A C KNOWL ED G M EN T S

Th e E ditor s a c knowle d g m ents

’
for t he u se of c op yright
m aterial ar e to d ue

Mr R ob ert B ri d ges for a p oem from , Sho r t P o em s ( Geo . B el l

and Sons ) .

Mr E d ward Marsh for

a p oe m from R up ert B rooke s 1 9 1 4
,
’
,

a nd Other P o em s
( Si d gw i ck a nd Ja ckson ,

Mr W H D a vies for a p oem from The B ird of P arad ise

. .
,

a nd Other P o e ms ( Met huen a nd C o .

,

Mr Wal te r d e l a Mare for a p oem fr om The Liste ne rs ( C on

,

stable a nd C o .
,

Mr R L G ales for a p oe m from A P o sy of F o lk So ng

. .
,

( Herbert and D aniel ) .

Mr Wi l fri d Wi lson G i b son for a p oe m from F riends ( E lkin ,

Mathew s ) .

Mr E dm un d Go sse for a p oem fro m Co lle cte d P o ems ( Wm

,
.

H einemann ) .

C ap ta in R ob ert G raves for a p oem from Over the Brazier ,

( The P oetry B ooks hop ) .

Lord D unsany for a p oe m fro m F ran c is Le d wid ge s L as t

,
’

Songs ( H er b ert Jenk ins ,

Mr John Mase fi e ld for p oems from P o ems a nd B allads and

,

Salt Wa ter B alla ds ( E lki n Mat he w s ) .

Mrs Meynell for a p oem from A F a ther of Wo m en ( B urns

,

and Oates ) .
 ’
6 d e hno w/e a
gme nt s

Mr H arold Monro for a p oem R l P r p rty

, , ea o e .

Sir H enry N ewb olt for a p oem from P m N

, oe s ew a nd Old
M
( J ohn urray) .

Mr R ob ert N i h ol s , c for a poem .

Mrs P atm ore , for a p oem from C ove ntry P a t m o re s

’
C o llecte d
P o ems ( G e o B ell . and Sons ) .

Mr J C Sq uire f r
. .
,
o a p oem f om
r P o e ms —F irs t Se r ies
( Mart in S k ) ee er .

Mr W J Turner for a
. .
, p oe m from The H unte r and Other
P o ems ( Si d gwick a nd J ackson ,
 C O N TEN T S
Intro duc ti o n
’
Editor s

The R eaper William Wo rdswo rt h

The P lough Ric hard H e nry H o rne
The Windmill Ro be rt Br idge s
Wilfr id Wilson G ibso n
'

The Ice Cart

J ohn Anderson my Jo Ro be rt Burns
The Temptation of
Saint Anthony R L G a le s . .

Had I a Golden Pou nd Fra nc is Le d widge

Mrs Wi llo w J o hn Dr inkwa te r
The So l d ier Rup e rt B ro o ke
The Toys C o v e ntry P atm ore
Plaint of an Humb le
Servant Ro be rt N ic ho ls
The Moon W H D av ie s . .

The Wild Duck J o hn fil asefi e ld

Star Talk Ro bert Grav e s
Hi s Prayer to Ben
J ons on Ro be rt Herr ick
Romance W J Turne r . .

Arabi a Wa lt er de la [Wa re
With a Copy of H e rrk k Edm u nd G osse
O n Ma h c m Hil l J o hn Al asefie ld
To His Dea l God Ro be rt He rr ic k
B y the Se a l l zll za m l l
The Passionate Shc p h c rd

to H is Love C hr istop he r Jl a rlo we

To Hi s Love Will iam Shake sp e a re
My Lady Greensleeves A no nym o us
8 C o nt e nt s

Ro be rt Burns
’
The B anks 0 D oon
Song Tho m as C a re zc
A Re d Re d R ose
,
Ro be rt Burns
‘
The Glories of our
J am e s Shirle y
’
B lood and State
Dirge from Cymbeline William Shake spe are
Heraclitus William C o ry
Sonnet William Shake sp e are
E aster Ni ght A lice M eyne ll
The Ship J . C . S qu ire
Real Property Haro ld M o nro
To Meado w s Ro be rt H errick
Ode to the West “ i nd P e rcy Bysshe She lley
Ode to Autumn J o hn Ke ats
A Thanksgi v ing for
His House
'
Ro be rt H errick
E legy w ritten in a
Country Churchyard T ho m as Gr ay
Autumn J o hn C lare
The Garden A ndre w M arv e ll
Yattendon H e nry N e wbo lt
The S cholar Gipsy atthe w A rno ld

List o fA uthors

Index o
f F ir st Lines
 IN T RO D U C T IO N
TH E H ISTORY OF E N G LISH P O E T RY .

YO U have been reading poetry from these books for

no w

three years and I have already talked to you a li ttle of

,
’
the nature of poetry and its meani ng for us of the poet s ,

metho ds and of the wa y in which tradition and ne w life

,

combine to give poetry its po w er It may interest you to .

kno w something of the actual history of poetry i n thi s

c ountry and this again will help you to make the pleasure
,

that you get i n reading a clearer and more orderly thing

i n your minds To write anyt hi ng like a complete account
.

of the progress of E nglish poetry through six hundred

‘

years or so would take a large vol u m e instead of a fe w

pages but i t may be possible to give you a si mple outline
,

that you can easily carry about in your memory w ithout

confusing a very import ant thing w hich i s the appre cia ,

ti on of poetry w ith a very un important thing w hi ch i s

, ,

t he learning of dry facts about it .

The fir st great poet then who wr ote in the E nglish

, ,

l anguage as w e kno w it to day was Geo ffrey Chau cer who

-
, ,

i s someti mes called the father of E ngli sh poetry In his .

‘

verses w hi ch sho w a mastery of words that has never

,

been ex c elled he told stories that are among the best

,

that ha v e ever been told When a little later on you .

begin to read them for your selves you wi ll find them full ,

’
of beauty and amusement for Chaucer s humour wa s as ,

great as h i s passion Then for nearly t wo hundred years

.
,

althoug h poet ry never died and was someti mes served ,

by s uch admi rable po ets as Sir Thomas Wyat t and the

E arl of Surrey there was no very ri ch peri od and Chaucer
, ,

remained a great and so litary figure i n the art It w as not .

unti l to w ards the end of the si xt eenth century or ,

9
I0 Int r o duc t io n

something over three hund red years ago t hat a large group ,

of poe ts began to work together to w ards making E nglis h

poetry the thi ng of which we sho ul d be prouder than of
anything tha t o ur country has gi ven to the world It .

was then that Chri stopher Marlo w e and E dmund Spenser

and Ben J onson and William Shakespeare walked about
the streets of London and w rote the poem s and plays
,

that have gro w n even more w onderful as the years have

gone by until to day they seem as much a part of an
,
-

E nglishman s li fe as his ri vers and counti es With these

’
.

great ones w ere a host of others —it w ould be easy to

name t wenty—who shared the i nspiration and added to
the glory of what we call the E lizabethan age .

From that ti me the full ti de of E ngl ish poetry has

moved on unchecked do wn to our o wn day It i s di ffi cult .
,

and not very useful to say exactly after E li zabeth s tim e

,
’

where one peri od of poetry ended and another began but ,

the nex t great poet after Shakespeare to stand out i n

supremacy was John Milton who wa s born about t he
,

ti me that Shakespeare died The E lizabethans had been

.

tremendously interested i n t he daily life about them and ,

even i n their most tragic passions there is a certain intimacy

of detai l that makes us remember that they w ere men
like ourselves puzzled and a nxious and brave and excitedly
,

happy by turns . But Milton who was blind fo r a long

,

term of his li fe maki ng hi s greatest poem s out of hi s

,

med itati on upon God s dealings with the w orld and men
’

that he had created seemed to move i n a serene almost

, ,

untroubled mastery of thought and that i s why he is so ,

consoling a poet to go to when we find life and the affairs

of me n most di ffi cult and uni ntel li gible H e g i ves us then
.

m e t hing of his o wn nob l e i magination w it h which to

r ise above t he n arro w w ays of our lesser vision And j u s t .
Int r od uc t io n I I

w hen this poet was creating the s ublimest world i n all

poetry where gods and angels and devils embodied the
,

highest imagini ngs that the human mind could conceive ,

others notably Robert Herri ck w ere writi ng exqui site

, ,

lyrics of the countrysi de and the simple fortunes of men .

