Read Ebook: The Poems of William Watson by Watson William

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Ebook has 118 lines and 41926 words, and 3 pages

But they--their day and night are one. What is't to them, that rivulets run, Or what concern of theirs the sun? It seems as though Their business with these things was done Ages ago:

Only, at times, each dulled heart feels That somewhere, sealed with hopeless seals, The unmeaning heaven about him reels, And he lies hurled Beyond the roar of all the wheels Of all the world.

On what strange track one's fancies fare! To eyeless night in sunless lair 'Tis a far cry from Willie's hair; And here it lies-- Human, yet something which can ne'er Grow sad and wise:

THE KEY-BOARD

Five-and-thirty black slaves, Half-a-hundred white, All their duty but to sing For their Queen's delight, Now with throats of thunder, Now with dulcet lips, While she rules them royally With her finger-tips!

When she quits her palace, All the slaves are dumb-- Dumb with dolour till the Queen Back to Court is come: Dumb the throats of thunder, Dumb the dulcet lips, Lacking all the sovereignty Of her finger-tips.

Dusky slaves and pallid, Ebon slaves and white, When the Queen was on her throne How you sang to-night! Ah, the throats of thunder! Ah, the dulcet lips! Ah, the gracious tyrannies Of her finger-tips!

"SCENTLESS FLOW'RS I BRING THEE"

Scentless flow'rs I bring thee--yet In thy bosom be they set; In thy bosom each one grows Fragrant beyond any rose.

Sweet enough were she who could, In thy heart's sweet neighbourhood, Some redundant sweetness thus Borrow from that overplus.

ON LANDOR'S "HELLENICS"

Come hither, who grow cloyed to surfeiting With lyric draughts o'ersweet, from rills that rise On Hybla not Parnassus mountain: come With beakers rinsed of the dulcifluous wave Hither, and see a magic miracle Of happiest science, the bland Attic skies True-mirrored by an English well;--no stream Whose heaven-belying surface makes the stars Reel, with its restless idiosyncrasy; But well unstirred, save when at times it takes Tribute of lover's eyelids, and at times Bubbles with laughter of some sprite below.

Unto the Lady of The Nook Fly, tiny book. There thou hast lovers--even thou! Fly thither now.

ON EXAGGERATED DEFERENCE TO FOREIGN LITERARY OPINION

ENGLAND TO IRELAND

Spouse whom my sword in the olden time won me, Winning me hatred more sharp than a sword-- Mother of children who hiss at or shun me, Curse or revile me, and hold me abhorred-- Heiress of anger that nothing assuages, Mad for the future, and mad from the past-- Daughter of all the implacable ages, Lo, let us turn and be lovers at last!

Lovers whom tragical sin hath made equal, One in transgression and one in remorse. Bonds may be severed, but what were the sequel? Hardly shall amity come of divorce. Let the dead Past have a royal entombing, O'er it the Future built white for a fane! I that am haughty from much overcoming Sue to thee, supplicate--nay, is it vain?

Hate and mistrust are the children of blindness,-- Could we but see one another, 'twere well! Knowledge is sympathy, charity, kindness, Ignorance only is maker of hell. Could we but gaze for an hour, for a minute, Deep in each other's unfaltering eyes, Love were begun--for that look would begin it-- Born in the flash of a mighty surprise.

Then should the ominous night-bird of Error, Scared by a sudden irruption of day, Flap his maleficent wings, and in terror Flit to the wilderness, dropping his prey. Then should we, growing in strength and in sweetness, Fusing to one indivisible soul, Dazzle the world with a splendid completeness, Mightily single, immovably whole.

Thou, like a flame when the stormy winds fan it, I, like a rock to the elements bare,-- Mixed by love's magic, the fire and the granite, Who should compete with us, what should compare? Strong with a strength that no fate might dissever, One with a oneness no force could divide, So were we married and mingled for ever, Lover with lover, and bridegroom with bride.

MENSIS LACRIMARUM

"UNDER THE DARK AND PINY STEEP"

Under the dark and piny steep We watched the storm crash by: We saw the bright brand leap and leap Out of the shattered sky.

