The cranes and the carriers they boom over me, The bays and the galleries they loom over me, With their quarter-mile of pillars growing little in the distance: It is good for me to be here!

The Zeppelins and Gothas they raid over us.

Our lights give warning, and fade over us.

(Seven thousand women keeping quiet in the darkness!) Oh, it is good for me to be here!

The roofs and the buildings they grow round me, Eating up the fields I used to know round me; And the shed that I began in is a sub-inspector's office-- So long have I been here!

I've seen six hundred mornings make our lamps grow dim, Through the bit that isn't painted round our skylight rim, And the sunshine in the window slope according to the seasons, Twice since I've been here.

The trains on the sidings they call to us With the hundred thousand blanks that they haul to us; And we send 'em what we've finished, and they take it where it's wanted, For that is why we are here!

Man's hate pa.s.ses as his love will pa.s.s.

G.o.d made woman what she always was.

Them that bear the burden they will never grant forgiveness So long as they are here!

Once I was a woman, but that's by with me.

All I loved and looked for, it must die with me.

But the Lord has left me over for a servant of the Judgment, And I serve His Judgments here!

_Guns in Flanders--Flanders guns!

(I had a son that worked 'em once!) Sh.e.l.ls for guns in Flanders, Flanders!

Sh.e.l.ls for guns in Flanders, Flanders!

Sh.e.l.ls for guns in Flanders! Feed the guns!_

GETHSEMANE

The Garden called Gethsemane In Picardy it was, And there the people came to see The English soldiers pa.s.s.

We used to pa.s.s--we used to pa.s.s Or halt, as it might be, And ship our masks in case of gas Beyond Gethsemane.

The Garden called Gethsemane, It held a pretty la.s.s, But all the time she talked to me I prayed my cup might pa.s.s.

The officer sat on the chair, The men lay on the gra.s.s, And all the time we halted there I prayed my cup might pa.s.s--

It didn't pa.s.s--it didn't pa.s.s-- It didn't pa.s.s from me.

I drank it when we met the gas Beyond Gethsemane.

THE PRO-CONSULS

_The overfaithful sword returns the user His heart's desire at price of his heart's blood.

The clamour of the arrogant accuser Wastes that one hour we needed to make good.

This was foretold of old at our outgoing; This we accepted who have squandered, knowing, The strength and glory of our reputations, At the day's need, as it were dross, to guard The tender and new-dedicate foundations Against the sea we fear--not man's award._

They that dig foundations deep, Fit for realms to rise upon, Little honour do they reap Of their generation, Any more than mountains gain Stature till we reach the plain.

With no veil before their face Such as shroud or sceptre lend-- Daily in the market-place, Of one height to foe and friend-- They must cheapen self to find Ends uncheapened for mankind.

Through the night when hirelings rest, Sleepless they arise, alone, The unsleeping arch to test And the o'er-trusted corner-stone, 'Gainst the need, they know, that lies Hid behind the centuries.

Not by l.u.s.t of praise or show, Not by Peace herself betrayed-- Peace herself must they forego Till that peace be fitly made; And in single strength uphold Wearier hands and hearts acold.

On the stage their act hath framed For thy sports, O Liberty!

Doubted are they, and defamed By the tongues their act set free, While they quicken, tend and raise Power that must their power displace.

Lesser men feign greater goals, Failing whereof they may sit Scholarly to judge the souls That go down into the pit, And, despite its certain clay, Heave a new world towards the day.

These at labour make no sign, More than planets, tides or years Which discover G.o.d's design, Not our hopes and not our fears; Nor in aught they gain or lose Seek a triumph or excuse.

_For, so the Ark be borne to Zion, who Heeds how they perished or were paid that bore it?

For, so the Shrine abide, what shame--what pride-- If we, the priests, were bound or crowned before it?_

THE CRAFTSMAN

Once, after long-drawn revel at The Mermaid, He to the overbearing Boanerges Jonson, uttered (If half of it were liquor, Blessed be the vintage!)

Saying how, at an alehouse under Cotswold, He had made sure of his very Cleopatra, Drunk with enormous, salvation-contemning Love for a tinker.

How, while he hid from Sir Thomas's keepers, Crouched in a ditch and drenched by the midnight Dews, he had listened to gipsy Juliet Rail at the dawning.

How at Bankside, a boy drowning kittens Winced at the business; whereupon his sister (Lady Macbeth aged seven) thrust 'em under, Sombrely scornful.

How on a Sabbath, hushed and compa.s.sionate-- She being known since her birth to the townsfolk-- Stratford dredged and delivered from Avon Dripping Ophelia.

So, with a thin third finger marrying Drop to wine-drop domed on the table, Shakespeare opened his heart till sunrise Entered to hear him.

London wakened and he, imperturbable, Pa.s.sed from waking to hurry after shadows ...

Busied upon shows of no earthly importance?

Yes, but he knew it!

THINGS AND THE MAN

(IN MEMORIAM, JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN)

1904

'And Joseph dreamed a dream, and he told it his brethren; and they hated him yet the more.'--_Genesis_ x.x.xVII. 5.