Douglas Goldring

“ The patient bridge that will not change,
And all the city holds its breath.
Then gazing towards the sunken sun
A pale girl eyes his lingering gleam,
A soul whose little day is done,
For whom will come no night, no dream. ”

“ And perhaps, if he’s time, he will “do something like it—some day.”
[72]
She-Devil (Davies Street)
White arms, Love, you have, and thin fingers with glittering nails,
And the soft blue smoke curls up from your parted mouth!
The delicate rose of your cheeks never varies nor pales,
And your frocks and your furs are perfection—devourer of youth!
It is thrilling to think of your room and you, wicked, inside—
Adorable snake, with a snake’s unflickering eyes,
And an intimate smile (to share which, fools have died)
And lips soft as a girl’s and like a siren’s, wise! ”

“ Was once a girl, betrayed;
O wayward love, be true to me
Who am no more a maid.”
1909.
[81]
Cuckfield Park
The deer stand outlined on a sky
That glows to red and pales to green:
The restless pine-trees shake and sigh,
And troubled spirits move, unseen.
A brooding quiet holds the night.
It is the hour of dreams, of fears,
When day’s defiant dying light
Fades, with a sombre hint of tears.
We hardly speak, we hardly dare,
Our steps are noiseless on the grass,
And shadows haunt your eyes and hair.
Does love pass as these moments pass? ”

“ And in small ears, half-hidden in tangled curls,
They tinkle such sly secrets of delight,
That, when the sun cries “shame” to slugabeds,
These wake, cooing like doves, with little trills and laughs
And memories of a kiss, in that dream world
Where “he” had swapped his bowler for a crown,
And was a prince, and rode a great white horse!...
To the strong lads they whisper of the wars,
Of glory and red coats; or of bright waves
Tumbling, a foam of white, over a ship’s dipped nose
In some tumultuous, splendid, sun-bathed sea ”

“ Thronged streets where jostle theatre and hotel,
And stately terraces where rich folk dwell....
It has black alleys, and most dismal plains
Crossed by long, steady, fire-emitting trains;
Foul slums and palaces, prisons and spires
And suburbs where the jaundiced clerk expires.
But love and hope are always with us, too:
And such bright eyes, to make the sky seem blue! ”

“ From Notting Hill to Hyde Park Square
The streets have an inhuman air,
The houses— (six imposing floors;
Dark, formidable, fierce front doors;
Tall windows, sightless, sealed and blind;
Ball-room or billiard-room behind) —
Must shelter, they’re so vast and cold,
None but the ugly and the old....
Watch, as you wander hereabout,
The people who go in and out!
Sleek-bellied men in varnished hats,
Fur coats, check trousers, gleaming spats,
Flock in procession, pompous, grand,
Or drive in motors to the Strand ”

“ Goldring is a young poet; his technique in these days, when so high a standard is set, is careless ... yet one feels that a book like his ‘Country Boy’ ought to sell thousands, not mere hundreds, so full it is of the joy of life, of modern love and sorrow. ”

“ When we are pleased, we’ll never shout nor ruffle our hair,
And a lift of the eyebrow will show how annoyed we are.
This is where life is lived nobly and sweetly and well:
Here are beauty, all hardly-won things, and courage and love.
Why people worship the slums and the poor so, I can never tell,
For it’s virtue and baths and good cooking go hand in glove! ”

“ In a great square; and then the surging streets
That cut the town in two, where its heart beats.
Crowds jostle to and fro, brats cadge for alms,
Sell lottery tickets, hand their sister’s card
(With her address, nude photograph and hours) ;
Men offer little birds, old women flow’rs;
Red-coated guards loaf by; a half-blind bard
Drones out stale tunes; and amorous ladies stare
(Clad in rich clothes, with very bad black eyes)
At men with Brownings bulging at their thighs
Who’ll fight for a Republic—when they dare. ”

“ Have brought my girl to spend the day,
So to your hill my fathers came
And, sure, my son will do the same.
...
What sights there are, for those who know,
In every part of this great city!
Our men are mixed, it’s true, but oh,
Are not our London maidens pretty?
Look! you may see them everywhere—
Laughing in ball-rooms in Mayfair,
At tea at Ranelagh, or walking
On Sunday in Hyde Park and talking
The latest nonsense! What a sight,
In frocks adorable and costly!
At Epping too (East-enders mostly)
You’ll see good London girls at play ”

“ Fresh every day, when dawn makes Highbrow Hill
Softened and rosy, blithe and gentle and sweet,
The Intellectuals their quivers fill
With poisonous darts, to fire from safe retreat.
Biffkin and Briggs and Solomon and Snooks
Must be put down, for they lead awful lives,
And any simple souls who read their books
Might kiss their housemaids or desert their wives.
Earth must be purged, be cleaned from this disease! ”

“ Come in at windows and invade small rooms
To chatter archly in old women’s ears,
Making them laugh cracked laughter, deep in the throat,
And weep with sweet, long, memorable thoughts....
They make bent grandfathers recall the day
They played the fool in the sun, under the sky,
And were the deuce with women, and finer chaps
“Than ever you get, in these degenerate time....” ”

“ She: I didn’t think you were so silly:
Walk up—it’s chilly.
He: O, since in life there’s little bliss,
And most of it lies in a kiss—
Don’t turn those cruel lips away,
But just one moment, Maggie, stay!
...
Lor! here’s the blessed street. Oh! why....
She: You foolish lad, don’t ask. Good-bye!
[49]
Spaniards’
The moon shone withering, wild and white,
And ruddy gleamed the bars,
And far below, the city’s light
Streamed up to meet the stars.
“Look down,” ses Tom, “them streets that shine,
And look, the gaudy sky!
By God, to-night, my girl, you’re mine”
—And glad enough was I. ”

