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Read Ebook: The Sunken Garden and Other Poems by De La Mare Walter
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Ebook has 140 lines and 9756 words, and 3 pages
'Thus have they told me. And I come, As flies the wounded wild-bird home. Not tears I give; but all that he Clasped in his arms sweet charity; All that he loved--to him I bring For a close whispering.'
THE STRANGER
In the woods as I did walk, Dappled with the moon's beam, I did with a Stranger talk, And his name was Dream.
Spurred his heel, dark his cloak, Shady-wide his bonnet's brim; His horse beneath a silvery oak Grazed as I talked with him.
Softly his breast-brooch burned and shone; Hill and deep were in his eyes; One of his hands held mine, and one The fruit that makes men wise.
Wonderly strange was earth to see, Flowers white as milk did gleam; Spread to Heaven the Assyrian Tree Over my head with Dream.
Dews were still betwixt us twain; Stars a trembling beauty shed; Yet--not a whisper comes again Of the words he said.
THE FLIGHT
How do the days press on, and lay Their fallen locks at evening down, Whileas the stars in darkness play And moonbeams weave a crown--
A crown of flower-like light in heaven, Where in the hollow arch of space Morn's mistress dreams, and the Pleiads seven Stand watch about her place.
Stand watch--O days no number keep Of hours when this dark clay is blind. When the world's clocks are dumb in sleep 'Tis then I seek my kind.
THE REMONSTRANCE
I was at peace until you came And set a careless mind aflame; I lived in quiet; cold, content; All longing in safe banishment, Until your ghostly lips and eyes Made wisdom unwise.
Naught was in me to tempt your feet To seek a lodging. Quite forgot Lay the sweet solitude we two In childhood used to wander through; Time's cold had closed my heart about; And shut you out.
Well, and what then?... O vision grave, Take all the little all I have! Strip me of what in voiceless thought Life's kept of life, unhoped, unsought!-- Reverie and dream that memory must Hide deep in dust!
This only I say,--Though cold and bare The haunted house you have chosen to share, Still 'neath its walls the moonbeam goes And trembles on the untended rose; Still o'er its broken roof-tree rise The starry arches of the skies; And 'neath your lightest word shall be The thunder of an ebbing sea.
I am that Adam who, with Snake for guest, Hid anguished eyes upon Eve's piteous breast. I am that Adam who, with broken wings, Fled from the Seraph's brazen trumpetings. Betrayed and fugitive, I still must roam A world where sin--and beauty--whisper of home.
Oh, from wide circuit, shall at length I see Pure daybreak lighten again on Eden's tree? Loosed from remorse and hope and love's distress, Enrobe me again in my lost nakedness? No more with wordless grief a loved one grieve, But to heaven's nothingness re-welcome Eve?
EYES
O strange devices that alone divide The se?r from the seen-- The very highway of earth's pomp and pride That lies between The traveller and the cheating, sweet delight Of where he longs to be, But which, bound hand and foot, he, close on night, Can only see.
THE TRYST
Why in my heart, o grief, Dost thou in beauty bide? Dead is my well-content, And buried deep my pride. Cold are their stones, beloved, To hand and side.
The shadows of even are gone, Shut are the day's clear flowers, Now have her birds left mute Their singing bowers, Lone shall we be, we twain, In the night hours.
Thou with thy cheek on mine, And dark hair loosed, shalt see Take the far stars for fruit The cypress tree, And in the yew's black Shall the moon be.
We will tell no old tales, Nor heed if in wandering air Die a lost song of love Or the once fair; Still as well-water be The thoughts we share!
And, while the ghosts keep Tryst from chill sepulchres, Dreamless our gaze shall sleep, And sealed our ears; Heart unto heart will speak, Without tears.
O, thy veiled, lovely face-- Joy's strange disguise-- Shall be the last to fade From these rapt eyes, Ere the first dart of daybreak Pierce the skies.
THE OLD MEN
Old and alone, sit we, Caged, riddle-rid men; Lost to earth's 'Listen!' and 'See!' Thought's 'Wherefore?' and 'When?'
Only far memories stray Of a past once lovely, but now Wasted and faded away, Like green leaves from the bough.
Vast broods the silence of night, The ruinous moon Lifts on our faces her light, Whence all dreaming is gone.
We speak not; trembles each head; In their sockets our eyes are still; Desire as cold as the dead; Without wonder or will.
And One, with a lanthorn, draws near, At clash with the moon in our eyes: 'Where art thou?' he asks: 'I am here,' One by one we arise.
And none lifts a hand to withhold A friend from the touch of that foe: Heart cries unto heart, 'Thou art old!' Yet reluctant, we go.
THE FOOL'S SONG
Never, no, never, listen too long, To the chattering wind in the willows, the night bird's song.
'Tis sad in sooth to lie under the grass, But none too gladsome to wake and grow cold where life's shadows pass.
Dumb the old Toll-Woman squats, And, for every green copper battered and worn, doles out Nevers and Nots.
I know a Blind Man, too, Who with a sharp ear listens and listens the whole world through.
Oh, sit we snug to our feast, With platter and finger and spoon--and good victuals at least.
THE DREAMER
O thou who giving helm and sword, Gav'st, too, the rusting rain, And starry dark's all tender dews To blunt and stain:
Out of the battle I am sped, Unharmed, yet stricken sore; A living shape 'mid whispering shades On Lethe's shore.
No trophy in my hands I bring, To this sad, sighing stream, The neighings and the trumps and cries Were but a dream--a dream.
Traitor to life, of life betrayed-- O, of thy mercy deep, A dream my all, the all I ask Is sleep.
MOTLEY
Come, Death, I'd have a word with thee; And thou, poor Innocency; And Love--a lad with broken wing; And Pity, too: The Fool shall sing to you, As Fools will sing.
Ay, music hath small sense, And a tune's soon told, And Earth is old, And my poor wits are dense; Yet have I secrets,--dark, my dear, To breathe you all: Come near. And lest some hideous listener tells, I'll ring my bells.
They're all at war!-- Yes, yes, their bodies go 'Neath burning sun and icy star To chaunted songs of woe, Dragging cold cannon through a mire Of rain and blood and spouting fire, The new moon glinting hard on eyes Wide with insanities!
Hush!... I use words I hardly know the meaning of; And the mute birds Are glancing at Love From out their shade of leaf and flower, Trembling at treacheries Which even in noonday cower. Heed, heed not what I said Of frenzied hosts of men, More fools than I, On envy, hatred fed, Who kill, and die-- Spake I not plainly, then? Yet Pity whispered, 'Why?'
Thou silly thing, off to thy daisies go. Mine was not news for child to know, And Death--no ears hath. He hath supped where creep Eyeless worms in hush of sleep; Yet, when he smiles, the hand he draws Athwart his grinning jaws-- Faintly the thin bones rattle, and--There, there; Hearken how my bells in the air Drive away care!...
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