Kitobni o'qish: «Songs of love and empire», sahifa 3

THE GHOST BEREFT

 
The poor ghost came through the wind and rain
And passed down the old dear road again.
 
 
Thin cowered the hedges, the tall trees swayed
Like little children that shrank afraid.
 
 
The wind was wild and the night was late
When the poor ghost came to the garden gate;
 
 
Dank were the flower-beds, heavy and wet,
The weeds stood up where the rose was set.
 
 
The wind was angry, the rain beat sore
When the poor ghost came to its own house-door.
 
 
“And shall I find her a-weeping still
To think how alone I lie and chill?
 
 
“Or shall I find her happy and warm
With her dear head laid on a new love’s arm?
 
 
“Or shall I find she has learned to pine
For another’s love, and not for mine?
 
 
“Whatever chance, I have this to my store,
She is mine, my own, for evermore!”
 
 
So the poor ghost came through the wind and rain
Till it reached the square bright window pane.
 
 
“Oh! what is here in the room so bright?
Roses and love, and a hid delight?
 
 
“What lurks in the silence that fills the room?
A cypress wreath from a dead man’s tomb?
 
 
“What sleeps? What wakes? And oh! can it be
Her heart that is breaking – and not for me?”
 
 
Then the poor ghost looked through the window pane,
Though all the glass was wrinkled with rain.
 
 
“Oh, there is light, at the feet and head
Twelve tall tapers about the bed.
 
 
“Oh, there are flowers, white flowers and rare,
But not the garland a bride may wear.
 
 
“Jasmine white and a white white rose,
But its scent is gone where the lost dream goes.
 
 
“Straight lilies laid on the strait white bier —
But the room is empty – she is not here!
 
 
“Her body lies here, deserted, cold;
And the body that loved it creeps in the mould.
 
 
“Was there ever an hour when my Love, set free,
Would not have hastened and come to me?
 
 
“Can the soul that loved mine long ago
Be hence and away, and I not know?
 
 
“Oh, then God’s judgment is on me sore,
For I have lost her for evermore!”
 
 
And the poor ghost fared through the wind and rain
To its own appointed place again.
 

* * * * *

 
But up in Heaven, where memories cease
Because the blessed have won to peace,
 
 
One pale saint shivered, and closer wound
The shining raiment that wrapped her round.
 
 
“Oh, fair is Heaven, and glad am I,
Yet I fain would remember the days gone by.
 
 
“The past is veiled, and I may not know,
But I think there was sorrow, long ago;
 
 
“The sun of Heaven is warm and bright,
But I think there is rain on the earth to-night.
 
 
“O Christ, because of Thine own sore pain
Help all poor souls in the wind and rain.”
 

THE VAIN SPELL

 
The house sleeps dark and the moon wakes white,
The fields are alight with dew;
“Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night?
I have waited the whole night through,
For I knew,
O Heart of my heart, I knew by my heart,
That the night of all nights is this,
When elm shall crack and lead shall part,
When moulds shall sunder and shot bolts start
To let you through to my kiss.”
 
 
So spake she alone in the lonely house.
She had wrapped her round with the spell,
She called the call, she vowed the vow,
And the heart she had pledged knew well
That this was the night, the only night,
When the moulds might be wrenched apart,
When the living and dead, in the dead of the night,
Might clasp once more, in the grave’s despite,
For the price of a living heart.
 
 
But out in the grave the corpse lay white
And the grave clothes were wet with dew;
“Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night,
I have waited the whole night through,
For I knew
That I dared not leave my grave for an hour
Since the hour of all hours is near,
When you shall come to the hollow bower,
In a cast of the wind, in a waft of the Power,
To the heart that to-night beats here!”
 
 
The moon grows pale and the house sleeps still;
Ah, God! do the dead forget?
The grave is white and the bed is chill,
But a guest may be coming yet.
But the hour has come and the hour has gone
That never will come again;
Love’s only chance is over and done,
And the quick and the dead are twain, not one,
And the price has been paid in vain.
 

THE ADVENTURER

 
The land of gold was far away,
The sea a challenge roared between;
I left my throne, my crown, my queen,
And sailed out of the quiet bay.
 
 
I met the challenge of the wave,
The curses of the winds I mocked:
The conquered wave my galley rocked,
The wind became my envious slave.
 
 
I brought much treasure from afar,
Spices, and shells, and rich attire;
Red rubies, fed with living fire,
To lie where all my longings are.
 
 
Heavy with spoil my keel ploughed low
As slow we sailed into the bay,
And long ago seemed yesterday
And yesterday looked long ago.
 
 
I came in triumph from the sea;
Bent was my crown, my courts grown mean,
And on my throne a faded queen
Raised alien eyes, and looked at me.
 
 
“My queen! These rubies let me lay
Upon thy heart, as once my head …”
She smiled pale scorn: “My heart!” she said,
And turned her weary eyes away.
 

IN THE ENCHANTED TOWER

 
The waves in thunderous menace break
Upon the rocks below my tower,
And none will dare the Sea-king’s power
And venture shipwreck for my sake.
 
