Life and Existence

Crystal Cabinet, The
The Maiden caught me in the wild,
Where I was dancing merrily;
She put me into her Cabinet,
And lock'd me up with a golden key.
This cabinet is form'd of gold
And pearl and crystal shining bright,
And within it opens into a world
And a little lovely moony night.
Another England there I saw
Another London with its Tower,
Another Thames and other hills,
And another pleasant Surrey bower.
Another Maiden like herself,
Translucent, lovely, shining clear,
Threefold each in the other clos'd
O, what a pleasant trembling fear!
O, what a smile! a threefold smile
Fill'd me, that like a flame I burn'd;
I bent to kiss the lovely Maid,
And found a threefold kiss return'd.
I strove to seize the inmost form
With ardor fierce and hands of flame,
But burst the Crystal Cabinet,
And like a weeping Babe became--
A weeping Babe upon the wild,
And weeping Woman pale reclin'd,
And in the outward air again,
I fill'd with woes the passing wind.
.

Chimney Sweeper, The
A little black thing in the snow,
Crying "weep! weep!" in notes of woe!
"Where are thy father and mother? Say!"--
"They are both gone up to the church to pray.
"Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smiled among the winter's snow,
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
"And because I am happy and dance and sing,
They think they have done me no injury,
And are gone to praise God and his priest and king,
Who make up a heaven of our misery."

Book of Thel, The
THEL'S MOTTO
Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?
Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?
I
. The daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
. All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air,
. To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
. Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
. And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew:
. "O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water,
. Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall?
. Ah! Thel is like a wat'ry bow, and like a parting cloud;
. Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water;
. Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face;
. Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air.
. Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,
. And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice
. Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time."
. The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass,
. Answer'd the lovely maid and said: "I am a wat'ry weed,
. And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales;
. So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head.
. Yet I am visited from heaven, and he that smiles on all
. Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his hand,
. Saying, 'Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily-flower,
. Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks;
. For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna,
. Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs
. To flourish in eternal vales.' Then why should Thel complain?
. Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?"
. She ceas'd and smil'd in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
. Thel answer'd: "O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley,
. Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired;
. Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments,
. He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
. Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
. Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume,
. Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs,
. Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed.
. But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
. I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?"
. "Queen of the vales," the Lily answer'd, "ask the tender cloud,
. And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky,


. And why it scatters its bright beauty thro' the humid air.
. Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel."
. The Cloud descended, and the Lily bow'd her modest head
. And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
II
. "O little Cloud," the virgin said, "I charge thee tell to me
. Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away:
. Then we shall seek thee, but not find. Ah! Thel is like to thee:
. I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my voice."
. The Cloud then shew'd his golden head and his bright form emerg'd,
. Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
. "O virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
. Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth,
. And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more,
. Nothing remains? O maid, I tell thee, when I pass away
. It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace and raptures holy:
. Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,
. And court the fair-eyed dew to take me to her shining tent:
. The weeping virgin trembling kneels before the risen sun,
. Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part,
. But walk united, bearing food to all our tender flowers."
. "Dost thou, O little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee,
. For I walk thro' the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers,
. But I feed not the little flowers; I hear the warbling birds,
. But I feed not the warbling birds; they fly and seek their food:
. But Thel delights in these no more, because I fade away;
. And all shall say, 'Without a use this shining woman liv'd,
. Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?' "
. The Cloud reclin'd upon his airy throne and answer'd thus:
. "Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies,
. How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Every thing that lives
. Lives not alone nor for itself. Fear not, and I will call
. The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice,
. Come forth, worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive queen."
. The helpless worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's leaf,
. And the bright Cloud sail'd on, to find his partner in the vale.
III
. Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
. "Art thou a Worm? Image of weakness, art thou but a Worm?
. I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily's leaf