The elements were minist'ring To make one mortal blest; For, peal by peal, you did but cling The closer to his breast.

THE BLIND SUMMIT

So mounts the child of ages of desire, Man, up the steeps of Thought; and would behold Yet purer peaks, touched with unearthlier fire, In sudden prospect virginally new; But on the lone last height he sighs: "'Tis cold, And clouds shut out the view."

Ah, doom of mortals! Vexed with phantoms old, Old phantoms that waylay us and pursue,-- Weary of dreams,--we think to see unfold The eternal landscape of the Real and True; And on our Pisgah can but write: "'Tis cold, And clouds shut out the view."

TO LORD TENNYSON

Master and mage, our prince of song, whom Time, In this your autumn mellow and serene, Crowns ever with fresh laurels, nor less green Than garlands dewy from your verdurous prime; Heir of the riches of the whole world's rhyme, Dow'r'd with the Doric grace, the Mantuan mien, With Arno's depth and Avon's golden sheen; Singer to whom the singing ages climb, Convergent;--if the youngest of the choir May snatch a flying splendour from your name Making his page illustrious, and aspire For one rich moment your regard to claim, Suffer him at your feet to lay his lyre And touch the skirts and fringes of your fame.

SKETCH OF A POLITICAL CHARACTER

Would that some call he could not choose but heed-- Of private passion or of public need-- At last might sting to life that slothful power, And snare him into greatness for an hour!

Often ornateness Goes with greatness; Oftener felicity Comes of simplicity.

Talent that's cheapest Affects singularity. Thoughts that dive deepest Rise radiant in clarity.

No record Art keeps Of her travail and throes. There is toil on the steeps,-- On the summits, repose.

THE GLIMPSE

Just for a day you crossed my life's dull track, Put my ignobler dreams to sudden shame, Went your bright way, and left me to fall back On my own world of poorer deed and aim;

To fall back on my meaner world, and feel Like one who, dwelling 'mid some, smoke-dimmed town,-- In a brief pause of labour's sullen wheel,-- 'Scaped from the street's dead dust and factory's frown,--

In stainless daylight saw the pure seas roll, Saw mountains pillaring the perfect sky: Then journeyed home, to carry in his soul The torment of the difference till he die.

THE BALLAD OF THE "BRITAIN'S PRIDE"

His craft she reeled and staggered, But he headed her for the hithe, In a storm that threatened to mow her down As grass is mown by the scythe; When suddenly through the cloud-rift The moon came sailing soft, And he saw one mast of a sunken ship Like a dead arm held aloft.

Slowly melted the darkness, Slowly rose the sun, And only the lad in the rigging Was left, out of thirty-one, To tell the tale of his captain, The English sailor true, That did his duty and met his death As English sailors do.

LINES

THE RAVEN'S SHADOW

Seabird, elemental sprite, Moulded of the sun and spray-- Raven, dreary flake of night Drifting in the eye of day-- What in common have ye two, Meeting 'twixt the blue and blue?

Thou to eastward carriest The keen savour of the foam,-- Thou dost bear unto the west Fragrance from thy woody home, Where perchance a house is thine Odorous of the oozy pine.

Eastward thee thy proper cares, Things of mighty moment, call; Thee to westward thine affairs Summon, weighty matters all: I, where land and sea contest, Watch you eastward, watch you west,

Till, in snares of fancy caught, Mystically changed ye seem, And the bird becomes a thought, And the thought becomes a dream, And the dream, outspread on high, Lords it o'er the abject sky.

Surely I have known before Phantoms of the shapes ye be-- Haunters of another shore 'Leaguered by another sea. There my wanderings night and morn Reconcile me to the bourn.

There the bird of happy wings Wafts the ocean-news I crave; Rumours of an isle he brings Gemlike on the golden wave: But the baleful beak and plume Scatter immelodious gloom.

Though the flow'rs be faultless made, Perfectly to live and die-- Though the bright clouds bloom and fade Flow'rlike 'midst a meadowy sky-- Where this raven roams forlorn Veins of midnight flaw the morn.

He not less will croak and croak As he ever caws and caws, Till the starry dance he broke, Till the sphery paean pause, And the universal chime Falter out of tune and time.

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