 
Yet once, – my lamp a path of light
Across the darkling sea had cast —
I saw a sail; at last, at last,
It came towards me through the night.
 
 
My lamp had been the beacon set
To lead the ship through mist and foam,
The ship that came to take me home,
To that far land I half forget.
 
 
But since my tower is built so high,
And surf-robed rocks curl hid below,
I quenched my lamp – and, weeping low
I saw my ship go safely by!
 

FAITH

 
Through the long night, the deathlong night,
Along the dark and haunted way,
I knew your hidden face was bright —
More bright than any day.
 
 
And when the faint, insistent moan
Rose from some weed-grown wayside grave,
I said, “I do not walk alone;
’Tis easy to be brave.”
 
 
I never turned to speak with you,
For all the way was dark and long,
But all the shadows’ menace through
Your silence was my song.
 
 
I never sought to take your hand,
For all the way was long and rough;
I taught my soul to understand
That love was strength enough.
 
 
Then, suddenly, the ghosts drew near,
A ghastly, gliding, tomb-white band;
I called aloud for you to hear,
My hand besought your hand.
 
 
No voice, no touch – the thin ghosts glide
Where in my dream I dreamed you were —
Night, night, you are not by my side,
You never have been there!
 

THE REFUSAL

 
Mine is a palace fair to see,
All hung with gold and silver things,
It is more glorious than a king’s,
And crownèd queens might envy me.
 
 
Ah, no, I will not let you in!
Stay rather at the gates and weep
For all the splendour that I keep,
The treasures that you cannot win.
 
 
While you desire and I refuse,
For both the palace still is here —
Its turrets gold, its silver gear
Are yours to wish for – mine to use.
 
 
But if I let you in, I know
The spell would break, the palace fade,
And we stand, trembling and afraid,
Lost in the dark where chill winds blow.
 

PRELUDE

 
Out of the west when the sun was dying
Clouds of white wings came flying, flying,
Wheeling and whirling they swept away
Into the heart of the eastern gray;
But one white dove came straight to my breast
Out of the west.
 
 
Into the west when the dawn was pearly
Clouds of white wings went, dewy-early,
Straight from the world of the waning stars;
O beating pinions! O prison bars!
My dove flies free no more with the rest
Into the west.
 

AT THE SOUND OF THE DRUM

 
Are you going for a soldier with your curly yellow hair,
And a scarlet coat instead of the smock you used to wear?
Are you going to drive the foe as you used to drive the plough?
Are you going for a soldier now?
 
 
I am going for a soldier, and my tunic is of red
And I’m tired of woman’s chatter, and I’ll hear the drum instead;
I will break the fighting line as you broke your plighted vow,
For I’m going for a soldier now.
 
 
For a soldier, for a soldier are you sure that you will go,
To hear the drums a-beating and to hear the bugles blow?
I’ll make you sweeter music, for I’ll swear another vow —
Are you going for a soldier now?
 
 
I am going for a soldier if you’d twenty vows to make;
You must get another sweetheart, with another heart to break,
For I’m sick of lies and women and the harrow and the plough,
And I’m going for a soldier now!
 

THE GOOSE-GIRL

 
I wandered lonely by the sea,
As is my daily use,
I saw her drive across the lea
The gander and the goose.
The gander and the gray, gray goose,
She drove them all together;
Her cheeks were rose, her gold hair loose,
All in the wild gray weather.
 
 
“O dainty maid who drive the geese
Across the common wide,
Turn, turn your pretty back on these
And come and be my bride.
I am a poet from the town,
And, ’mid the ladies there,
There is not one would wear a crown
With half your charming air!”
 
 
She laughed, she shook her pretty head.
“I want no poet’s hand;
Go read your fairy-books,” she said,
“For this is fairy-land.
My Prince comes riding o’er the leas;
He fitly comes to woo,
For I’m a Princess, and my geese
Were poets, once, like you!”
 

THE PEDLAR

 
Fly, fly, my pretty pigeon, fly!
And see if you can find him;
He has blue eyes – you’ll know him by, —
He wears a pack behind him.
He’s gone away – ah! many a mile
Because he could not please me,
And, oh! ’twill be a weary while
Ere next he comes to tease me.
 
 
He carries wares of every kind,
Fine ribbons, silks, and laces,
Bargains to rhyme with every mind,
And hues to suit all faces.
He has gold rings and pretty things
That other maids will throng for,
Ah, pigeon! spread your pretty wings,
And fly to him I long for.
 
 
Tell him to turn and come again,
For once I sent him packing;
He offered me a bargain then,
But wit and price were lacking.
I have the price he asked of me,
The wit that will not weigh it;
Ah! bid him come again and see
How gladly I will pay it.
 
 
A heart of gold he offered me
As ’twere a penny fairing,
And only asked a worthless fee,
This heavy heart I’m wearing.
I would not then – now long and drear
The white way winds behind him;
Ah! seek him, seek him, Pigeon dear,
But you will never find him!