Midmost the beating of the steely sea, Where tossed about all hearts of men must be; Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay, Not the poor singer of an empty day. PROLOGUE (From the same) Forget six counties overhung with smoke, And cloth of Bruges, and hogsheads of Guienne; JUNE (From the same) O June, O June, that we desirèd so, See, we have left our hopes and fear behind What better place than this then could we find This little stream whose hamlets scarce have names, Here then, O June, thy kindness will we take; What should we do? thou wouldst not have us wake L'ENVOI (From the same) "Death have we hated, knowing not what it meant; Life have we loved, through green leaf and through sere, Though still the less we knew of its intent: The Earth and Heaven through countless year on year, "O Master, if thine heart could love us yet, Spite of things left undone, and wrongly done, Some place in loving hearts then should we get, For thou, sweet-souled, didst never stand alone, But knew'st the joy and woe of many an oneBy lovers dead, who live through thee, we pray, lp thus us singers of an empty day!" Fearest thou, Book, what answer thou mayst gain, Lest he should scorn thee, and thereof thou die? Nay, it shall not be.-Thou mayst toil in vain, And never draw the House of Fame anigh; Yet he and his shall know whereof we cry, Shall call it not ill done to strive to lay The ghosts that crowd about life's empty day. Then let the others go! and if indeed In some old garden thou and I have wrought, DRAWING NEAR THE LIGHT (From the same) Lo, when we wade the tangled wood, But looking up, at last we see From o'er the place where we would be: So now, amidst our day of strife, Eugene Lee-bamilton 1845-1907 SONNETS* (From Mimma Bella, 1909) X. 'Tis Christmas, and we gaze with downbent head A picture-book, to play with on thy bed; And we, who should have heard thee laugh and prate So busily, sit here at war with Fate, And turn the pages silently instead. O that I knew thee playing 'neath God's eyes, Or, with the phantom of the doll that lies In the dim nursery that men call Death. XXIII. Do you recall the scents, the insect whirr, How discs of sunlight through the bright leaves played *Reprinted from Mimma Bella, by permission of Duffield & Co. How roving breezes made the bracken stir In brown and gold, hummed round her, and the glade Was strewn with last year's chestnuts' prickly fur? There in the forest's ripe and fragrant heat And played her little games; and when we said William Watson 1858 THE FIRST SKYLARK OF SPRING * Two worlds hast thou to dwell in, Sweet,- And this vext region at my feet.- To all my songs there clings the shade, My heart is dashed with griefs and fears; O high above the home of tears, Eternal Joy, sing on! * From The Poems of William Watson. Copyright, 1905, by the John Lane Company. |