Robert Graves

“ THE PROMISED LULLABY. Can I find True-Love a gift In this dark hour to restore her, When body's vessel breaks adrift, When hope and beauty fade before her? But in this plight I cannot think Of song or music, that would grieve her, Or toys or meat or snow-cooled drink; Not this way can her sadness leave her. She lies and frets in childish fever, All I can do is but to cry "Sleep, sleep, True-Love and lullaby!" Lullaby, and sleep again. Two bright eyes through the window stare, A nose is flattened on the pane And infant fingers fumble there. ”

“ If I were a young man With a brisk, healthy body, Oh, if I were a bold young man With love of rum toddy, Though I knew that I was spiting My old age with pain, My happy lip would touch and sip Again and again. If I were a young man With my bones full of marrow, Oh, if I were a bold young man Straight as an arrow, I'd store up no virtue For Heaven's distant plain, I'd live at ease as I did please And sin once again. ”

“ For like a nut for true love's sake My empty heart shall crack and break, When fancies fly And love goes by And Mary's left to die. When the sun turns against the clock, When Avon waters upward flow, When eggs are laid by barn-door cock, When dusty hens do strut and crow, When up is down, when left is right, Oh, then I'll break the troth I plight, With careless eye Away I'll fly And Mary here shall die. ”

“ May sudden justice overtake And snap the froward pen, That old and palsied poets shake Against the minds of men. Blasphemers trusting to hold caught In far-flung webs of ink, The utmost ends of human thought Till nothing's left to think. But may the gift of heavenly peace And glory for all time Keep the boy Tom who tending geese First made the nursery rhyme. By the brookside one August day, Using the sun for clock, Tom whiled the languid hours away Beside his scattering flock. Carving with a sharp pointed stone On a broad slab of slate The famous lives of Jumping Joan, Dan Fox and Greedy Kate. ”

“ Mary, alas, you've hit the truth, And I with grief can but admit Hot-blooded haste controls my youth, My idle fancies veer and flit From flower to flower, from tree to tree, And when the moment catches me, Oh, love goes by Away I fly And leave my girl to sigh. ”

“ Then speaking from his double head The glorious fearful monster said "I am YES and I am NO, Black as pitch and white as snow, Love me, hate me, reconcile Hate with love, perfect with vile, So equal justice shall be done And life shared between moon and sun. Nature for you shall curse or smile: A poet you shall be, my son." ”

“ They stamp and prance with sobbing breath, Victims of wine or love or death, In ragged time they jump, they shake Their heads, sweating to overtake The impetuous tune flying ahead. They flounder after, with legs of lead. Now, suddenly as it started, play Stops, the short echo dies away, The corpses drop, a senseless heap, The drunk men gaze about like sheep. Grinning, the lovers sigh and stare Up at the broad moon hanging there, While Tom, five fingers to his nose, Skips off...And the last bugle blows. ”

“ And Jesus said, "A riddle Answer if you can, Was man made for the Sabbath Or Sabbath made for man?" I do not love the Sabbath, The soapsuds and the starch, The troops of solemn people Who to Salvation march. I take my book, I take my stick On the Sabbath day, In woody nooks and valleys I hide myself away. To ponder there in quiet God's Universal Plan, Resolved that church and Sabbath Were never made for man. ”

“ Shines on our mysteries A sudden spark— "Dout the candle, glow-worm, Let all be dark. "The birds have sung their last notes, The Sun's to bed, Glow-worm, dout your candle." The glow-worm said: "I also am a lover; The lamp I display Is beacon for my true love Wandering astray. "Through the thick bushes And the grass comes she With a heartload of longing And love for me. "Sir, enjoy your fancy, But spare me harm, A lover is a lover, Though but a worm."
POT AND KETTLE. Come close to me, dear Annie, while I bind a lover's knot. A tale of burning love between a kettle and a pot. ”

