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Read Ebook: Sorrow of War: Poems by Golding Louis
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Ebook has 219 lines and 12372 words, and 5 pages
The crying of the lonely plover From the morning cloud! Do the wings and clouds still hover Where my heart sang loud?
O the valley and the stream there. Where we shouted, being young! Are there boys still dream a dream there, Are the boys' songs sung?
O the winds that once blew round us, O the sun! the rain! Shall the ancient spells that bound us, Bind us ever again?
O a great Word then was spoken, Then was a boy's will clean and strong! Is the boy's will broken That went straight along?
O our ageing ears are ringing With many sad things! Shall we come again with singing Where the plover sings?
CLOUD END
THE GALLANT ROAD
Grant us, O Lord, to do the thing Clean men and boys have always done; These works to do, these songs to sing, The gallant road to run.
Grant us, O Lord, that we go straight Along the path where shines the sun; These things to love, these things to hate, The gallant road to run.
Grant us, O Lord, to win the fight That all the cleanly hearts have won, Having sure feet, even at night The gallant road to run.
Grant us, O Lord, when Death enfold, That we take Death as half in fun; Like men and boys that knew of old The gallant road to run.
THE QUEST
"I have sought you," I said; "I have found you," I said, "in the pitch of your intimate midnight lair." He drew back with a sob like the swish of a stick thro' the smarting air.
"I have moved like Death on deliberate feet thro' a thousand towns and a hundred lands. Thinking you found, I have squeezed men's throats with pulsing, twitching, inquisitive hands.
"But the fire that waned in their blood-starred eyes was not the flame of the fire I sought, And I went my way with the sword in my heart and the sword in my hand of passion and thought.
"My blood spurted over the boulders of far intolerant mountains of iron and ice, But never in crevice or cave or chasm I found the flesh of my sacrifice.
"I burned with the wrath of a wind from hell thro' molten deserts panting and pent; But ever my foeman fled me afar, the sinister goal of my intent.
"I have sought you," I said, "I have found you," I said; "we shall die together, for I am you." The foam and fever oozed out of my forehead, with a dew like blood, with a blood like dew.
He wailed like a child that recoils from a shadow that moves with menace over his bed; But I pierced my heart with the sword in my hand, and his body at last lay stretched and dead.
HAVING FINISHED "JUDE THE OBSCURE"
Such purposeless and iron wings Obscure our mortal music quite? Such gloom to monstrous gloom outflings The stenches of a churchyard night?
We are no more for God or Sin Than parasites in rotting hair, No different but only in The boundlessness of our despair?
Glories have sprung before our gaze From the wet wood the grey tide warps! We have heard peals of music blaze Sheer from the cold heart of a corpse!
GHOST AND BODY
I that am wiser than most, Have yielded the tract of my ghost To a panting and flat-eyed ghost who gathers these useless things. In a country of seventeen moons, He sits in the sound of bassoons Playing terrible stupid tunes to the first of the ghostial kings.
He has gathered my ghost with the rest To plough it, or do what is best, And doubtless he does it with zest in the country whereover he reigns. I am glad--for the thing was a pest; It lay at the roots of my chest, And it darkened the East and the West and it plastered my eyes with stains.
But heigh-ho! my arms and my feet Now are mine as I swing down the street, And my heart for to storm and to beat whenever my body desires. My eyes will look when they please Down the drains or high to the trees. My body is mine to freeze or shrivel with whitest fires!
GALLOP
My drunken head is a whirl of song, My heart is a drumstick beating time. My pen goes swiftly galloping along The echoing roads of rhythm and rhyme.
The stars are dizzy, for they circle in a ring. Round about the Pole Star all hold hands. The moon lifts her skirts up to do a giddy fling, The trees in the forest dance in big black bands.
The river is bounding from place to place, The fishes in the cold air rise and shine. The parallel hedgerows are running in a race, For each of them and all of them are drunk with wine.
The grand old buildings, alas and woe is me! Sway about unsteadily from side to side. The streets are moreover crooked things to see; There is no object anywhere will stand and bide.
The goblins are assembled in a mad-moon crowd Upon the hazy summit of the palpitating hill. Let the things that have no voice shout out loud! Let them dance, the fickle things, and have their fill!
And if again they will not sub-subside, The road of the rebel stars is cool and wide, The mad waves dance on the sea!
Then beat like thunder heart, then! round go head! The red stars swing in time. For soon enough, the Lord knows, shall I be dead, And dead my rhythm and rhyme!
OXFORD
WE LADS WHO BARTER RHYMES
There's some be red of face, they be, Like jolly suns in harvest times, And some be haggard men to see, Because of certain hidden crimes. But let us sing with one accord That we're the chosen of the Lord, We lads who barter rhymes.
There's some so tall and fair and free, Like policemen in their leisure times, And some are like a wizened pea, Some worth no more than twenty dimes. But here's our sober view expressed, We're three times better than the best, We lads who barter rhymes.
WHO KNOWS ME?
Who knows me? None knows me. I hobble on two blistered feet Round the corner, down the street. Now and then a child will cry, Seeing a strange thing in my eye, A Bogey Man, a Thing of Dread, Stand from each eye in my head. Now and then a baby 'll smile, --But that's only once a while. Boys of thirteen all throw stones At my stiff and creaky bones. Middle-aged people, fat and bright, Shrug and sniff "It serves him right." Round the corner, out of sight, Down the Street, across the Night.
Who knows me? None knows me. I am young and I am proud, Strong as sun and pure as cloud. All the five seas wash my veins With stinging foam and swinging rains. With the white stars I commune In a silent spheric tune. Who knows me? None knows me. Only but a brown Bird, Only but a little Child, A little Child, a little Bird, Only they know me.
JUDAEUS ERRANS
He hath no place to rest his head. O happy nations, weep indeed. He is forlorn till he be dead. O pity him his wretched meed, His wounds that bleed.
There is no resting in his eyes, And he hath scars upon his feet. He is a stranger to all skies. He walks sad-eyed along the street, And shadow-wise.
For with the dawn must he depart, And with the sunset make his way. All day he bears an aching heart, All night his aching sorrows stay, Yea, night and day.
Then look a moment as he goes, A little sadly, in his eyes. For there are written all the woes, And a surprise. For he is sadder than God knows.
COLD STARS
Cold night, cold with pointed stars That swing like instant scimitars, How you reproach with acid fire The smoky lamps of our desire.
Cold stars, inexorably aloof, That freeze from Vision's dizziest roof, On these our human sins you brood In pride of glacial rectitude.
Cold stars, come down and walk along Our avenues of Sense and Song; Take human shape one night and vex Your bowels with the scourge of sex.
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