. Ah! weep not, little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep.
. Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helpless and naked, weeping,
. And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mother's smiles."
. The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and rais'd her pitying head:
. She bow'd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd
. In milky fondness: then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes.
. "O beauty of the vales of Har! we live not for ourselves.
. Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed.
. My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark;
. But he, that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head,
. And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast,
. And says: 'Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
. And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.'
. But how this is, sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know;
. I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love."
. The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
. And said: "Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep.
. That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
. That wilful bruis'd its helpless form; but that he cherish'd it
. With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep;
. And I complain'd in the mild air, because I fade away,
. And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot."
. "Queen of the vales," the matron Clay answer'd, "I heard thy sighs,
. And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down.
. Wilt thou, O Queen, enter my house? 'Tis given thee to enter
. And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet."
IV
. The eternal gates' terrific porter lifted the northern bar:
. Thel enter'd in and saw the secrets of the land unknown.
. She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous roots
. Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
. A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen.
. She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning
. Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave
. She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground,
. Till to her own grave plot she came, and there she sat down,
. And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
. "Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
. Or the glist'ning Eye to the poison of a smile?
. Why are Eyelids stor'd with arrows ready drawn,
. Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie?
. Or an Eye of gifts and graces show'ring fruits and coined gold?
. Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
. Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
. Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affright?


. Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy?
. Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?"
. The Virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek
. Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.

Book of Thel, The
THEL'S MOTTO
Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?
Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?
I
. The daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
. All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air,
. To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
. Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
. And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew:
. "O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water,
. Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall?
. Ah! Thel is like a wat'ry bow, and like a parting cloud;
. Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water;
. Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face;
. Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air.
. Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,
. And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice
. Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time."
. The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass,
. Answer'd the lovely maid and said: "I am a wat'ry weed,
. And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales;
. So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head.
. Yet I am visited from heaven, and he that smiles on all
. Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his hand,
. Saying, 'Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily-flower,
. Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks;
. For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna,
. Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs
. To flourish in eternal vales.' Then why should Thel complain?
. Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?"
. She ceas'd and smil'd in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
. Thel answer'd: "O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley,
. Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired;
. Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments,
. He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
. Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
. Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume,
. Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs,
. Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed.
. But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
. I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?"
. "Queen of the vales," the Lily answer'd, "ask the tender cloud,
. And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky,


. And why it scatters its bright beauty thro' the humid air.
. Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel."
. The Cloud descended, and the Lily bow'd her modest head
. And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
II
. "O little Cloud," the virgin said, "I charge thee tell to me
. Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away:
. Then we shall seek thee, but not find. Ah! Thel is like to thee:
. I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my voice."
. The Cloud then shew'd his golden head and his bright form emerg'd,
. Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
. "O virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
. Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth,
. And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more,
. Nothing remains? O maid, I tell thee, when I pass away
. It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace and raptures holy:
. Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,
. And court the fair-eyed dew to take me to her shining tent:
. The weeping virgin trembling kneels before the risen sun,
. Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part,
. But walk united, bearing food to all our tender flowers."
. "Dost thou, O little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee,
. For I walk thro' the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers,
. But I feed not the little flowers; I hear the warbling birds,
. But I feed not the warbling birds; they fly and seek their food:
. But Thel delights in these no more, because I fade away;
. And all shall say, 'Without a use this shining woman liv'd,
. Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?' "
. The Cloud reclin'd upon his airy throne and answer'd thus:
. "Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies,
. How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Every thing that lives
. Lives not alone nor for itself. Fear not, and I will call
. The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice,
. Come forth, worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive queen."
. The helpless worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's leaf,
. And the bright Cloud sail'd on, to find his partner in the vale.
III
. Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
. "Art thou a Worm? Image of weakness, art thou but a Worm?
. I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily's leaf


. Ah! weep not, little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep.
. Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helpless and naked, weeping,
. And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mother's smiles."
. The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and rais'd her pitying head:
. She bow'd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd
. In milky fondness: then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes.
. "O beauty of the vales of Har! we live not for ourselves.
. Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed.
. My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark;
. But he, that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head,
. And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast,
. And says: 'Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
. And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.'
. But how this is, sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know;
. I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love."
. The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
. And said: "Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep.
. That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
. That wilful bruis'd its helpless form; but that he cherish'd it
. With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep;
. And I complain'd in the mild air, because I fade away,
. And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot."
. "Queen of the vales," the matron Clay answer'd, "I heard thy sighs,
. And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down.
. Wilt thou, O Queen, enter my house? 'Tis given thee to enter
. And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet."
IV
. The eternal gates' terrific porter lifted the northern bar:
. Thel enter'd in and saw the secrets of the land unknown.
. She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous roots
. Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
. A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen.
. She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning
. Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave
. She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground,
. Till to her own grave plot she came, and there she sat down,
. And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
. "Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
. Or the glist'ning Eye to the poison of a smile?
. Why are Eyelids stor'd with arrows ready drawn,
. Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie?
. Or an Eye of gifts and graces show'ring fruits and coined gold?
. Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
. Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
. Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affright?


. Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy?
. Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?"
. The Virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek
. Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.

Book of Thel, The
THEL'S MOTTO
Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?
Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?
I
. The daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
. All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air,
. To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
. Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
. And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew:
. "O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water,
. Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall?
. Ah! Thel is like a wat'ry bow, and like a parting cloud;
. Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water;
. Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face;
. Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air.
. Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,
. And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice
. Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time."
. The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass,
. Answer'd the lovely maid and said: "I am a wat'ry weed,
. And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales;
. So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head.
. Yet I am visited from heaven, and he that smiles on all
. Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his hand,
. Saying, 'Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily-flower,
. Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks;
. For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna,
. Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs
. To flourish in eternal vales.' Then why should Thel complain?
. Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?"
. She ceas'd and smil'd in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
. Thel answer'd: "O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley,
. Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired;
. Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments,
. He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
. Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
. Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume,
. Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs,
. Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed.
. But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
. I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?"
. "Queen of the vales," the Lily answer'd, "ask the tender cloud,
. And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky,


. And why it scatters its bright beauty thro' the humid air.
. Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel."
. The Cloud descended, and the Lily bow'd her modest head
. And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
II
. "O little Cloud," the virgin said, "I charge thee tell to me
. Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away:
. Then we shall seek thee, but not find. Ah! Thel is like to thee:
. I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my voice."
. The Cloud then shew'd his golden head and his bright form emerg'd,
. Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
. "O virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
. Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth,
. And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more,
. Nothing remains? O maid, I tell thee, when I pass away
. It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace and raptures holy:
. Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,
. And court the fair-eyed dew to take me to her shining tent:
. The weeping virgin trembling kneels before the risen sun,
. Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part,
. But walk united, bearing food to all our tender flowers."
. "Dost thou, O little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee,
. For I walk thro' the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers,
. But I feed not the little flowers; I hear the warbling birds,
. But I feed not the warbling birds; they fly and seek their food:
. But Thel delights in these no more, because I fade away;
. And all shall say, 'Without a use this shining woman liv'd,
. Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?' "
. The Cloud reclin'd upon his airy throne and answer'd thus:
. "Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies,
. How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Every thing that lives
. Lives not alone nor for itself. Fear not, and I will call
. The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice,
. Come forth, worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive queen."
. The helpless worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's leaf,
. And the bright Cloud sail'd on, to find his partner in the vale.
III
. Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
. "Art thou a Worm? Image of weakness, art thou but a Worm?
. I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily's leaf


. Ah! weep not, little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep.
. Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helpless and naked, weeping,
. And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mother's smiles."
. The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and rais'd her pitying head:
. She bow'd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd
. In milky fondness: then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes.
. "O beauty of the vales of Har! we live not for ourselves.
. Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed.
. My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark;
. But he, that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head,
. And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast,
. And says: 'Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
. And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.'
. But how this is, sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know;
. I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love."
. The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
. And said: "Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep.
. That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
. That wilful bruis'd its helpless form; but that he cherish'd it
. With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep;
. And I complain'd in the mild air, because I fade away,
. And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot."
. "Queen of the vales," the matron Clay answer'd, "I heard thy sighs,
. And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down.
. Wilt thou, O Queen, enter my house? 'Tis given thee to enter
. And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet."
IV
. The eternal gates' terrific porter lifted the northern bar:
. Thel enter'd in and saw the secrets of the land unknown.
. She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous roots
. Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
. A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen.
. She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning
. Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave
. She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground,
. Till to her own grave plot she came, and there she sat down,
. And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
. "Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
. Or the glist'ning Eye to the poison of a smile?
. Why are Eyelids stor'd with arrows ready drawn,
. Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie?
. Or an Eye of gifts and graces show'ring fruits and coined gold?
. Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
. Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
. Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affright?


. Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy?
. Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?"
. The Virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek
. Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.

Angel, The
I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!
And I wept both night and day,
And he wiped my tears away;
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart's delight.
So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blushed rosy red.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten-thousand shields and spears.
Soon my Angel came again;
I was armed, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.