“ They gaped with raucous beaks, they whirred Their noisy plumage; small but plain The lonely hidden singer made A well of grief within the glade. "Whist, silly fool, be off," they shout, "Or we'll come pluck your feathers out." Cry from the thicket my heart's bird! Slight and small the lovely cry Came trickling down, but no one heard. Parrot and cuckoo, crow, magpie Jarred horrid notes and the jangling jay Ripped the fine threads of song away, For why should peeping chick aspire To challenge their loud woodland choir? ”

“ A healthy mind, a honest heart, a wise man leaves Those ugly impious times to ghosts, devils, soldiers, thieves." Poor fool, knowing too well deep in his heart That he'll be ready again if urgent orders come, To quit his rye and cabbages, kiss his wife and part At the first sullen rapping of the awakened drum, Ready once more to sweat with fear and brace for the shock, To greet beneath a falling flare the jests of the clock. ”

“ No mice in the heath run nor no birds cry For fear of the dark speck that floats in the sky. He soars and he hovers rocking on his wings, He scans his wide parish with a sharp eye, He catches the trembling of small hidden things, He tears them in pieces, dropping from the sky: Tenderness and pity the land will deny, Where life is but nourished from water and rock A hardy adventure, full of fear and shock. ”

“ Old gods, shrunk to shadows, there In the wet woods they lurk, Greedy of human stuff to snare In webs of murk. Look up, else your eye must drown In a moving sea of black Between the tree-tops, upside down Goes the sky-track. Look up, else your feet will stray Towards that dim ambuscade, Where spider-like they catch their prey In nets of shade. For though creeds whirl away in dust, Faith fails and men forget, These aged gods of fright and lust Cling to life yet. ”

“ He first taught lovers how to kiss, He brings down sunshine after shower, Thunder and hate are his also, He is YES and he is NO. The black beard spoke and said to me, "Human frailty though you be, Yet shout and crack your whip, be harsh! They'll obey you in the end: Hill and field, river and marsh Shall obey you, hop and skip At the terrour of your whip, To your gales of anger bend." The pale beard spoke and said in turn "True: a prize goes to the stern, But sing and laugh and easily run Through the wide airs of my plain, Bathe in my waters, drink my sun, And draw my creatures with soft song ”

“ Where is the grey goat of old Hawk and Buckle, And what of pretty Nanny this hot summer weather? She stays not contented with little or with muckle, Straining for daisies at the end of her tether. For this is our motto at old Hawk and Buckle, We cling to it close and we sing all together, "Every man for himself at our old Hawk and Buckle, And devil take the hindmost this hot summer weather." ”

“ TO E.M.—A BALLAD OF NURSERY RHYME. Strawberries that in gardens grow Are plump and juicy fine, But sweeter far as wise men know Spring from the woodland vine. No need for bowl or silver spoon, Sugar or spice or cream, Has the wild berry plucked in June Beside the trickling stream. One such to melt at the tongue's root, Confounding taste with scent, Beats a full peck of garden fruit: Which points my argument. ”

“ Till though long lost are stone and slate, Though the brook no more runs, And dead long time are Tom, John, Kate, Their sons and their sons' sons. Yet as when Time with stealthy tread Lays the rich garden waste The woodland berry ripe and red Fails not in scent or taste, So these same rhymes shall still be told To children yet unborn, While false philosophy growing old Fades and is killed by scorn. ”

“ Old gods almost dead, malign, Starved of their ancient dues, Incense and fruit, fire, blood and wine And an unclean muse. Banished to woods and a sickly moon, Shrunk to mere bogey things, Who spoke with thunder once at noon To prostrate kings. With thunder from an open sky To peasant, tyrant, priest, Bowing in fear with a dazzled eye Towards the East. Proud gods, humbled, sunk so low, Living with ghosts and ghouls, And ghosts of ghosts and last year's snow And dead toadstools. ”

“ Then she explained it all How robbers kill the little boys And torture them and break their toys. Robbers are always big and tall: I cried: I was so small. How a man often kills his wife, How every one dies in the end By fire, or water or a knife. If you're not careful in this life, Even if you can trust your friend, You won't have long to spend. ”

