E. Nesbit

“ And through wet woods, all dripping, brown and sere,
I came one day towards the church again.
It was the spring-time of the day and year;
The sky was light and bright and flecked with cloud
That, wind-swept, changeful, through bright rents allowed
Sun and blue sky to smile and disappear.
The sky behind the old gray church was gray—
Gray as my memories, and gray as I;
The forlorn graves each side the grassy way
Called to me "Brother!" as I passed them by. ”

“ There's a little house by an orchard side
Where the Spring wears pink and white;
There's a garden with pansies and London pride,
And a bush of lad's delight.
Through the sweet-briar hedge is the garden seen
As trim as a garden can be,
And the grass of the orchard is much more green
Than most of the grass you see. ”

“ Garlands of rose-thorns, sharp with cold.
And we, by cosy fireside, muse
On what the Fates grant, what refuse; 130
And what we waste and what we use.
Summer returns—despite the rain
That weeps against the window-pane.
Who'd weep—'mid fame and golden gain—
For youth, that does not come again?
131
ROCHESTER CASTLE.
Blue sky, gray arches, and white, white cloud;
Gray eyes, white hands, and a free, white crowd
Of wheeling, whirling, fluttering things—
Pink feet, bright feathers, and wide, warm wings.
Thousands of pigeons all the year
Fly in and out of the arches here. ”

“ But oh! my red-roofed village—I should die with more content
Could I see again your gables, and the orchard slopes of Kent,
And the eyes that look out vainly, from a rose-wreathed cottage door,
For one who comes no more. ”

“ But in some wide green meadow-ground.
No stone upon me! Above all
Let no cold railing's shadows fall
Across my rest. Dead, let me be
What no one may be living—free.
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Let no one mourning garments wear,
And if you love me, shed no tear;
Don't weight me with a clay-built heap,
But plant the daisies where I sleep. ”

“ To watch at the orchard gate.
There are flowers by thousands these ball-rooms bear,
Fair blossoms, wondrous and new;
But all the flowers that a hot-house grows
I would give for the scent of a certain rose
That a cottage garden grew! ”

“ Nothing is living but Death!
"Oh for the old glad days,
Incense thick in the air,
Passion of thanks and of praise,
Passion of trust and of prayer!
Ah! the old days were fair,
Love on the earth was then,
Strong were men's souls, and brave:
Those men lie in the grave,
They will live not again! ”

“ TO WALTER SICKERT. (In return for a sight of his picture "Red Clover".)
There is a country far away from here—
A world of dreams—a fair enchanted land—
Where woods bewitched and fairy forests stand,
And all the seasons rhyme through all the year.
The greenest meadows, deepest skies, are there;
There grows the rose of dreams, that never dies;
And there men's heads and hands and hearts and eyes
Are never, as here, too tired to find them fair. ”

“ And the free, blithe birds 'neath the free, blue sky?
And now—O Time, how you work your will!
—The pitiless walls are standing still,
But the wall-flowers blossom on every ledge,
And the wild rose garlands the walls' sheer edge,
And where once the imprisoned heart beat low,
The beautiful pigeons fly to and fro!
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In the sad, stern arches they build and pair,
As happy as dreams and as free as air,
And sorrow and longing and life-long pain
Man brings not into these walls again ”

“ To a splendour of copper one way, of silver the other;
And longings one cannot smother,
And delight that sings through the brain,
Turn all one's life into glory—
'Tis the old new ravishing story—
The Spring's here again!
When the leaves grew red
And dead,
We said:
"See how much more fair
Than the green leaves shimmering
Are the mists and the tints of decay!" 122
In the dainty dreamings that lighted the gray November,
Did our hearts not remember
The green woods—and linnets that sing?
Ah, we knew Spring was lost, and pretended
'Twas Autumn we loved. Lies are ended ”

“ And all that remains to do.
To escape, yes, even from you,
My only love, and be
Alone, and free.
Could I only stand
Between gray moor and gray sky
Where the winds and the plovers cry,
And no man is at hand. ”

“ We fight for freedom and the souls of men—
Here, and not there, is fought and won our fight!
57
MOTHER.
A little room with scanty grace
Of drapery or ordered ease;
White dimity, and well-scrubbed boards,—
But there's a hum of summer bees,
The sun sends through the quiet place
The scent that honeysuckle hoards.
Outside, the little garden glows
With sun-warmed leaves and blossoms bright;
Beyond lie meadow, lane, and wood
Where trail the briony and wild rose,
And where grow blossoms of delight
In an inviolate solitude. ”

“ RUCKINGE CHURCH. "And we said how dreary and desolate and forlorn the church was, and how long it was since any music but that of the moth-eaten harmonium and the heartless mixed choir had sounded there. And we said: 'Poor old church! it will never hear any true music any more'. Then she turned to us from the door of the Lady Chapel, which was plastered and whitewashed, and had a stove and the Evangelical Almanac in it, and her eyes were full of tears. And, standing there, she sang 'Ave Maria'—it was Gounod's music, I think—with her voice and her face like an angel's. ”

“ Only when spring grows fair next year,
Even where sin and cities be,
I know what voices I shall hear,
And what white arms will beckon me.
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ON THE MEDWAY. I.
In summer evening, love,
We glide by grassy meadows,
Red sun is shining,
Day is declining,
Peace is around, above.
The poplar folds on high
Dark wings against the sky;
Through dreaming shadows
On we move,
Silently, you and I.
And seaward still we row,
By sedge and bulrush sliding,
Breezes are sending
Ripples unending
Over the way we go. ”