Alexander Pope and John Dryden the poets who ,

follo w ed Milton w ere the masters of a period i n poetry;

,

w hen a curious w eakness of the age expressed itself ,

naturally enough i n the w ork of the poets In life what

, .

w e call good manners are the superficial token of fine

character and when there i s no fine character behind
,

them they become false and silly not being real l y good
, ,

manners at all but i mitation good manners N o w it

,
.

w ould be quite unj ust to say that there was no fine

character i n the age of Pope and Dryden or that there i s ,

no nobility i n the w ork of these poets and thei r fello w s ,

but it i s a fac t that people at that time di d often make the

mistake of supposing that good manners w ere a s u fficient
occupation i n themselves instead of realising that they
,

could never exi st at all unless they w ere merely t he

i ncidental result of fm e character And so they often .

gave themselves up to trivialities o f life and i n their ,

w orship of good manners w ere apt to get no farther than

foo li sh and affected manners and thi s confusion i n some
,

m easure reflected itself i n the poetry of the time But .

w hile w e find i n the w ork of such poets as Pope a m e c ha ni ,

cal correctness o f form and a conventi onality of thought

that i s sometim es tiresom e w e must remember t hat w e
,

have only to make a little allo wance for this to discover

that they too are carrying on the great tradition of
, ,

poetry w ith persona l and endu ri ng genius .

Coming no w to the end of the eighteenth and t he begi n

ning of t he nineteenth century to which w e a re led from
,
I2 Int r od uc t io n

Pope by men such as Thomas Gray and Willi am Blake

through a t ime not very rich i n poetry w e have a s econd ,

great floweri ng of E nglish song as w onderful almost as ,

that other one of E lizabethan day s Here we find William .

Words w orth Samuel Taylor Coleri dge Lord Byron

, , ,

Robert B urns Percy Bys she Shelley and John Keats

, ,
.

wi th others whose names are hardly less famous These .

men it need not be said wrote each in hi s own strongly

, ,

di stincti ve way but they all w orked under some common

, ,

i mpulse and without realising that they were wor king

to the same end towards taking poetry b a ck fro m the
,

conventional habits of an artifici al society t o the simpli city

of nat ure and the fundamental emotions of life They .

belonged to an older country than the E lizabethans and ,

the fierce tragic passion o f the earl ier poets seems perhaps
to gi ve way to a deep and w istful but always splendi dly
courageous tenderness in these later men but the i nspira ,

tion of poetry run s as strongl y as ever a nd there i s no

w eariness nothin g but magnificently rene w ed vigour
,
.

And then came the poets of yesterday poets whom your ,

fathers and grandfathers can remember a s being ali v e

Alfred Tennyson Robert Bro wni ng Matthew Arnold
, , ,

Algernon Charles S winburn e Wi lliam Morri s Dante , ,

Gabriel Rossetti and the rest all of them increasing the

, ,

riches of E ngli sh poetry do w n to our o wn time Nor as .

,

you will have found in reading these books did the making ,

of poetry stop yesterday It s till goes on to day an d there

.
-
,

are poets writing no w w hose names you wi ll remember

when you are old men and w omen as those other names ,

have been remembered by our fathers before us And .

when they too have gone poetry w ill find n ew imagina

,

ti ons i n which to work its never dying will -

.

1 91 9
. J O HN D R INK WAT ER .
 Way of Q D
oe t i /
j
B OOK Iv

TH E RE AP E R

B E HOLD her single i n the field

, ,

Yon solitary Highland lass "

R eaping and singing by hersel f
Stop here or gently pass "
,

Alone s he cuts and bi nds the grain ,

And sings a melancholy strai n ;

0 li sten "for the vale profound
Is overflo wi ng with the sound .

No nightingale di d ever chant

More w elcome notes to w eary ban d s
O f tra v ellers i n some shady haunt ,

Am ong Arabian sands

’
A voi ce so thrilling ne er was heard
In spring time from the cuckoo bi r d
- -
,

Breaking the silence of the seas

Among the farthest Hebrides .

Will no one tell me she sm gs ?

what
Perhaps the plainti ve numbers flow
For old unhappy far off things
, ,
-
,

And battles long a go

I3
 f
o P o e t ry

Or is it some more humble la v ,

Fami l iar matter of to day ? -

Some natural sorro w loss or pain

, , ,

T hat has been and may be agai n ?

,

Whate er the theme the mai den sang

’

As i f her song could have no ending ;

I sa w her singing at her w ork ,

’
And o er the si ckl e bending ;
’
I listen d moti onless and still ;
,

And as I mounted up the hil l

, ,

The m usic i n my heart I bore ,

Long after it was heard no more .

WILLI A M WO R DS W O R TH .
The Way of P o e t ry 1 5

TH E PLOUGH

A BO V E yon sombre s w ell of land

Thou see st the da wn s g ra ve orange hue
’ ’

With one pale streak like yel lo w sand ,

And o v er that a vei n Of blue .

The ai r 13 cold abo v e the woods

Al l silent i s the earth and sky ,

E xcept with his o wn lonely moods

The blackbird holds a colloquy .

O ver the broad hill creeps a beam ,

’
Like hope that gilds a good man s bro w ;
And no w ascends the nostril stream
-

Of stal wart horses c o m e to pl ough .

Ye rigi d Ploughmen bear i n mi nd

,

Your labour i s for f uture hours

Ad v a n ce — spare not— nor look behi nd
Plough deep and straig ht w ith all yo u r po wers .

R ICH A RD H E N R Y H O R N E .
 The Way of P oe t ry
TH E WINDM ILL

TH E gr een corn waving i n t h e dale ,

The ripe grass waving on the hill

I lean across the paddock pale
And gaze upon the gi ddy mill .

Its hurtli ng sails a mighty s weep

_

’
Cut thr o the air " with rushi ng sound
Each strikes in fury down the steep ,

Rattles and whirls i n chase around

, .

B esi de hi s sacks the miller stands

On high w ithin the open door
A book and pencil i n hi s hands ,

’
Hi s grist and meal he reckoneth o er .

Hi s tireless merry slave the wi nd

, ,

Is busy with his work to day -

’
From whencesoe er he comes to gri nd
He hath a will and kno w s the way .

He gives the creaki ng sails a spi n ,

The circling millstones faster flee ,

The shuddering timbers groan w ithi n ,

And do w n the shoot the meal runs free .

The miller giveth him no thanks ,

And doth not much his work o e rlo o k ’

He stands beside the sacks and ranks

,

The figures i n hi s dusty book .

ROB E R T B R ID G E S .
The [Fay f
o P o e t ry 17

THE I C E CA RT

PE RCH E D on my city o ffi c e stool -

I watched with en vy while a co ol ,

And lucky carter handled i ce .

A nd I w as w anderi ng i n a tri ce ,

Far from the gray and grimy heat

O f that i ntolerable street ,

O er sapphire berg and emerald flo c

’

Be ne at h t he sti ll col d ruby glo w ,

Of everlasting Po l ar night ,

B e w ildered by the queer half light -

,

Until I stumbled unawares , ,

Upon a creek where big white bears

Pl unged headlong do w n w ith flouri shed heels ,

And flo und e r e d after shining seals

Through s hi vering seas of blinding blue .