“ Old Sergeant Smith, kindest of men, Wrote out two copies there and then Of his accustomed funeral speech To cheer the womenfolk of each.
HATE NOT, FEAR NOT. Kill if you must, but never hate: Man is but grass and hate is blight, The sun will scorch you soon or late, Die wholesome then, since you must fight. Hate is a fear, and fear is rot That cankers root and fruit alike, Fight cleanly then, hate not, fear not, Strike with no madness when you strike. ”

“ Crows perch upon the backs of sheep, The wheat goes yellow: women reap, Autumn winds ruffle brook and pond, Flutter the hedge and fly beyond. So the first things of nature run, And stand not still for any one, Contemptuous of the distant cry Wherewith you harrow earth and sky. ”

“ BRITTLE BONES. Though I am an old man With my bones very brittle, Though I am a poor old man Worth very little, Yet I suck at my long pipe At peace in the sun, I do not fret nor much regret That my work is done. ”

“ And lying in my bed that night Hungry, tired out with sobs, I found A stretch of barren years in sight, Where right is wrong, but strength is right, Where weak things must creep underground, And I could not sleep sound. ”

“ Heathen, how furiously you rage, Cursing this blood and brimstone age, How furiously against your will You kill and kill again, and kill: All thought of peace behind you cast, Till like small boys with fear aghast, Each cries for God to understand, 'I could not help it, it was my hand.'" SOSPAN FACH. (The Little Saucepan) Four collier lads from Ebbw Vale Took shelter from a shower of hail, And there beneath a spreading tree Attuned their mouths to harmony. ”

“ The other birds woke all around, Rising with toot and howl they stirred Their plumage, broke the trembling sound, They craned their necks, they fluttered wings, "While we are silent no one sings, And while we sing you hush your throat, Or tune your melody to our note." ”

“ Gulp down your wine, old friends of mine, Roar through the darkness, stamp and sing And lay ghost hands on everything, But leave the noonday's warm sunshine To living lads for mirth and wine. I met you suddenly down the street, Strangers assume your phantom faces, You grin at me from daylight places, Dead, long dead, I'm ashamed to greet Dead men down the morning street. ”

“ Love, Fear and Hate and Childish Toys Are here discreetly blent; Admire, you ladies, read, you boys, My Country Sentiment. ”

“ Tom, of your piping I've heard said And seen—that you can rouse the dead, Dead-drunken men awash who lie In stinking gutters hear your cry, I've seen them twitch, draw breath, grope, sigh, Heave up, sway, stand ”

“ Down on his knees he sinks, the stiff-necked King, Stoops and kneels and grovels, chin to the mud. Out from his changed heart flutter on startled wing The fancy birds of his Pride, Honour, Kinglihood. He crawls, he grunts, he is beast-like, frogs and snails His diet, and grass, and water with hand for cup. He herds with brutes that have hooves and horns and tails, He roars in his anger, he scratches, he looks not up. ”

“ Nancy "You can keep your pearls and your gold earring, And your bird of the East that will not sing, But, Ned, have you nothing more for me Than heathenish gew-gaw toys?" says she, "Have you nothing better for Nancy?"
THE WELL-DRESSED CHILDREN. Here's flowery taffeta for Mary's new gown: Here's black velvet, all the rage, for Dick's birthday coat. Pearly buttons for you, Mary, all the way down, Lace ruffles, Dick, for you; you'll be a man of note. ”

“ Nature for you shall curse or smile: A poet you shall be, my son." ”

“ Thick and scented daisies spread Where with surface dull like lead Arabian pools of slime invite Manticors down from neighbouring height To dip heads, to cool fiery blood In oozy depths of sucking mud. ”

“ And what of home—how goes it, boys, While we die here in stench and noise? ”

“ He is older than the seas, Older than the plains and hills, And older than the light that spills From the sun's hot wheel on these. He wakes the gale that tears your trees, He sings to you from window sills. ”

“ He wakes the gale that tears your trees, He sings to you from window sills. At you he roars, or he will coo, He shouts and screams when hell is hot, Riding on the shell and shot. He smites you down, he succours you, And where you seek him, he is not. To-day I see he has two heads Like Janus—calm, benignant, this ”