“ And I have watched, all through a summer’s day,
The brown-winged barges loaded up with hay,
And seen the heavy cargo-steamers slide
Past Woolwich Ferry, with the flowing tide;
Found joy in travel on a motor ’bus,
And glowing worlds Within the Radius!
And so, for songs, my heart must needs repeat
The cries and whispers of the London street.
[10]
[11]
Contents “This great grey city that bred me and mine ...”
[14]
[15]
Part I
[16]
[17]
Streets
Church Street wears ever a smile, from having watched bright belles
Coming home with young men, after balls, “at all hours.” ”

“ The thought of the Middle Classes makes him swoon,
And he never will dance unless he is sure of the wine—
And O, it was such an affair, when he took a ’bus!
And yet he’s not only a butterfly, carefully smart,
He thinks a great deal, and has a devotion to Art. ”

“ And the bitter, grey London morning.
And I was rich, with my bare grey walls,
Rich, with my thoughts and dreams,
Who now am poor—
Imprisoned by plenty and by the years.
[34]
Maisonnettes (Harrow Road)
The houses in Windermere Street are let off in floors,
Which perhaps is the reason it always seems so to “swarm.”
Little groups of girls and young men gather round its front doors
And keen eyes at all windows observe who is “coming to harm.”
Every one in the street knew at once about poor Lizzie Brown! ”

“ Chase them from London’s pubs, and bid them go
Across the foam, to lunch with Clemenceau!
Chase them with odorous eggs and hunks of cheese!
Be quiet, Muse, I will not sing of these.
Of all the Georgian and Edwardian potes,
Of all the Mile End Yidds in velvet coats,
Of all the sets, the circles and the cliques
Who boost each other’s works in their critiques,
Of all on whom E. M. has ever smiled ”

“ And their women are slim, with soft voices; and kind things they say.
Their lives are one exquisite tea—with the lamp unlit,
In autumn and winter. In summer a rose
Climbs in through the open window, caressing it ”

“ All through the happy day they call and shout,
Shriek with delight and giggle and “hooray”;
And two alone look gloomy and put out,
Causing a lady to her pal to say:
“’Oo’s that young man wot give ’is girl a shove?”
“O them poor sulky devils, they’re in love!”
[100]
Beaugency-sur-Loire
A strong stroke, and the boat leaps, and the heart grows merry! ”

“ Evening Standard: “Poems of London streets remarkable for their [108] freshness. They are short and impressionistic, at times suggesting comparison with the work of Mr. Davies and Mr. James Stephens.... But the poet has his own thoughts, and his own methods of expression admirably suited to them. This little volume deserves recognition.”
Morning Post: “Mr. Goldring’s book has been a great comfort to us. All lovers of London will love it.”
Rebecca West (Star) : “I insist on saying that his volume ‘Streets’ contains some of the loveliest verse that has ever been written about London.” ”

“ Of love that fills their weary eyes.’
For he knows, as all true modern poets know, that the world has become a fairy world again, and that the name of Camden Town can haunt us as much as Xanadu, nay more. ”

“ Tired Rollo is the dreaming school girl’s prize.
He leans against the wall, perhaps will dance
If they ask very nicely: sweet young things!
He’s “an observer,” and he can’t conceal
He’s frightfully bored with all this sort of crowd.
He prefers artists, men of genius ”

“ Masefield: but he should be loved by thousands, and the student of the future will treasure his work as a document of fine English sentiment and feeling long after our Francis Thompson, our Watson and our Trench are forgotten.”
Birmingham Daily Post: “If Mr. Douglas Goldring does not belie the promise of his first book, a good deal will be heard of him, and the attractively produced little volume before us will become precious to the collector. What matters above all else in a young poet is personality—individuality of feeling and outlook. ”

“ Already his individuality of vision is beginning to make its own music.”
Edward Thomas: (In the London Bookman) : “His book ‘Streets’ consists of experiments in capturing the soul, or one of the souls, of twenty or thirty London streets. In some he speaks of his own feeling towards them; in others he speaks for them as if he were an inhabitant. His methods vary almost as much as his streets, from the downright to the romantic, but he is invariably interesting, often brilliant.”
Sunday Times: “Mr. Douglas Goldring has caught the glamour of London’s highways and by-ways ... ”

“ And she works like a black at recruiting outside the pubs;
And is always ready to tell “how her dear ones died.”
There were three of them—Bob, Jack and Arthur—handsome men;
So good to their mother, so courteous, and brave, and kind!
Well—she bred them for England! It was God’s will, Amen;
For her sorrow on earth, a reward in Heaven she would find.
But Lily (the third from the left in “The Beauty-girl’s Glide”)
Belonged to no clubs or committees, wasn’t noble at all ”

“ Travel, in dreams, the streets I knew
And roam from Greenwich Park to Kew.
I love to think of bland Pall Mall
(Where Charles made love to Pretty Nell)
And rich South Audley Street, and Wapping,
And Bond Street and the Christmas shopping,
Knightsbridge, the Inner Circle train,
And Piccadilly and Park Lane; [59]
Kensington, where “nice” people live
Who give you tea (top-hat) at five ”

“ Ma received him in the hall.
“I’m seventeen come Sunday, fol-de-lol,”
She trilled untruly, pouring out the tea
From leadless teapot into leadless cups.
Then, “fol-de-lol-de-fol-de-diddle-dee,”
—Handing nut tabloids to the waiting pups.
And more, about the “wraggle gipsies, O.”
Jones murmured, “Pray excuse me. I must go.
I think I am unwell ... the walk too much.
Proteid? No thank you. No, I never touch
Food before dinner ... I can find the door.”
He found it and he fled. Ah, never more!
[70]
Benevolence
Mrs. ”