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Read Ebook: Provocations by Bristowe Sibyl Chesterton G K Gilbert Keith Author Of Introduction Etc
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Ebook has 264 lines and 19678 words, and 6 pages
PAGE The Great War 13
My London Garden, 1914 14
My Garden, 1918 17
Over the Top! 18
To His Dear Memory 20
Sorrow 21
Alas! 23
A Sacrament 24
The Love-shed Tear 25
Madonna Granduca and Child 29
A Vision of a Day that is Past 30
Bitterness Casteth out Love 33
The Hour of Happiness 34
Thoughts 35
The Things Unsaid are the Things that Count! 36
The Song of the Long Ago 37
The Sinner's Dreaming 39
Woman 40
Christmas 41
February 42
Oh! 'Tis May 43
To the Wind 45
The Grey Wind 47
Poeta Nascitur 49
Queen Elizabeth 51
The Death of Queen Elizabeth 56
The Plea of the Antarctic 58
The Stranger in London 59
The Transvaal in June 62
Johannesburg 63
In the Land of the Silences 65
The Great War
Into His colour store God dipped His hand And drew it forth Full of strange hues forgotten, contraband Of War and Wrath.
Time wove the pattern of the years, that so The quick and dead Might knit their bleeding crosses in. And lo! A patch of red!
My London Garden, 1914
The Grass creeps up all in between the stones And raises undisturbed its luscious green And laughs for youth in shrill and ringing tones. I love it that it grows up so serene, Dauntless and bright And laughing me to scorn, So vivid and so slight, Glad for the night-shed dew and smoke-bred morn.
My little patch of bordered green and brown Sleeps in the bosom of a grim old town, I wish that you could see Its beauty here with me; I'd tell you many things you never knew, For few, so few Know the romance of such a London strip, With ferny screen That slants shy gleams of sunlight in between And weeds which flourish just inside the dip, Holding their tenure with a firm deep grip Where prouder things all die. Small wonder I Tend my tall weed as tho' it were a gem, Note every leaf, and watch the stalwart stem Wax strong and high-- My weed plot lives in reckless luxury.
But, in the Spring, before black grime Has done its worst, And cruel Time And dust accursed Have marred the innocence of each young leaf, Or soiled the blossoms, like a wanton thief-- Masses of tulips, pink and white, Rise from the earth in prim delight, And iris, king of pomp and state, In vesture fine And purple and pale gold Its buds unfold-- A mighty potentate, And marshals nobly, proudly into line, Whilst lilacs sway in wind and rushing breeze, Bowing and nodding to some poplar trees.
My Garden, 1918
Over the Top!
To His Dear Memory
Beneath the humid skies Where green birds wing, and heavy burgeoned trees Sway in the fevered breeze, My Brother lies.
And rivers passionate Tore through the mountain passes, swept the plains, O'erbrimmed with tears, o'erbrimmed with summer rains, All wild, all desolate. Whilst the deep Mother-breast Of drowsy-lidded Nature, drunk with dreams, Below Pangani, by Rufigi streams, Took him to rest.
Beneath the sunlit skies, Where bright birds wing, and rich luxuriant trees Sway in the fevered breeze, My Brother lies.
The bending grasses woo His hurried grave; a cross of oak to show The drifting winds, a Soldier sleeps below. --Our Saviour's cross, I know, Was wooden, too.
The river Rufigi rose so high the night he died, none of his own Battalion could cross it to attend his last honours.
Sorrow
Send Sorrow away, For Sorrow is dressed in grey, And her eyes are dim With a weary rim. Send Sorrow away.
Send Sorrow away. Maid of the sombre sway, Breathing woe In a murmur low, And her lips are pale And her body frail. Send Sorrow away.
Send Sorrow away, Foe of the dancing day. Oh! her cheeks fall in, And her hands are thin, But her grip is fast On the changeless past; And they sere and clutch The soul they touch. Send Sorrow away.
Send Sorrow away, For she haunts me night and day. And Sorrow is dressed in grey, Yes, Sorrow is dressed in grey. And she looks so old, So drawn, so cold-- Send Sorrow away.
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