“ There was no scent of incense in the air,
No sense of all the past breathed through the aisle,
The white glass windows turned to mocking glare
The lovely sunset's gracious rosy smile.
A vault, a tomb wherein was laid to sleep
All that a man might give his life to keep
If only for an instant's breathing while! ”

“ Praise shall not pleasure thee then, nor pleasure laugh in thy days: 9
For as colour is not, without light, so happiness is not, without
Thy Brother, the Lord whom thou soldest—and the soul that thou hast cast out! ”

“ And he was poor in all save gold
Who gave the gold. By usury
Were gained his riches manifold.
We knew that? If we knew, we thought
'Tis good if men do good in aught,
And by good works may heaven be bought! ”

“ The grass is high—I know;
And the wind across the meadow is the same that used to blow;
But if my steps turned thither, on this golden first June day—
It would only be to count my dead—whom God has taken away.
That graveyard where the daisies grow—not yet my heart can bear
To pass that way—but oh, some day, some kind hand lay me there! ”

“ THE DEVIL'S DUE. A priest tells how, in his youth, a church was built by the free labour of love—as was men's wont in those days; and how the stone and wood were paid for by one who had grown rich on usury and the pillage of the poor—and of what chanced thereafter. ”

“ While women are dying of shame, and children are crying for bread.
For what wilt thou sell thy soul?
"For the world." And what shall it profit, when thou shalt have gained the whole? 8
What profit the things thou hast, if the thing thou art be so mean?
Wilt thou fill, with the husks of having, the void of the might-have-been? ”

“ The sun sinks in the west,
The daisies all have gone to sleep,
The birds are in the nest.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
The sky grows dark and deep,
The stars watch over all the world,
God's angels guard thy sleep.
50
II.
Wake, baby dear! ”

“ The rooks sail round its tower, and the plovers from the moor.
I used to see the daisies through the low-arched framing door,
When all the wood and meadow with June's sunshine were ablaze,—
Then the sun had ways of shining that it hasn't nowadays.
126
There are elm trees all around
Where the birds and bees in summer make a murmuring music-sound,
And on the quiet pastures the sheep-bells sound afar,
And you hear the low of cattle—where the red farm buildings are ”

“ Though still the skies are gray and dim:
"Old age comes never—Oh, rejoice—
Except to those who beckon him.
"All that youth's dreams are nourished by,
By that shall dreams in age be fed—
Thy noble dreams can never die
Until thyself shall wish them dead!" ”

“ THE MODERN JUDAS.
For what wilt thou sell thy Lord?
"For certain pieces of silver, since wealth buys the world's good word."
But the world's word, how canst thou hear it, while thy brothers cry scorn on thy name? ”

“ Between high banks where ranks of sedge and reeds
Sigh one sad secret all their quiet days,
Through grasses, water-mint and rushes green
And flags and strange wet blossoms, only seen
Where man so seldom comes, so briefly stays. ”

“ And pansies and daisies and phlox.
And the lawn was trim, and the trees were shady,
And all things were ready to greet my lady
On the Life's-love-crowning day
When she should come
To her lover's home,
To give herself to me.
I saw the red of the roses—
The royal roses that bloomed for her sake.
"They shall lie," I said, "where my heart's hopes lie:
They shall droop on her heart and die." 34
I dreamed in the orchard-closes:
"'Tis here we will walk in the July days,
When the paths and the lawn are ablaze ”

“ Until we know what thou wouldst have us do.
"Our arm is weak against the power of Persia,
The foe is strong, and our defences slender;
Yet, Lord, not yet have we been bold to render
Him who has come, a suppliant, to our gates." ”

“ Spoken with plovers wheeling overhead
In the gray pallor of the cheerless skies?
Is it worth while to quarrel and upbraid,
Life being so little and love so great a thing?
The price of all life's follies has been paid
When we, true lovers, fall to quarrelling.
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Here is the churchyard ”

“ Bear half asleep the sunshine and the rain;
They wait, so long have waited, for the hour
When the wild, welcome sea shall come again.
The lovely lights across the marshes pass,
The dykes grow fair with blossom, reed and sedge;
The patient beasts crop the long, cool, green grass,
The willows shiver at the water's edge;
But the town sleeps, it will not wake for these.
The sea some day again will round it break,
Will surge across these leagues of pastoral peace,
And then the little town will laugh, and wake.
145
THE BALLAD OF THE TWO SPELLS.
"Why dost thou weep?" ”

“ Our will was water, matched with his;
Like water-spray he broke our will
And joined our lips in our first kiss. IV.
Look out! The stars are shining,
The dew makes gray the meadow!
The jasmine stars are twining
About your window bright ”

“ The Persian bids us yield—our hearts bid shield him,
What does Apollo bid his servants do?"
99
The Oracle replied—and straight returning
To Cymé ran the messengers fleet-footed,
Brought to the citizens the Sun-god's answer:
"Apollo bids you yield to Persia's will".
So when the men of Cymé heard the answer,
They set in hand at once to yield their suppliant,
But Aristodicus, loved of the city,
Withstood their will,—and thus to them spake he.
"Your messengers have lied—they have made merry
In their own homes, they have not sought Apollo ”

“ That we should yield our suppliant to the foe.
"Wait. I, myself, with others of your choosing,
Will seek the god, and bring you back his answer,
I would not yield the man who trusted Cymé—
What—is the god of baser stuff than I?" ”