And as I w atched them ere I kne w , ,

’
I d stripped and I wa s s wi mming t oo
, , ,

Among the seal pack young and hale -

, ,

A nd thrus t ing on with threshi ng tail ,

With t wi st and t wirl and sudden leap

Through crackli ng i ce and salty deep
D ivi ng and doubling with my ki nd ,

Until at last we left behi nd

, ,

Those bi g w hite blunderi ng bulks of death

, ,

And lay at length wi th panting breath

, ,

Upon a far untravelled fl o e ,

B eneath a gentle drift of sno w

Snow drifting gen t ly fine and white , ,

O ut of t he endl e s s Polar night ,

Falling and falling evermore

Upon t ha t fa r untrave lled shore
‘
,

B K IV. .
 "
The Pl /
a y of P o e t ry
l
T l I w a s buried fathoms deep
i
Beneath that co l d white drifti ng s l eep
,

Sleep dri fting deep ,

Deep dri fting sleep .

The c arter cracked a s u dden w hi p

I c l ut c hed my stoo l wi th startled grip ,

A w akening to the gri my heat

Of t hat intolerable street .

WIL F R I D WILS O N G IBS O N .

J OHN AND E RS ON MY JO

JO HN
A ND E R S O N my jo J ohn , .

When we were first acquent

Your locks w ere like the ra v en
Your bonnie bro w was brent ;
B ut no w yo ur bro w i s beld J ohn , ,

Yo u r locks are like the sno w ;

B ut blessings on your frosty po w ,

J ohn Anderson m y jo .

J ohn Anderson my jo J ohn , ,

We c la m b the hi ll thegit her

°

And mony a canty day John , ,

’
VV c v e had wi ane anither
’

N o w we maun totter do wn J o hn . ,

’
B ut hand i n hand we ll go ,

And sl eep thegither at the foot ,

J ohn Anderson my jo .

ROBE R T B U RN S .
The [Wa
y o
f P o e t ry 1
9

TH E T E MP TATION OF S AINT A N THONY

A d
( ap te d fro m an Old Fr
e nc h C hanson .
)

G OBLINS came on mi schief bent , ,

To Saint Anthony i n Lent .

‘
Come y e gobli ns sma ll and bi g
, , ,

We w i l l ki ll the hermit s pig ’

.

While the good monk mi nds his book

‘

We the hams will cure an d cook .

Whi le he goes do w n on hi s knees

‘

We will fry the sausages .

'

fl hil e
‘
he on hi s breast doth bea t
We w i ll gril l t he t ender feet .

‘
D a v i d s Psal ms doth sing
\V li il e he
’

we w il l all to tab l e bring .

’

0 11 hisknees w ent Anthony

To thos e imps of B arbary .

Good ki nd gobli ns spare hi s l i fe

‘
, , ,

He to m e i s child and w i fe .

‘
He i ndeed is good and mi ld
As t w ere any c hri som c hild
’
.

‘ —
IIe
i s my feli ci ty ,

Sp a re oh spa re my pig to
,
me
 The fl P o e t ry
’
a
y

B ut the pig they di d not spare ,

’
Di d not heed the hermit s prayer .

They the hams di d cure and cook ,

Still the good Sai nt read his book .

When they fri ed the sausages

Stil l h e rose not from hi s knees .

When they grilled the tender feet

He ceased not his breast to beat .

They di d all to table bring ,

He for grace the Psalms di d si ng .

A ll
at once the morning broke
From hi s dream the monk a w oke .

There i n the ki nd lig ht of d ay

Wa s t he l ittle pig at pl ay .

R . L G A LE s
.
.
The 11 ny f P o e t ry
‘

o 2 1

H A D I A GO L DE N P O UND

HA D I a gol den pound to spend ,

My love shoul d mend and se w no more

And I would buy her a little quern ,

E a sv to turn on the kitchen floor .

An d fo r
her w i ndo ws c urtains white
With birds i n flight and flo wers In bloom ,

To face with pride the road to to w n

And mel low down he r su nl it r oom .

A nd with the sil v er change we d prov e

’

’
The truth of Love to l ife s o wn end ,

“ ith heart s the years co ul d but embo l den

l
,

Had I a golden pound to s pend .

F R A N CIS LE D W I D G E .
2 2 The Way of P oe t ry
MRS WILL O W

MRS T HO M A S WILLO W seems v e ry gl um ,

.

Her li fe perhaps i s v ery lonel y and hum drum

, ,
-
,

Digging up potatoes cleaning out the weeds , ,

’
Doing the little for a lone woman s needs .

Who wa s her husband ? How long ago ?

What does she won der ? What does she kno w ? ‘

Why does she listen over the wall ,

Morning and noon time and t wilight and all

-
,

A s though unforgotten were some footfall ?

‘
Good morning Mrs Willo w
-
,
G ood morning si r .
’ ‘
-
, ,
’

Is all the conversation I can get from her .

And her path stones are w hite as lilies of the w ood

-
,

And she washes this and that till she must be very good .

S he sends no letters and no one calls , ,

And she doesn t go w hispering beyond her walls ;

’

No t hing in her garden i s secret I t hink ,

T ha t s all sun bright w ith foxglove and pi nk

’
-
,

A nd she doesn t hover round Ol d cupboards and shel v es

’

A s o ld peop l e do who have buried themsel ves '

She h a s no late lamps and she digs all day ,

A nd po l ishes and plants i n a common wa y ,

B ut glum she is and she l istens no w and t hen

,

Fo r a footfall a footfall a footfall again

, , ,

’ ’
And w hether i t s hope or w hether it s dread , ,

Or a poor old fancy i n her head ,

I s ha ll never be told ; it will never be said .

J O HN DR I N KW A T E R .
The l i ay f P
‘

oe t r y 2
o
3
TH E S OLDI E R .

IF I sho u ld die think only this O f me

,

’
That there s some corner of a foreign field
That i s for ever E n gland There shall be .

In that ri ch earth a ri cher dust concealed ;

A dust whom E ng la nd bore s hape d made a wa re , , ,

Gave once her flo w ers to lo v e her w avs to roam

, , , ,

A body of E n gland s breat hing E nglish a i r

’
,

l V a she d by the ri v ers blest by s u ns of hom e , .

And think this heart all evil s hed a w ay

, , ,

A pulse i n the eternal mind no less ,

Gi ves some where back the thoughts b v E ngland gi v en ;

Her sights and soun ds ; dreams happy as her d a v ,

And laughter learnt of fri ends ; and gentleness

, ,

In hearts at peace under an E ngl i s h heaven

,
.

RU PE RT B R O O K E .

TH E TOYS

NIv little son who lo o k d from t houghtf ul eves

’
’

A nd moved and spoke i n quiet gro wn u p w ise -

,

Havi ng my la w the se v ent h time d iso b e y d ’

,

I struck him and d ism iss d

,
’

“ ith hard w or d s and u nkiss d

7 ’

His mother w ho w a s p ati ent being dead

, ,

Then fearing lest hi s gri ef should hinder sleep

, ,

I visited his bed ,

B ut found him sl u m b ering d ee p ,

l V it h d a r kc n d eyelids and t hei r lashes yc t

’
,
7- 4

Fro m hi s late sobbing wet

’
.

And I with moan , ,

Kissing away h is te ars left others of my own ,

For on a table drawn beside hi s head

, ,

He had put within his reach , ,

’
A box of counters and a red vei n d s t one,
-
,

A piec e Of glass abraded by the beach ,

And six or seven shells ,

A bottle with bl uebells ,

And t wo French copper coins ranged t here wi th careful ,

art ,

To comfort his s ad heart .

’
S o when that night I pray d
To God I w ept and sai d " , ,

Ah when at l as t w e lie with tranced breat h

, ,

N o t vexi ng Thee i n death ,

And thou rememberest of what toys

We made our j oys ,

How weakly understood

Thy great commanded good ,

Then fatherly not less

,

Than I whom Thou hast moulded from t he clay ,

’
Thou lt leave Thy wrath and say , ,

’
‘
I wi ll be sorry for thei r childishness .

C O V E NTR Y P A T M O RE .
The l f ay f P o e t ry
’
2
o
5
P LA I NT O F AN H UM BL E S ER VAN T

( Fo r Edwa r d E lga r)
O L O R D who didst create all things
,

That run 0 11 legs or rise on wi ngs ,

l i ho i n Thy equal care of all

'

’
Dost no less mark the sparro w s fal l
Than of great sinner or great sai nt ,

Li sten and j udge Lord this my plai nt

, , , .

