation.

And if your mind is working nimble Straightway you'll recognize a symbol Of the endless and eternal ring Of G.o.d, who girdles everything-- G.o.d, who in His own form and plan Moulds the fugitive life of man.

These vaporous toys you watch me make, That shoot ahead, pause, turn and break-- Some glide far out like sailing ships, Some weak ones fail me at my lips.

He who ringed His awe in smoke, When He led forth His captive folk, In like manner, East, West, North, and South, Blows us ring-wise from His mouth.

A CHILD'S NIGHTMARE

Through long nursery nights he stood By my bed unwearying, Loomed gigantic, formless, queer, Purring in my haunted ear That same hideous nightmare thing, Talking, as he lapped my blood, In a voice cruel and flat, Saying for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..."

That one word was all he said, That one word through all my sleep, In monotonous mock despair.

Nonsense may be light as air, But there's Nonsense that can keep Horror bristling round the head, When a voice cruel and flat Says for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..."

He had faded, he was gone Years ago with Nursery Land When he leapt on me again From the clank of a night train, Overpowered me foot and head, Lapped my blood, while on and on The old voice cruel and flat Says for ever, "Cat!... Cat!... Cat!..."

Morphia drowsed, again I lay In a crater by High Wood: He was there with straddling legs, Staring eyes as big as eggs, Purring as he lapped my blood, His black bulk darkening the day, With a voice cruel and flat, "Cat!... Cat!... Cat!..." he said, "Cat!... Cat!..."

When I'm shot through heart and head, And there's no choice but to die, The last word I'll hear, no doubt, Won't be "Charge!" or "Bomb them out!"

Nor the stretcher-bearer's cry, "Let that body be, he's dead!"

But a voice cruel and flat Saying for ever, "Cat!... Cat!... Cat!"

ESCAPE

(_August_ 6, 1916.--Officer previously reported died of wounds, now reported wounded: Graves, Captain R., Royal Welch Fusiliers.)

... But I _was_ dead, an hour or more.

I woke when I'd already pa.s.sed the door That Cerberus guards, and half-way down the road To Lethe, as an old Greek signpost showed.

Above me, on my stretcher swinging by, I saw new stars in the subterrene sky: A Cross, a Rose in bloom, a Cage with bars, And a barbed Arrow feathered in fine stars.

I felt the vapours of forgetfulness Float in my nostrils. Oh, may Heaven bless Dear Lady Proserpine, who saw me wake, And, stooping over me, for Henna's sake Cleared my poor buzzing head and sent me back Breathless, with leaping heart along the track.

After me roared and clattered angry hosts Of demons, heroes, and policeman-ghosts.

"Life! life! I can't be dead! I won't be dead!

d.a.m.ned if I'll die for any one!" I said....

Cerberus stands and grins above me now, Wearing three heads--lion, and lynx, and sow.

"Quick, a revolver! But my Webley's gone, Stolen!... No bombs ... no knife....

The crowd swarms on, Bellows, hurls stones.... Not even a honeyed sop ...

Nothing.... Good Cerberus!... Good dog!... but stop!

Stay!... A great luminous thought ... I do believe There's still some morphia that I bought on leave."

Then swiftly Cerberus' wide mouths I cram With army biscuit smeared with ration jam;

And sleep lurks in the luscious plum and apple.

He crunches, swallows, stiffens, seems to grapple With the all-powerful poppy ... then a snore, A crash; the beast blocks up the corridor With monstrous hairy carcase, red and dun-- Too late! for I've sped through.

O Life! O Sun!

THE BOUGH OF NONSENSE

An Idyll

Back from the Somme two Fusiliers Limped painfully home; the elder said, _S_. "Robert, I've lived three thousand years This Summer, and I'm nine parts dead."