A king dwelt in Jerusalem: He was the wisest man on earth; He had all riches from his birth, And pleasures till he tired of them: Then, having tested all things, he Witnessed that all are vanity.

O When and Where

All knowledge hath taught me, All sorrow hath brought me, Are smothered sighs That pleasure lies, Like the last gleam of evening's ray, So far and far away,--far away.

Under the cold moist herbs No wind the calm disturbs.

O when and where?

Nor here nor there.

Gra.s.s cools my face, grief heats my heart.

Will this life I swoon with never part?

Fancies at Leisure

I. Noon Rest

Following the river's course, We come to where the sedges plant Their thickest twinings at its source;-- A spot that makes the heart to pant, Feeling its rest and beauty. Pull The reeds' tops thro' your fingers; dull Your sense of the world's life; and toss The thought away of hap or cross: Then shall the river seem to call Your name, and the slow quiet crawl Between your eyelids like a swoon; And all the sounds at heat of noon And all the silence shall so sing Your eyes asleep as that no wing Of bird in rustling by, no p.r.o.ne Willow-branch on your hair, no drone Droning about and past you,--nought May soon avail to rouse you, caught With sleep thro' heat in the sun's light,-- So good, tho' losing sound and sight, You scarce would waken, if you might.

II. A Quiet Place

My friend, are not the gra.s.ses here as tall As you would wish to see? The runnell's fall Over the rise of pebbles, and its blink Of shining points which, upon this side, sink In dark, yet still are there; this ragged crane Spreading his wings at seeing us with vain Terror, forsooth; the trees, a pulpy stock Of toadstools huddled round them; and the flock-- Black wings after black wings--of ancient rook By rook; has not the whole scene got a look As though we were the first whose breath should fan In two this spider's web, to give a span Of life more to three flies? See, there's a stone Seems made for us to sit on. Have men gone By here, and pa.s.sed? or rested on that bank Or on this stone, yet seen no cause to thank For the gra.s.s growing here so green and rank?

III. A Fall of Rain

It was at day-break my thought said: "The moon makes chequered chestnut-shade There by the south-side where the vine Grapples the wall; and if it shine This evening thro' the boughs and leaves, And if the wind with silence weaves More silence than itself, each stalk Of flower just swayed by it, we'll walk, Mary and I, when every fowl Hides beak and eyes in breast, the owl Only awake to hoot."--But clover Is beaten down now, and birds hover, Peering for shelter round; no blade Of gra.s.s stands sharp and tall; men wade Thro' mire with frequent plashing sting Of rain upon their faces. Sing, Then, Mary, to me thro' the dark: But kiss me first: my hand shall mark Time, pressing yours the while I hark.

IV. Sheer Waste

Is it a little thing to lie down here Beside the water, looking into it, And see there gra.s.s and fallen leaves interknit, And small fish sometimes pa.s.sing thro' some bit Of tangled gra.s.s where there's an outlet clear?

And then a drift of wind perhaps will come, And blow the insects hovering all about Into the water. Some of them get out; Others swim with sharp twitches; and you doubt Whether of life or death for other some.

Meanwhile the blueflies sway themselves along Over the water's surface, or close by; Not one in ten beyond the gra.s.s will fly That closely skirts the stream; nor will your eye Meet any where the sunshine is not strong.

After a time you find, you know not how, That it is quite a stretch of energy To do what you have done unconsciously,-- That is, pull up the gra.s.s; and then you see You may as well rise and be going now.

So, having walked for a few steps, you fall Bodily on the gra.s.s under the sun, And listen to the rustle, one by one, Of the trees' leaves; and soon the wind has done For a short s.p.a.ce, and it is quiet all;

Except because the rooks will make a caw Just now and then together: and the breeze Soon rises up again among the trees, Making the gra.s.s, moreover, bend and tease Your face, but pleasantly. Mayhap the paw

Of a dog touches you and makes you rise Upon one arm to pat him; and he licks Your hand for that. A child is throwing sticks, Hard by, at some half-dozen cows, which fix Upon him their unmoved contented eyes.

The sun's heat now is painful. Scarce can you Move, and even less lie still. You shuffle then, Poised on your arms, again to shade. Again There comes a pleasant laxness on you. When You have done enough of nothing, you will go.

Some hours perhaps have pa.s.sed. Say not you fling These hours or such-like recklessly away.

Seeing the gra.s.s and sun and children, say, Is not this something more than idle play, Than careless waste? Is it a little thing?

The Light beyond

I

Though we may brood with keenest subtlety, Sending our reason forth, like Noah's dove, To know why we are here to die, hate, love, With Hope to lead and help our eyes to see Through labour daily in dim mystery, Like those who in dense theatre and hall, When fire breaks out or weight-strained rafters fall, Towards some egress struggle doubtfully; Though we through silent midnight may address The mind to many a speculative page, Yearning to solve our wrongs and wretchedness, Yet duty and wise pa.s.siveness are won,-- (So it hath been and is from age to age)-- Though we be blind, by doubting not the sun.

II

Bear on to death serenely, day by day, Midst losses, gains, toil, and monotony, The ignorance of social apathy, And artifice which men to men display: Like one who tramps a long and lonely way Under the constant rain's inclemency, With vast clouds drifting in obscurity, And sudden lightnings in the welkin grey.

To-morrow may be bright with healthy pleasure, Banishing discontents and vain defiance: The pearly clouds will pa.s.s to a slow measure, Wayfarers walk the dusty road in joyance, The wide heaths spread far in the sun's alliance, Among the furze inviting us to leisure.

III

Vanity, say they, quoting him of old.

Yet, if full knowledge lifted us serene To look beyond mortality's stern screen, A reconciling vision could be told, Brighter than western clouds or shapes of gold That change in amber fires,--or the demesne Of ever mystic sleep. Mists intervene, Which then would melt, to show our eyesight bold From G.o.d a perfect chain throughout the skies, Like Jacob's ladder light with winged men.

And as this world, all notched to terrene eyes With Alpine ranges, smoothes to higher ken, So death and sin and social miseries; By G.o.d fixed as His bow o'er moor and fen.

The Blessed Damozel

The blessed Damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven: Her blue grave eyes were deeper much Than a deep water, even.

She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven.

Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, No wrought flowers did adorn, But a white rose of Mary's gift On the neck meetly worn; And her hair, lying down her back, Was yellow like ripe corn.

Herseemed she scarce had been a day One of G.o.d's choristers; The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers; Albeit to them she left, her day Had counted as ten years.

(To _one_ it is ten years of years: ........ Yet now, here in this place Surely she leaned o'er me,--her hair Fell all about my face.........

Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves.

The whole year sets apace.)

It was the terrace of G.o.d's house That she was standing on,-- By G.o.d built over the sheer depth In which s.p.a.ce is begun; So high, that looking downward thence, She could scarce see the sun.

It lies from Heaven across the flood Of ether, as a bridge.

Beneath, the tides of day and night With flame and blackness ridge The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge.

But in those tracts, with her, it was The peace of utter light And silence. For no breeze may stir Along the steady flight O seraphim; no echo there, Beyond all depth or height.

Heard hardly, some of her new friends, Playing at holy games, Spake, gentle-mouthed, among themselves, Their virginal chaste names; And the souls, mounting up to G.o.d, Went by her like thin flames.