Angel, The
I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!
And I wept both night and day,
And he wiped my tears away;
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart's delight.
So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blushed rosy red.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten-thousand shields and spears.
Soon my Angel came again;
I was armed, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.

Ah! Sunflower
Ah Sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done;
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sunflower wishes to go!

A War Song to Englishmen
Prepare, prepare the iron helm of war,
Bring forth the lots, cast in the spacious orb;
Th' Angel of Fate turns them with mighty hands,
And casts them out upon the darken'd earth!
Prepare, prepare!
Prepare your hearts for Death's cold hand! prepare
Your souls for flight, your bodies for the earth;
Prepare your arms for glorious victory;
Prepare your eyes to meet a holy God!
Prepare, prepare!
Whose fatal scroll is that? Methinks 'tis mine!
Why sinks my heart, why faltereth my tongue?
Had I three lives, I'd die in such a cause,
And rise, with ghosts, over the well-fought field.
Prepare, prepare!
The arrows of Almighty God are drawn!
Angels of Death stand in the louring heavens!
Thousands of souls must seek the realms of light,
And walk together on the clouds of heaven!
Prepare, prepare!
Soldiers, prepare! Our cause is Heaven's cause;
Soldiers, prepare! Be worthy of our cause:
Prepare to meet our fathers in the sky:
Prepare, O troops, that are to fall to-day!
Prepare, prepare!
Alfred shall smile, and make his harp rejoice;
The Norman William, and the learnèd Clerk,
And Lion Heart, and black-brow'd Edward, with
His loyal queen, shall rise, and welcome us!
Prepare, prepare!

A Little Boy Lost
v'Nought loves another as itself,
Nor venerates another so,
Nor is it possible to thought
A greater than itself to know.
'And, father, how can I love you
Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the little bird
That picks up crumbs around the door.'
The Priest sat by and heard the child;
In trembling zeal he seized his hair,
He led him by his little coat,
And all admired the priestly care.
And standing on the altar high,
'Lo, what a fiend is here! said he:
'One who sets reason up for judge
Of our most holy mystery.'
The weeping child could not be heard,
The weeping parents wept in vain:
They stripped him to his little shirt,
And bound him in an iron chain,
And burned him in a holy place
Where many had been burned before;
The weeping parents wept in vain.
Are such thing done on Albion's shore?

A Cradle Song
Sweet dreams form a shade,
O'er my lovely infants head.
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,
By happy silent moony beams
Sweet sleep with soft down.
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep Angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child.
Sweet smiles in the night,
Hover over my delight.
Sweet smiles Mothers smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes,
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep sleep happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd.
Sleep sleep, happy sleep.
While o'er thee thy mother weep
Sweet babe in thy face,
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe once like thee.
Thy maker lay and wept for me
Wept for me for thee for all,
When he was an infant small.
Thou his image ever see.
Heavenly face that smiles on thee,
Smiles on thee on me on all,
Who became an infant small,
Infant smiles are His own smiles,
Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.

The Young Soldier
It is not death
Without hereafter
To one in dearth
Of life and its laughter,
Nor the sweet murder
Dealt slow and even
Unto the martyr
Smiling at heaven:
It is the smile
Faint as a (waning) myth,
Faint, and exceeding small
On a boy's murdered mouth.

Uriconium: an Ode
It lieth low near merry England's heart
Like a long-buried sin; and Englishmen
Forget that in its death their sires had part.
And, like a sin, Time lays it bare again
To tell of races wronged,
And ancient glories suddenly overcast,
And treasures flung to fire and rabble wrath.
If thou hast ever longed
To lift the gloomy curtain of Time Past,
And spy the secret things that Hades hath,
Here through this riven ground take such a view.
The dust, that fell unnoted as a dew,
Wrapped the dead city's face like mummy-cloth:
All is as was: except for worm and moth.
Since Jove was worshipped under Wrekin's shade
Or Latin phrase was writ in Shropshire stone,
Since Druid chaunts desponded in this glade
Or Tuscan general called that field his own,
How long ago? How long?
How long since wanderers in the Stretton Hills
Met men of shaggy hair and savage jaw,
With flint and copper prong,
Aiming behind their dikes and thorny grilles?
Ah! those were days before the axe and saw,
Then were the nights when this mid-forest town
Held breath to hear the wolves come yelping down,
And ponderous bears 'long Severn lifted paw,
And nuzzling boars ran grunting through the shaw.
Ah me! full fifteen hundred times the wheat
Hath risen, and bowed, and fallen to human hunger
Since those imperial days were made complete.
The weary moon hath waxen old and younger
These eighteen thousand times
Without a shrine to greet her gentle ray.
And other temples rose; to Power and Pelf,
And chimed centurial chimes
Until their very bells are worn away.
While King by King lay cold on vaulted shelf
And wars closed wars, and many a Marmion fell,
And dearths and plagues holp sire and son to hell;
And old age stiffened many a lively elf
And many a poet's heart outdrained itself.
I had forgot that so remote an age
Beyond the horizon of our little sight,
Is far from us by no more spanless gauge
Than day and night, succeeding day and night,
Until I looked on Thee,
Thou ghost of a dead city, or its husk!
But even as we could walk by field and hedge