Thou who di dst mould the l i on an d lamb

Thou sees t of w hat shape I am ;
Not lovely as those creatures ar e ,

But ga wky rude familiar

, ,

In every field and market place -

The ja c kie st j ackass of my race .

Not much i s it that i s implored

By thi s Thy creature of my Lord
I do not ask that Thou shouldst change
That w hi ch to His eyes wa s not stran g e
When on my grandad grandad s hide -
’

’
Thy Son t ward Z ion deig ned to ride
B ut Lord — came it of w isdom dark ,

Or that Thy hand di d cease to m a rk

That w hi ch i t m ade ( through w earines s
Of f ashioning beasts great an d less )
Thou hast 0 11 me Thy hapless j a de
, ,

Another heavy burden l a id .

For U pon Saints da y s ’

w hen I s t and
Hol id a y m aking—t wix t
,

-
t he sand
O f the bri ght f oreshore a nd t he s t eeple ,
 The Way of P o e t ry
Whereunder cro w d the stiff starched people -

To pay Thee homage ea c h great c ar ,

Must a heavenly c horus hear

First overhead ting tang the bells -
,

Then i n the aisle t he organ s we lls ,

Prai s ing T hee Lord ti ll deep and strong

, ,

The happ y folk take up the song ,

Ti ll t he gay birds outsi de too raise ,

A s weet wild shrilling song of praise

, .

Mark then w hat grief Lord must be mi ne

, , ,

Who do not find T hee less divine

For dared I also raise my voi ce ,

That w ith the throng 1 might rej oi ce

A h "what a hell of sound I draw
Who can but sing He e Haw Hee H aw ‘
- -

O grief "O shame "on every bush

The pert birds scold or bi d me hush
And—worst of all—m y master hies
,

Out from the church w ith angry crie s ,

And s ave I forthwith cease his sti ck

, ,

Descen d s upon me fast and thi ck .

Lo rd fi

la st — j ust
t his " at thy behest
’
All s done as seemeth to T hee best ,

Old Balaam had an ass w hi ch spoke ,

May not another of that folk ?

Were it not but a little thi ng
To Thee to let a j ackass sing
No l ess than proud sinner or poor s ain t ?
That i s all Lord T hus en d s my plai nt
,
. .

R OB E R T N ICHOLS .
Th Way of P o e t ry 2 7

THE MO ON
TH Y beauty haunts me heart and soul ,

Oh thou fai r Moon so close and bright ;

,

Thy beauty makes me like the child

That c rie s aloud to o wn thy light
The little c hi l d that lifts each arm
To press thee to her bosom w arm .

Though there are birds that sing t hi s night

With thy w hite beams acro ss their throats ,

Let my deep silence speak for me

More than for them their s w eetest notes
Who w orships thee till musi c fails
Is greater t han thy nightingales.

W H D AV I E S
. . .
 The Way of P o e t y r

TH E WI LD DUC K
T W I LI G HT Re d i n the West
. .

D imness A glow on the wood

. .

'

The teams plod home to rest .

The w ild duck com e to glean .

O souls not understood ,

What a w i ld cry i n the pool ;

What things have the farm ducks seen
That they cry so huddle and cry ?-

Only the soul that goes .

E ager E ager Flying

. . .

O ver the globe of the moon ,

Over the wood that glo w s .

Wings linked Necks a strain

.
-
,

A rush and a w ild crying .

A c rvof the long pain

In t he ree d s of a steel lagoon ,

In a land that no man kno ws .

J O HN M A S E FI E LD .
The l l /
a y of P o e t r y 2
9

STA R TAL K .

‘
A REa wa ke G emelli
yo u , ,

’
This frosty night ?
We ll be aw ake ti ll r"
‘ ’
veill " ,

’
l V hic h i s Sunri se
'
say t he Gemelli ,
’
It s no good trying to go to sleep
‘

’
If there s w i ne to be got w e ll drink it
’

B ut rest i s hopeless to night -

But rest i s hopeless to —

,

’
night .

‘
Areyou c old too poor Pleiads , ,

’
This fr os t y night ?
‘
Yes and so are the Hyads
,

’
us cuddle and hug say the Pleiads , ,

‘
A ll six in a ring " it keeps us w arm
huddle together like birds i n a storm
’
It s b itter weather to night -
,

’ ’
It s bitter weather to night -
.

‘
What do you h u nt O rion , ,

Thi s starry night ?’

The Ram the Bull and the Lion

‘
, , ,

’
And the Great Bear says Orion , ,

With my starry quiver and bea utif ul

‘

I am t rying to find a good thick pel t

To w arm m y s ho ul d ers to night -
,

’
To w arm my sho uld ers to night -
.

Did you hear that Great She h e ar

‘
-
, ,

’
This frosty night ?

‘ ’
Yes he s talkin g of stri pping m e ha re
,
’
Of my O wn big fur s a ys t he She bear ,
-
,
3 0 The Way t
y
‘
P o e t ry
‘
Im
’
the man and hi s terrible arro w
a fr a i
d y
of

thought of it ch ills my bones to the marro w ,

And the frost so cruel to night ' -

And the frost so cru el to night -

‘
Ho w i s your trade ,
A quarius ,

This frosty night ? ’

‘
Complai nts is many and various ,

’
And my feet are cold says Aquarius , ,

‘ ’
There s Venus obj ects to Dolphin scales -
,

And Mars to Crab spaw n found i n my pai ls

-
,

And the pump has frozen to night -

,

’
And the pump has frozen to night -
.

R OB E R T G R A V E S .
The l h ay of P o e t ry
‘

1
3

H IS P R AY E R TO B E N J ONSON

IV H E NI a verse shall make ,

’
Kno w I have pray d thee ,

’
For Old religion s sake ,

Sai nt Ben to ai d me , .

Make smoot h for m e

t he w a y ,

IV he n I t hy Herri c k
, ,

Honour ing t hee on my knee ,

O ffer my lyri c .

Candles I ll gi v e to thee
’

And a ne w altar ,

And thou S ai nt Be n shalt be

, ,

l V r it i n my Psalter .

R OB E RT HE R R IC K .

R OMANC E

\ V 1 1E N
I w as b ut t h i rteen or so
I w ent i nto a go lden land ,

C hi mborazo C otopaxi
‘

Took m e by the hand .

My father d ied my bro t her too , .

They passed like fleeting d re a ms ,

I stood where P o po e a t a pe t l
In t he s unlight gl eams .
 The kV ay o f P oe t ry

I dimly heard the master s voice ’

And boys far o ff at play -

,

Chimborazo Cotopaxi ,

Had stolen me away .

I w alked
i n a great golden dream
To and fro from school
'

Shining P o po c at ap e t l
The dusty streets di d rule .

I w alked
home w ith a gold dark boy ,
’
And never a w ord I d say ,

Chimborazo Cotopaxi ,

H ad taken my speech aw ay

I gazed entranced upon his face

Fairer than any flower
0 shl nl ng P o po c at ap e t l
I t was thy magi c hour

The houses people traffi c seemed

, ,

T hi n fading dreams by day ,

Chimborazo Co t o p ,

They had s tolen my soul a w ay "

W J T UR N E R . . .
The Way of P o e t ry 33

AR AB I A
FA Rare the shades of Ar abia ,

Where the Prin c es ride at noon ,

Mid the verdurous v ales and thi ckets

’
,

Under t he ghost of the moon ;

And so dark i s that vaulted purpl e
Flo w ers i n the forest ri se
’
And toss into blossom gainst the phantom st a rs
Pale i n the noonday ski es .

S w eet i s the musi c of Arabi a

In my heart w hen out of dreams ,

I still i n the thin clear mirk of daw n

D escry her gliding streams ;
Hear he r strange lutes on the green bank s
Ring loud w ith the gri ef and delight
Of the dim silked d ark haired Musi cians
-
,
-

In the brood ing silence of night .