Hence to the distant sea
So, by the rote of common dawn and dusk,
We travel back to history's utmost edge.
Yea, when through thy old streets I took my way,
And recked a thousand years as yesterday,
Methought sage fancy wrought a sacrilege
To steal for me such godly privilege!
For here lie remnants from a banquet table -
Oysters and marrow-bones, and seeds of grape -
The statement of whose age must sound a fable;
And Samian jars, whose sheen and flawless shape
Look fresh from potter's mould.
Plasters with Roman finger-marks impressed;
Bracelets that from the warm Italian arm
Might seem to be scarce cold;
And spears - the same that pushed the Cymry west-
Unblunted yet; with tools of forge and farm
Abandoned, as a man in sudden fear
Drops what he holds to help his swift career:
For sudden was Rome's flight, and wild the alarm.
The Saxon shock was like Vesuvius' qualm.
O ye who prate of modern art and craft .
Mark well that Gaulish brooch, and test that screw!
Art's fairest buds on antique stem are graft.
Under the sun is nothing wholly new!
At Viricon today
The village anvil rests on Roman base
And in a garden, may be seen a bower
With pillars for its stay
That anciently in basilic had place.
The church's font is but a pagan dower:
A Temple's column, hollowed into this.
So is the glory of our artifice,
Our pleasure and our worship, but the flower
Of Roman custom and of Roman power.
O ye who laugh and, living as if Time
Meant but the twelve hours ticking round your dial,
Find it too short for thee, watch the sublime,
Slow, epochal time-registers awhile,
Which are Antiquities.
O ye who weep and call all your life too long
And moan: Was ever sorrow like to mine?
Muse on the memories
That sad sepulchral stones and ruins prolong.
Here might men drink of wonder like strong wine
And feel ephemeral troubles soothed and curbed.
Yet farmers, wroth to have their laws disturbed,
Are sooner roused for little loss to pine
Than we are moved by mighty woes long syne.


Above this reverend ground, what traveller checks?
Yet cities such as these one time would breed
Apocalyptic visions of world-wrecks.
Let Saxon men return to them, and heed!
They slew and burnt,
But after, prized what Rome had given away
Out of her strength and her prosperity.
Have they yet learnt
The precious truth distilled from Rome's decay?
Ruins! On England's heart press heavily!
For Rome hath left us more than walls and words
And better yet shall leave; and more than herds
Or land or gold gave the Celts to us in fee;
E'en Blood, which makes poets sing and prophets see.

Uriconium: an Ode
It lieth low near merry England's heart
Like a long-buried sin; and Englishmen
Forget that in its death their sires had part.
And, like a sin, Time lays it bare again
To tell of races wronged,
And ancient glories suddenly overcast,
And treasures flung to fire and rabble wrath.
If thou hast ever longed
To lift the gloomy curtain of Time Past,
And spy the secret things that Hades hath,
Here through this riven ground take such a view.
The dust, that fell unnoted as a dew,
Wrapped the dead city's face like mummy-cloth:
All is as was: except for worm and moth.
Since Jove was worshipped under Wrekin's shade
Or Latin phrase was writ in Shropshire stone,
Since Druid chaunts desponded in this glade
Or Tuscan general called that field his own,
How long ago? How long?
How long since wanderers in the Stretton Hills
Met men of shaggy hair and savage jaw,
With flint and copper prong,
Aiming behind their dikes and thorny grilles?
Ah! those were days before the axe and saw,
Then were the nights when this mid-forest town
Held breath to hear the wolves come yelping down,
And ponderous bears 'long Severn lifted paw,
And nuzzling boars ran grunting through the shaw.
Ah me! full fifteen hundred times the wheat
Hath risen, and bowed, and fallen to human hunger
Since those imperial days were made complete.
The weary moon hath waxen old and younger
These eighteen thousand times
Without a shrine to greet her gentle ray.
And other temples rose; to Power and Pelf,
And chimed centurial chimes
Until their very bells are worn away.
While King by King lay cold on vaulted shelf
And wars closed wars, and many a Marmion fell,
And dearths and plagues holp sire and son to hell;
And old age stiffened many a lively elf
And many a poet's heart outdrained itself.
I had forgot that so remote an age
Beyond the horizon of our little sight,
Is far from us by no more spanless gauge
Than day and night, succeeding day and night,
Until I looked on Thee,
Thou ghost of a dead city, or its husk!
But even as we could walk by field and hedge


Hence to the distant sea
So, by the rote of common dawn and dusk,
We travel back to history's utmost edge.
Yea, when through thy old streets I took my way,
And recked a thousand years as yesterday,
Methought sage fancy wrought a sacrilege
To steal for me such godly privilege!
For here lie remnants from a banquet table -
Oysters and marrow-bones, and seeds of grape -
The statement of whose age must sound a fable;
And Samian jars, whose sheen and flawless shape
Look fresh from potter's mould.
Plasters with Roman finger-marks impressed;
Bracelets that from the warm Italian arm
Might seem to be scarce cold;
And spears - the same that pushed the Cymry west-
Unblunted yet; with tools of forge and farm
Abandoned, as a man in sudden fear
Drops what he holds to help his swift career:
For sudden was Rome's flight, and wild the alarm.
The Saxon shock was like Vesuvius' qualm.
O ye who prate of modern art and craft .
Mark well that Gaulish brooch, and test that screw!
Art's fairest buds on antique stem are graft.
Under the sun is nothing wholly new!
At Viricon today
The village anvil rests on Roman base
And in a garden, may be seen a bower
With pillars for its stay
That anciently in basilic had place.
The church's font is but a pagan dower:
A Temple's column, hollowed into this.
So is the glory of our artifice,
Our pleasure and our worship, but the flower
Of Roman custom and of Roman power.
O ye who laugh and, living as if Time
Meant but the twelve hours ticking round your dial,
Find it too short for thee, watch the sublime,
Slow, epochal time-registers awhile,
Which are Antiquities.
O ye who weep and call all your life too long
And moan: Was ever sorrow like to mine?
Muse on the memories
That sad sepulchral stones and ruins prolong.
Here might men drink of wonder like strong wine
And feel ephemeral troubles soothed and curbed.
Yet farmers, wroth to have their laws disturbed,
Are sooner roused for little loss to pine
Than we are moved by mighty woes long syne.


Above this reverend ground, what traveller checks?
Yet cities such as these one time would breed
Apocalyptic visions of world-wrecks.
Let Saxon men return to them, and heed!
They slew and burnt,
But after, prized what Rome had given away
Out of her strength and her prosperity.
Have they yet learnt
The precious truth distilled from Rome's decay?
Ruins! On England's heart press heavily!
For Rome hath left us more than walls and words
And better yet shall leave; and more than herds
Or land or gold gave the Celts to us in fee;
E'en Blood, which makes poets sing and prophets see.