They haunt m e —h er lutes an d her forests ;

No beauty on earth I see
B ut shado w ed w ith that d ream recalls
Her loveliness to me
S till eyes look coldly upon me ,

Cold v oi c es whisper and say

‘
H e i s crazed w ith t he spell o f far Arabia .

They have stolen hi s w its a way .

WA LT E R D E LA M A RE .

11 K . IV ,
 The Way of P o e t ry
WITH A COPY OF H E RRICK
F RE SH w ith all airs of w oodland brooks
And scents of S ho w ers ,

Take to yo u r haunt of holy books

This saint of flo w ers .

When meado w s burn w ith budding May ,

A nd heaven i s bl u e ,

Before his shrine our prayers we s ay ,

Saint Robin tr u e .

Love cro w ned w ith thorns i s on hi s staff ,

Thorns of s w eet brier ;

-

His benedi ction i s a laugh ,

Birds are hi s choi r .

His sa c red robe of w hite and re d

Unction di stils ;
He hat h a nimb us round hi s head
Of d affodi l s
.

D UND
E M G O SS E .
 ay o oe t r
y 35

ON MALV E RN H ILL
A W IND i s br ushing do wn the clover ,

It s weeps t he tossing branches b are ,

Blo w ing the poising Kestrel over

The crumb l ing ramparts of the Caer .

It w hir l s t h e
scattered leaves before us
Along the dusty road to home
O nce it a w akened into c horus
The heart strings in t he ranks of R om e
-
.

There by the gusty coppi ce border

The s hrilling trum pets broke the halt ,

The Roman lin e the R om an order

, ,

S w ayed for w ards to th e blind assaul t .

Sp earman and c harioteer and bo w man

Charged and w ere scattered i nto spray ,

Sa v age an d tacit u rn the Roman

He w ed up w ards i n the Rom an w ay .

There —in the t w ilight — w her e the cattle

m

Are lo w ing hom e across the fields ,

The beaten w arriors left t he battle

D ead on th e c lansm e n s w i cker shields
’
.

The lea v es w hirl in the W i nd s ri ot ’

’
Beneath the B eacon s j utting sp u r ,

Q uiet are clan and c hi ef and qui et,

Centurion and si gni fer .

J O H N MA S R FIE L D .
3 6 The Way o f P o e t ry
T O H I S D E A R GOD
’
I LL
hope no more
For things that wi ll not come
And if they do they prove but cumbersome ;
, ,

Wealth brings much w o e

A nd since it fortunes so
,

’
Ti s better to be poor ,

Than so abound ,

As to be dro wned ,

Or over w helmed with store .

Pale c a re avant " ,

’
I ll learn to be content
With that small stock Thy Bounty ,

What may conduce

To my most healthful use ,

Almighty God me grant ;

But that or thi s , ,

T hat hurtful i s ,

Deny t hy suppli ant .

ROB E R T HE RRICK .
The l l/
y of P o e t ry
a
37

BY TH E S E A
IT i s a beauteous evening calm and free
,

The holy time i s quiet as a Nun

Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranqui llity ;

’
The gentleness of heaven brood s o er the Sea
Listen "the mighty B eing i s aw ake ,

A n d doth w ith his eternal moti on make

A sound like thunder— everlasti ngly .

Dear chi ld "dear girl "that w alkest with me here ,

’
If thou appear unt o u e h d by solemn thought
Thy nature i s no t therefore less d ivi ne "

Thou l iest i n Abrah am s bosom all the year

’
,

’ ’
A n d wo rshipp st at the Temple s i nn er shrine ,

God being w ith thee w hen w e know it not .

WILLI A M WO RD SW O RTII .

PA S S IONAT E SH E PH E RD TO H IS LOV E
C O M E live w ith m e a nd be my Love ,

And w e w ill al l the pleasures prove

That hills and valleys dale and field
, ,

And all the c raggy mount a ins v ie ld .

There w ill we sit upon the ro cks

And see th e sh e p herds feed thei r flo c ks ,

By shallo w ri v ers to whose fal ls

,

Melodious bi rds sing mad rigals .

 The Wa y of

There w ill 1 make thee beds of roses

A nd a thousand fragrant posies ,

A cap of flowers and a kirtle

,

Em b r o id e r d a l l w ith leaves of myrtle

’
.

A go w n m ade of the finest w oo l ,

Which from our pretty lambs we pull ,

Fair lin ed slippers for the cold ,

With buckles of the purest gold .

A belt of straw and ivy buds

With coral C lasps and amber studs
And if these pleasures may thee move ,

Come li v e w ith me and be my Love .

l hy
‘
‘

silver dishes for thy meat

As precious as the gods do eat ,

Shall on an i vory table be

Prepared ea c h day for t hee and me .

Th e shepherd s w ains s hall d ance and sing

For thy delight each May morning
-

If these delights thy mind may mo v e ,

T hen l ive w ith me and be my Love .

C H R ISTO P H E R M A R LO WE .
The ”y f
a
f
o P oe t ry
39

TO HIS L OV E
“7 HEN
in the c hronicle of w asted time
I see descriptions of the fairest w ights ,

And beauty making beautifu l O l d rhyme

In prai se of lad ies dead and lovely knights ;
,

’
Then i n the blazon of s w eet bea u ty s best
Of hand of foot of lip of eye of bro w
, , , , ,

I see their a ntiq u e pen w o u ld h a ve e x pre st

Ev n such a beauty as you m aster no w
’
.

SO all their praises are but propheci es

Of this 0 111 time all you pre fi guring ;
‘

And for they look d b u t w ith d i v ining eyes

, ,

They had not skill enough vour w orth to sing

For w e w hi c h no w be hold these present days

, ,

Have eyes to w on der b u t lack tongues to prai se

,
.

WI LL IA M S HAK E S P E A R E .

MY LADY G R EEN SLEE‘ ES

A LAS "my lo v e yo u do m e w rong
,

TO cast me O ff d iscourteous l y ;
And I have lov ed yo u so lon g ,

Del ightin g i n yo u r c o m p a nv .

Greens lee v es w as a l l m y j oy "

Greens lee v es w as my de li g ht "
Greenslee v es w as my he a rt o f gold "
A nd w ho h ut m v L a d y Greens l ee v es
4 0 The Way of P o e t ry
I bought thee petti coats of the best ,

The cloth so fine as fine a s might be ;

I gave thee j e w els for thy chest
,

And all this cost I spent on thee .

Greensleeves w as all my j oy "

Greensleeves was my delight "
Greensleeves wa s my heart of gold
And who but my Lady Greens le e v es l

Thy smock of si lk both fair and w hite

, ,

With gold embroider e d gorgeously ;

Thy petti coat of sendal right
And these I bought thee gladly .

Greensleeves wa s all my j oy
Greensleeves was my d elight "
Greensleeves w as my heart of gold "
And w ho but my Lad y Greensleeves "

Greensleeves no w fare well "adieu

God I pray to prosper thee "
For I am still thy lover true
Come on ce again and love me "
Greensleeves w as all my j oy "
Greensleeves was all my delight "
Greens leeves w as my heart of go ld "
And w ho but my L a dy Greensleeves l
A NO N Y M OUS .
The l f ay
’
f
o P o e t ry 4 1

TH E BANKS O ’
D OO N
YE
’
flo w ery banks 0 bo ni e Doon ,

Ho w can ye blume sae fai r "

H o w can ye chant ye little birds , ,

And I sae fu 0 care " ’ ’

break my heart thou bo ni e bird

Tho u ll
’

, ,

That sings upon the bough ;

’
Thou minds m e o the happy days
When my fause Lu v e w as true .

Tho u ll
’
break my heart thou bon ie ,

That sings beside thy mate ;

For sae I sat and sae I sang
, ,

’
A nd w i st na 0 my fate .

Aft hae I roved by boni e Doon

To see the w oodbine twi ne ;
’
And ilka bird sang 0 its luv e ,

’
And sae di d I o m ine .

Wi lightsome heart I pu d a rose

’ ’
.

Frae aff its thorny tree

And my fause luv e r sta w the rose ,

But left the thorn w i m e ’

.

R OB E R T B UR N S .
 The Way of
S ONG
A SK me no more where Jove besto w s ,

When J une i s past the fading rose ;

,

For i n your beauties orient deep

These flo w ers as in their ca u ses S leep
, , .

Ask me no more w hither do stray

,

The golden atoms of the day ;

For in pure love heaven did prepare
, ,

Those po wders to enri ch your hair .

Ask me no m ore w hither doth haste

,

The nightinga le wh en May is past ;

,

For in your s w eet dividing throat

She w inters and keeps w arm her note
, .

Ask me no more w here those stars lig ht

, ,

That do w n w ards fa ll in d ead of n igh t ;

For i n your eyes they sit and there ,

Fixed become as i n t heir sp here

, .

Ask me no more i f east or west

, ,

The pho nix bui ld s he r spi cy n es t ;

e

For unto v o u at last she flies ,

And i n your f ragrant bosom d ies .

TH OMA S CA RE w .
T/ze Way o f P o e t ry 4 3

A RED ,
RED R OS E

0 M Y Luv e
’
like a red red rose
s ,

’
That s ne w ly sprung i n J un e
O my Lu v e s like the m elodi e
’

’ ’
That s s w eet ly pl ay d i n tune .

A fair a rt thou my bonie lass

s , ,

So deep i n Ia v e am I
A nd I w ill luv e t hee still my dear , ,
’
Till a the seas gang d ry "

Till a the seas gang dry my dear

’

, ,
’
And the rocks melt w i the sun ;
0 I w ill luv e thee still my dear , ,

While the sands 0 life shall run ’

.

R OB E R T B U R N S .
 T/ze fl f
’
a
y o P o e t ry

‘
THE G L O R I E S OF OU R BLOOD AND S T A T E ’

TH E glories of our blood and state

Are shado w s not substantial t hings ;
,

There i s no armour agai nst fate ;

Death lays hi s i cy hand on kings "
S ceptre and Crown
Must tumble do wn ,

And in the dust be equal made

With the poor crooked scythe and spade
’
.

Some men with s words may reap the fiel d ,

And plant fresh laurels where they k i ll

But their strong nerves at last must yield ;
They tame but one another still
E arly or late
They stoop to fate ,

And must give U p their murmuring b reath

\Vhen they pale captives creep to death
, , .

T he garlands w ither on your bro w

Then boast no more your mighty d eeds
Upon Death s p urple altar no w
’

See w here the vi ctor victim bleeds

-

Your heads m u st c o m e
To the cold tomb
Only t he actions of the j u st
Sme ll s weet and blossom i n thei r d ust
,
.

J A M E S S HI R LE Y .
T/ze Way of P o e t ry 4 5

D IRG E FROM CYMBELIN E

‘ ’

FE A R no more the heat 0 the sun ’

’
Nor the furious wi nter s rages ;
Thou thy w orldly task hast done ,

’
Home art gone and ta en thy wages
G olden lads and girls all must
As chimney s weepers c o m e to dust
-
, .

Fear no more the frow n o the great ’

,

’
Thou art past the tyrant s stroke ;
Care no more to clothe and eat ;
To thee the reed i s as the oak
The sceptre learning physi c must
, , ,

All follo w thi s and come to dust

, .

Fear no more the lightni ng flash -

Nor t he all dreaded thunder stone ;

- -

Fear no t slander censure rash ;

,

Thou hast fi nish d j oy and moan’

All lovers young all lovers must

,

Consign to thee and c o m e to dust

, .

‘V ILLIA M S H A K E S P E A R E .
4 6 T/ze Way of P o e zry ‘

H E RACLITUS
T H E Y told me Herac litus they told me you w ere dead
, , ,

They brought me bitter ne w s to hear and bi t t er te a rs

to shed .

I w ept as I remembered ho w often you and I

,

Had tired the sun w ith talking and sent hi m do wn the

sky .

And now that tho u art lying my dear old Cari an guest
, ,

A handful of gray ashes l ong long ago at rest

, ,

Still are thy pleasant vo i ces thy nightingales a w ake ;

, ,

For Death he taketh all aw ay but them he cannot take

, ,
.

WILLI A M C O R Y .

SONN E T
VVH E N t o
the sessions of s weet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past ,

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought ,

’
And w ith o ld woes ne w w ail my dear time s w aste ;

Then can I dro w n an eye unused to flo w , ,

’
For precious friends hid in death s dateless night ,

’
And w eep afresh love s long since c ane e ll d w o e
’
- -

’
And moan the expense of many a v anish d sight .

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone ,

’
And heavily from w o e to w o e te ll o er
The sad account of fore bemoan ed moan
-
,

Whi ch I ne w pay as if not paid before

B ut if t he w hile I t hi nk on thee dear fri en d , ,

A ll losses are restored and sorro ws e nd

,
.

WILLIA M S H A K E S P E A R E .
Toe Way of P o e fry 47

E AST E R NIGHT
A night had shout of men and cry
LL

Of w oeful w om en fil l ed His w ay ;
Until that noon of sombre sky
On Fri day clam our and display
,

Smote Him ; no sol itud e had H e ,

No silen c e sin ce G ethsemane

,
.

Publi c w as D eath ; but Po w er but Might , ,

B ut Life again but Vi ctory

, ,

Were hushed w ithin the dead of night ,

The shut t e r d dark the secrecy

’
,
.

And all alone alone alone

, ,

He ro se again behin d the stone .

A LIC E ME Y N E LL .
 T/ze W ay
f
o P o e t ry

TH E SHIP
T H E RE w a s no song nor sho ut of j oy
Nor beam of moon or sun ,

When she came back from the v oyage

Long ago begun ;
B ut t wi light on the w aters
Was quiet and gray ,

And she glided steady steady and pe nsive

, ,

O ver the open bay .

Her sai ls w ere bro w n and r agged ,

And her cre w hollow eyed -

,

B ut their silent l ips spok e content

And their shoulders pride ;
Though she had no capti ves on her deck ,

And in her hold

There w ere no heaps of corn or timber
Or silks or gold .

J C S Q UI RE . . .

R E AL P R OP E R TY
T e ll m e a bo u t fie ld
t ha t harve st
—
.

Oh "Fifty acres of living bread .

The colour has painted itself in my heart .

The form i s patterned in my head .

So no w I take i t e v e ry w here ;
Se e it w hene v er I look ro u n d ;
Hear it gro wing thro ug h every so un d ,
77 s Way of P o e t ry 49

Kno w exactly t he s oun d it makes

Remembering as one must all d ay
, ,

Under the pavement the live earth aches .

Trees are at the farther end ,

Lim es all ful l of the drowsy bee

So there must be a harvest field
Whenever one think s of a linden tree -
.

A hedge i s ro und it v e rv tall , ,

Hazy and cool and breat hing s weet .

Round paradise is su c h a “ a ll ,

And all the day in su c h a way , ,

In paradise the wild birds ca ll .

Yo u only need to close your eyes

A n d pass into yo ur secret mind ,

And you ll be in to paradi s e

’

I ve learnt quite easily to fi nd

’

Some linden trees and dro ws y bees

-
,

A tall s weet hedge w ith the co rn behi nd .

I w ill not ha v e that harvest mo w n

’
I ll keep the corn and leave the bread .

’
I ’
ve bought that field ; it s no w my o wn
I ’
ve fifty a c res i n my head .

I take it as a dream t o b e d .

I carry i t about al l d ay .

Sometimes w he n I have found a friend

I give a blade of corn a way .

H A R O LD M ON R O .

B K IV .
. D
S
O Toe Wa y of P o e t ry
TO M E ADO WS

YE have been fresh and green ,

Ye have been filled w i t h flo w ers ;

And ye the w alks have been
Where maids have spent th e ir hour s .