Uriconium: an Ode
It lieth low near merry England's heart
Like a long-buried sin; and Englishmen
Forget that in its death their sires had part.
And, like a sin, Time lays it bare again
To tell of races wronged,
And ancient glories suddenly overcast,
And treasures flung to fire and rabble wrath.
If thou hast ever longed
To lift the gloomy curtain of Time Past,
And spy the secret things that Hades hath,
Here through this riven ground take such a view.
The dust, that fell unnoted as a dew,
Wrapped the dead city's face like mummy-cloth:
All is as was: except for worm and moth.
Since Jove was worshipped under Wrekin's shade
Or Latin phrase was writ in Shropshire stone,
Since Druid chaunts desponded in this glade
Or Tuscan general called that field his own,
How long ago? How long?
How long since wanderers in the Stretton Hills
Met men of shaggy hair and savage jaw,
With flint and copper prong,
Aiming behind their dikes and thorny grilles?
Ah! those were days before the axe and saw,
Then were the nights when this mid-forest town
Held breath to hear the wolves come yelping down,
And ponderous bears 'long Severn lifted paw,
And nuzzling boars ran grunting through the shaw.
Ah me! full fifteen hundred times the wheat
Hath risen, and bowed, and fallen to human hunger
Since those imperial days were made complete.
The weary moon hath waxen old and younger
These eighteen thousand times
Without a shrine to greet her gentle ray.
And other temples rose; to Power and Pelf,
And chimed centurial chimes
Until their very bells are worn away.
While King by King lay cold on vaulted shelf
And wars closed wars, and many a Marmion fell,
And dearths and plagues holp sire and son to hell;
And old age stiffened many a lively elf
And many a poet's heart outdrained itself.
I had forgot that so remote an age
Beyond the horizon of our little sight,
Is far from us by no more spanless gauge
Than day and night, succeeding day and night,
Until I looked on Thee,
Thou ghost of a dead city, or its husk!
But even as we could walk by field and hedge


Hence to the distant sea
So, by the rote of common dawn and dusk,
We travel back to history's utmost edge.
Yea, when through thy old streets I took my way,
And recked a thousand years as yesterday,
Methought sage fancy wrought a sacrilege
To steal for me such godly privilege!
For here lie remnants from a banquet table -
Oysters and marrow-bones, and seeds of grape -
The statement of whose age must sound a fable;
And Samian jars, whose sheen and flawless shape
Look fresh from potter's mould.
Plasters with Roman finger-marks impressed;
Bracelets that from the warm Italian arm
Might seem to be scarce cold;
And spears - the same that pushed the Cymry west-
Unblunted yet; with tools of forge and farm
Abandoned, as a man in sudden fear
Drops what he holds to help his swift career:
For sudden was Rome's flight, and wild the alarm.
The Saxon shock was like Vesuvius' qualm.
O ye who prate of modern art and craft .
Mark well that Gaulish brooch, and test that screw!
Art's fairest buds on antique stem are graft.
Under the sun is nothing wholly new!
At Viricon today
The village anvil rests on Roman base
And in a garden, may be seen a bower
With pillars for its stay
That anciently in basilic had place.
The church's font is but a pagan dower:
A Temple's column, hollowed into this.
So is the glory of our artifice,
Our pleasure and our worship, but the flower
Of Roman custom and of Roman power.
O ye who laugh and, living as if Time
Meant but the twelve hours ticking round your dial,
Find it too short for thee, watch the sublime,
Slow, epochal time-registers awhile,
Which are Antiquities.
O ye who weep and call all your life too long
And moan: Was ever sorrow like to mine?
Muse on the memories
That sad sepulchral stones and ruins prolong.
Here might men drink of wonder like strong wine
And feel ephemeral troubles soothed and curbed.
Yet farmers, wroth to have their laws disturbed,
Are sooner roused for little loss to pine
Than we are moved by mighty woes long syne.


Above this reverend ground, what traveller checks?
Yet cities such as these one time would breed
Apocalyptic visions of world-wrecks.
Let Saxon men return to them, and heed!
They slew and burnt,
But after, prized what Rome had given away
Out of her strength and her prosperity.
Have they yet learnt
The precious truth distilled from Rome's decay?
Ruins! On England's heart press heavily!
For Rome hath left us more than walls and words
And better yet shall leave; and more than herds
Or land or gold gave the Celts to us in fee;
E'en Blood, which makes poets sing and prophets see.