Ye have behel d how they

With wi cker ark s did c o m e
To kiss and bear away
The r cher cowslips hom e
i .

You ve heard them s weetly sin g

’
,

And seen them i n a ro und ,

E ach v irgin like a Spring

, ,

With ho n eysuckles cro w ned .

B ut we see non e h ere

no w

Whose silvery feet di d tread ,

And with di shevelled hair

Adorned thi s smoother mead .

Like unthri fts having spent

,

Your stock and needy gro wn

, ,

Yo u re left here to lament

’

Your poor estates alone .

R OB E RT HE RR IC K .
T/ze Way (j P o e t ry 5 1

ODE TO THE WE ST WIND

(1 )
O W ILD IV e st l V ind thou bre ath of Autumn s being
’
,
’
,

Tho u from w hose unseen presence t he lea v es dead

,

Are dri ven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing

, ,

Yello w and bl ack and pale and hecti c red

, , , ,

Pestilen ce stri cken multitudes " O thou

-

t o c h ar io t e st to thei r dark wintr y bed

The seed s where the y lie c o ld a nd lo w

wing ed . ,

E ac h like a c o rpse w i t hi n its grave unti l ,

Thine az u re s ister of the Spring shall blo w

Her c larion o e r the dreaming earth a nd fill

'

( Drivi ng s w eet bu d s l ike flocks to feed i n a ir )

With living h u es and odo u rs p l ain and hi ll "

V ild
V
Spirit w hi ch art moving e v ery where ;
’

Destroyer and Preserver ; hear oh hear " , ,

(2 )
’
Thou on w hose stream mid t he steep sky s commotio n
,
’

Loose c loud s like eart h s d ecayi ng leaves are shed ’

Shook from the tangled bou ghs of Hea v en and Ocea n ,

An g els of rai n and lightning " there are spread

On th e blue surface o f thin e airy surge ,

Like the bright hai r upli fted from the head

Of som e fier c e M ae n ad e v en f ro m t he d im verge

,

’
O f the hori zon to t he zenit h s height ,

The lo cks of t he approa c hing storm Tho u dirge .

 (M e Way of P oe t ry
‘

5 2

Of th e dying year to w h i ch this closing night

,

Will be the dome of a vast sepul chre ,

Vaulted w ith all thy congregated mi ght

O f vapours from who s e solid at mospher e

,

Bl ack rain and fire and hail w i ll burst " oh hear

, , ,
'

( )
3
Thou who did s t w aken fro m his su m m er dr e ams
The bhi e Med it er ranea n where he lay, ,

Lull d bv the co il of hi s cry s talline s treams

’

Beside a pumi ce isle i n Bai ae s bay ’

And s aw i n sleep old palaces and to w ers

’
Q u ivering wi thin the w ave s intenser day ,

All o v ergro wn with az ure moss and flowers

So sweet the sense fain t s pi c t uring them
, " Thou
’
For whose path the At lanti c s level powers

Cleave th em selves into chasms whi le far belo w ,

The sea bloom s and the oozy w oods whi ch w ear

-

Th e saple ss fo liage of the ocean know ,

Thy voi ce and suddenly gro w gray with fear

, ,

And tremble and d espoil themselves " oh hear , "

) ( 4
If I w ere a dead leaf thou mightest bear ;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ;
A wave t o pant beneath thy po w er and sh are
‘

The i mpulse of thy s trength only l e s s f ree ,

Than thou O un controllable "I f even

,

I were as in my boyhood and cou ld b e,

Toe Way of P o e t ry 53

The comrade of thy wanderings over H eaven ,

A s then when to outstrip thy s kyey speed

,

Sc arc e seemed a vi sion I w ould n e er have striven

’

As thus with thee i n prayer in my sore need .

Oh lift m e as a w ave a leaf a cloud "

, , ,

I fall upon the thorn s of life "I bleed "

A heavy weight of hours has chained an d bo w ed

One too l ike thee " t a meless and swift an d proud , , .

Make me thy lyre even as the for es t i s

,

What if m y leaves are falling like i ts o wn "

The tumult of thy mi g hty harmonies

Wil l take from both a deep autumnal ton e , ,

S weet though i n sadness B e thou Spi rit fierce

.
, ,

My spirit " B e thou me impetuous one ",

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe

Like withered leaves to q uic ke n a new birth _
"
And by the i ncantati on of this verse
, ,

Scatter as from an unextinguished hearth

,

Ashes and sparks my words among mankind "

,

Be through my lips to una w akened earth

The trumpet of a prophecy "0 Wind ,

lf Win t er comes can Spring be far behind ?

,

PE R C Y B Y SSH E S H E LL E Y .
54 Toe Way of P oe t ry
ODE TO AUTUMN

S E A SO N of m i sts and mellow fruitfulness

Close bosom fri end of the maturi ng sun ;
-

C o n sp iring w it h him ho w to load an d bless

’

IV it h fruit the vines that round t he th at c h eaves run -

’
To bend w ith a pples the m o ss d cottage trees -
,

An d fi ll all fruit w ith ripeness to the core ;

To swell the gourd and plump the hazel shells
,

W th a s we e t kernel ; to set buddi ng more

i ,

A nd st i ll m ore la l er flowers for the bees ,

Unti l t hey t hin k warm days w ill never ce a se "

’
For Summer has o e rb r im m d their c l ammy cell s
’
.

Who hath not seen thee oft ami d thy store ?

Sometimes w hoever seeks abroad m ay fin d
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor ,

Thy hair soft lifted by the winn ow ing w ind

-

Or on a half re ap d f urro w sound as l eep

-
’
,

Dro w s d w ith the fume of poppies w hile thy hook

’
,

Spares the next s w ath an d all its t w in ed flo wers ;

A n d som etimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook ;
Or by a cider press w ith patient look
-
, ,

Thou w at c he st the last o o z ings ho u rs by hours ,

.

Where are the so ngs of Spring ? are they ? A y, w here

T hink not of them — thou hast thy musi c too
, ,

While barred clouds bloom the soft dying day -

And touch the stubble plains w ith rosy hue ; -

Tae Way of P o e t ry 55
Then in a wailful choir the s m al l gnat s m ourn
Among the river s a llo w s borne aloft ,

Or sinking as the light w ind lives or dies

And full gro w n lambs loud ble at from hilly bourn ;
-

Hedge crickets sing an d no w w ith treble soft

-
,

The redbreast w hi stles from a garden croft -

,

An d gathering s wa llo w s twitter i n the skies .

KE A TS .

A THANKSGIVING TO G OD FOR HIS HOUS E

L O R D Thou h a st gi v en me a cel l
,

Wherein t o d wel l ;
A l itt l e house w hose h umble roof
,

IS w eatherproof ;
Under the spars of w hich I lie
Both soft and dry .

\\7here Thou m y chamber for to w ard

,

Hast set a guard

O f ha rmless t ho ughts to w at c h and keep,

Me whi le I sleep .

Lo w is my porc h as i s my fate
, ,

Both voi d of state ;

And yet the threshold of my door
I s w orn by the poor ,

Who hither come and free ly ge t

,

Good w ords or meat .

Like as my p a r lo u r so my hal l , ,

A nd kit c hen sma ll ;

A li t tle b ut t e rv and t herein
,

A lit t le bin ,
 f
o P o e t ry

Which ke e ps my little loaf of bread

U nc hip t , unfie ad .

S ome brittle s t icks of thorn or brier

Make me a fire ,

Close by whose living coal I sit ,

And glow like it .

Lord I confes s too when I dine

, , ,

The p ul se i s Thine ,

An d all those other bits t hat be

There placed by Thee .

The worts the purs l ain and the mess

.
, ,

Of water cress -

Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent

And my content
Makes t hose and my beloved beet
, ,

To be more sweet .

"
J is Thou that c ro wn st my glittering hearth
‘ ’
.

With guil t less mirth ;

’
And giv st me wassail bowls to drink ,

Spiced to t he brink .