The Show
My soul looked down from a vague height with Death,
As unremembering how I rose or why,
And saw a sad land, weak with sweats of dearth,
Gray, cratered like the moon with hollow woe,
And fitted with great pocks and scabs of plaques.
Across its beard, that horror of harsh wire,
There moved thin caterpillars, slowly uncoiled.
It seemed they pushed themselves to be as plugs
Of ditches, where they writhed and shrivelled, killed.
By them had slimy paths been trailed and scraped
Round myriad warts that might be little hills.
From gloom's last dregs these long-strung creatures crept,
And vanished out of dawn down hidden holes.
(And smell came up from those foul openings
As out of mouths, or deep wounds deepening.)
On dithering feet upgathered, more and more,
Brown strings towards strings of gray, with bristling spines,
All migrants from green fields, intent on mire.
Those that were gray, of more abundant spawns,
Ramped on the rest and ate them and were eaten.
I saw their bitten backs curve, loop, and straighten,
I watched those agonies curl, lift, and flatten.
Whereat, in terror what that sight might mean,
I reeled and shivered earthward like a feather.
And Death fell with me, like a deepening moan.
And He, picking a manner of worm, which half had hid
Its bruises in the earth, but crawled no further,
Showed me its feet, the feet of many men,
And the fresh-severed head of it, my head.

The Send-off
Down the close, darkening lanes they sang their way
To the siding-shed,
And lined the train with faces grimly gay.
Their breasts were stuck all white with wreath and spray
As men's are, dead.
Dull porters watched them, and a casual tramp
Stood staring hard,
Sorry to miss them from the upland camp.
Then, unmoved, signals nodded, and a lamp
Winked to the guard.
So secretly, like wrongs hushed-up, they went.
They were not ours:
We never heard to which front these were sent.
Nor there if they yet mock what women meant
Who gave them flowers.
Shall they return to beatings of great bells
In wild trainloads?
A few, a few, too few for drums and yells,
May creep back, silent, to still village wells
Up half-known roads.

The Parable of the Old Man and the Young
So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and strops,
And builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.
But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

Strange Meeting
It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which Titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall;
With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the fluies made moan.
"Strange, friend," I said, "Here is no cause to mourn."
"None," said the other, "Save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something has been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now ...

On Seeing a Piece of Our Artillery Brought into Action
Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm,
Great gun towering towards Heaven, about to curse;
Sway steep against them, and for years rehearse
Huge imprecations like a blasting charm!
Reach at that Arrogance which needs thy harm,
And beat it down before its sins grow worse;
Spend our resentment, cannon,--yea, disburse
Our gold in shapes of flame, our breaths in storm.
Yet, for men's sakes whom thy vast malison
Must wither innocent of enmity,
Be not withdrawn, dark arm, thy spoilure done,
Safe to the bosom of our prosperity.
But when thy spell be cast complete and whole,
May God curse thee, and cut thee from our soul!

Le Christianisme
So the church Christ was hit and buried
Under its rubbish and its rubble.
In cellars, packed-up saints long serried,
Well out of hearing of our trouble.
One Virgin still immaculate
Smiles on for war to flatter her.
She's halo'd with an old tin hat,
But a piece of hell will batter her.

Hospital Barge
Budging the sluggard ripples of the Somme,
A barge round old Cérisy slowly slewed.
Softly her engines down the current screwed,
And chuckled softly with contented hum,
Till fairy tinklings struck their croonings dumb.
The waters rumpling at the stern subdued;
The lock-gate took her bulging amplitude;
Gently from out the gurgling lock she swum.
One reading by that calm bank shaded eyes
To watch her lessening westward quietly.
Then, as she neared the bend, her funnel screamed.
And that long lamentation made him wise
How unto Avalon, in agony,
Kings passed in the dark barge, which Merlin dreamed.

Futility
Move him into the sun--
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it awoke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds--
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved,--still warm,--too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
--O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?

Elegy in April and September
Hush, thrush! Hush, missen-thrush, I listen...
I heard the flush of footsteps through the loose leaves,
And a low whistle by the water's brim.
Still! Daffodil! Nay, hail me not so gaily,-
Your gay gold lily daunts me and deceives,
Who follow gleams more golden and more slim.
Look, brook! O run and look, O run!
The vain reeds shook? - Yet search till gray sea heaves,
And I will stray among these fields for him.
Gaze, daisy! Stare through haze and glare,
And mark the hazardous stars all dawns and eves,
For my eye withers, and his star wanes dim.

Close, rose, and droop, heliotrope,
And shudder, hope! The shattering winter blows.
Drop, heliotrope, and close, rose...
Mourn, corn, and sigh, rye.
Men garner you, but youth's head lies forlorn.
Sigh, rye, and mourn, corn...
Brood, wood, and muse, yews,
The ways gods use we have not understood.
Muse, yews, and brood, wood...