’
Lord tis Thy plenty dropping han d
,
-

That sows my land

All this and better dost Thou send
, ,

Me for this end

Th at I should render for my part
A thankful heart ,

Which fired with incense I resign

,

A s wholly Thine
B ut t he acceptanc e — that must be ,

0 Lord by Thee , .

ROB E RT H E RRIC K .
 57

E L EG Y WR ITT E N IN A C O UNT R Y CHU R CH YAR D

THE cur fe w t o l ls the knell of part ing day ,

’
The lowing h e rd w nd s slo w ly o er the lea
.
,

The ploughman homeward plods hi s weary way ,

A n d leaves the world to darknes s an d t o me

, .

No w fades the glimmering landscape on the sight ,

And all the air a solemn s t ill ness holds ,

Save w here the beetle w heel s hi s droning flight ,

An d dro wsy tinklings lull the d i stant fold s

Save that from yonder iv y mantled to w er

-

The moping owl does to th e m oon complai n

Of such as wandering near her secre t bower
, ,

Molest her ancient solitary reign .

B eneath tho s e rugged elms that yew t ree s shade

,
-
’
,

Where heaves the turf i n many a mouldering hea p ,

E ach in hi s n arrow cell for ever lai d ,

The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep .

The breezy call of incense breathing m orn

-
,

The swallo w t w ittering from the stra w built s hed -

,

’
The cock s shrill clarion or the echoing horn
, ,

No more shall rouse them from their l o w ly bed .

Fo r them n o more the blazi ng hea rth s hall burn ,

O r busy hou se wi fe ply her e vening care

’
No chi ldren run to li sp their sire s return ,

Or climb hi s knees the en vi ed kiss to share .

5 8 T/ze Way of P oe t ry
Oft did the harv e s t t o t h e i r s ickle yi el d ,

Their furro w oft the stubborn glebe has broke

How j ocund di d they drive their team afield "
Ho w b o w d t he w oods beneath their sturdy stroke
’

Let not Amb ition m ock their useful toil ,

The ir ho m e ly j oys and desti ny obscure ;

,

Nor G randeur be ar w ith a disd a i nful smile

The short an d s im ple annals of the Poor .

The boast of heraldry the po m p of power

, ,

And all t ha t beau ty all t hat wealt h e e r gave

.

,
’

’
A w aits alike t h i nev itable hour "

The p aths of glory lead but to the gra x e .

Nor you ye Proud imp ut e to these the fa ul t

, ,

/
If Memory o er their tomb no t ro phie s raise
’
,

Where thro ugh the long draw n aisle and fretted vault
-

The pealing anth em s w ells the note of prai se .

C an storied urn or animated bust

B ack to its mansion call the fleeting breath ?

’
Can Hono u r s voice provoke the silent dust ,

Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of D eath ?

Perhaps i n thi s neglected spot i s laid

Some heart once pregnant with celesti al fire ;
’
Hand s that the rod of empire might have sway d
, ,

Or w aked to ecstasy t he l iving lyre

B ut Kn o w ledge to their eyes her ample page

R i ch w ith t he spo ils of time di d ne er unroll ;
’
,

’
Chill Penury re p re ss d their nob l e rage ,

And f roze t he genial current of the soul .

Toe Way .
(
9
6
P o e t ry 59
Full many a gem of purest ray s er e ne
The dark unfat ho m d caves of o cean b e ar
’

Full many a flo w er i s born t o blush unseen ,

And w as t e i ts s w eetness on the des ert air .

Some village Hampden that w ith d auntless breast

-
,

The little tyrant of hi s fields w ithstood ,

S ome mute inglorious M ilton here may rest ,

Som e Cromwell gu iltless o f h i s country s blood

,
’
.

Th a p plause of lis t ning sen ates to c ommand

’

.
.

The t hreats o f pain a nd rui n to d espise ,

To scatter plenty o er a smi l ing land

’

And read thei r hi s tory i n a n ati on s eves

Thei r lot forbad nor c ir c umscribed alone

Their gro w ing virtues but their cri mes confined ;
,

Forbad to w a d e through slaughter to a throne ,

And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ,

The struggling pangs of cons cious truth to hide ,

To quen ch the blushes of ingenuous shame ,

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride

With incens e kindled at the Mus e s flame
’
’
.

’
Far from the madd ing crowd s ignoble strife ,

Their sober w ishes never l e arn d to stray ; ’

’
Along the cool se q u e st e r d vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way .

Ye t
’
e en these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh ,

With u ncouth rhymes and s hapele ss s culpture dec k d,

’

Implores the passing tribute o f a sigh .

60 Tae W y of a P fif fry

Their nam e , t heir

’
years spelt by t h unletter d Muse
, ,

The place of fame and elegy supply "

And many a holy text aroun d she stre w s ,

Th at teach the rusti c moralist t o di e .

For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey

, ,
’ ’
This pleasing anxious being e er re sign d ,

Left the warm preci ncts of the cheerful d ay ,

Nor cast one longing l ingering look beh ind

On some fond breast the parting soul relies ,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;

E en from the
’
tomb the voice of Nature cri es ,

E e n in our
’
ashes li v e their w onted fires .

For thee who m indful of t h unho no ur d dead

, ,
’ ’

D ost in t hese lines their artless t ale relate ;

If chance by lonely contemplation led
, ,

Som e kindred sp irit shall inquire thy fate ,

Il aply
-

some hoary headed s wain may say

-
"

O ft have w e seen him at the peep of da wn

‘

Brushing w ith hasty steps the dews away ,

To mee t the sun upon t he upland lawn ;

‘
There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That w reathes its old fantasti c roots so hi gh ,

His l istless length at noontide would he stretch ,

A nd pore upon the brook that babbles by .

‘
Hard by yon wood now smiling a s in s cor n
, ,

Muttering hi s way w ard fancie s he would rove ;

N o w drooping woefu l w an like one forlo rn
, , ,

Or crazed w ith care or c ro ss d in hopeless love

,
’
.
 T . e W y of P
a o et r y 61

On e m o mI m iss d him on th e c ust o m d h il l ’

Al ong t he heath and near hi s favou rite tree ;

,

An o t her c ame ; nor yet besi de the ril l ,

Nor up t he l a w n nor at th e wood wa s he ;

,

‘
The next w ith dirges due i n sad array
Slow t hrough t he church way path we s aw him borne
-

A pproach an d read ( for thou canst read ) the lay

Gra v ed on the ston e beneath yon aged

TH E E P ITA P H
Here rests hi s head upon the lap o f E arth
A You th to Fortun e and to Fam e unk no wn ;
,
’
F a ir S cience fro wn d not on hi s humble birth ,

A nd Melancholy m ark d h im for her o wn

’
.

Large was h is bounty an d hi s soul sincere ;

,

Heaven di d a recompense as largely send

g
H e gave to M isery all he had a tear , ,

He gain d from Hea v e n t w as all he wish d a friend

’
,
’ ’
, .

No fart her seek hi s merits to d isclose ,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abod e ,

( There they alike i n trembling hope repose ) ,

The bosom of hi s Father and h i s God .

T H O M AS G R AY .
 Toe Way of P oe t ry
AUTUMN
I LO V Ethe fit ful gust that s hakes
The casement all the day ,

And from the gloss y elm tree takes

-

The faded leaves a w ay ,

T w irling them by the w indow pane

With thousand others do wn the lane .

I love to see t he shak in t wig

‘
o

Da nc e ti ll t he S hut of eve
.
,

The sp arro w on the c ottage r ig ,

t ose chirp w ould m ake believe

That Spring wa s j ust no w flirting by
’
In Summer s lap w ith flo w ers to l ie .

I love to see the cottage smoke

Curl up w ards through the trees ,

The pigeons nestled round the cote

On November days like these ;
The cock upon the dunghill cro w ing ,

The m ill sails on the heath a going -

.

’
The feather from the raven s breast
Falls on the stubble l e a ,

Th e acorns near the old cro w s nest

’

Drop pattering do wn the tree ;

The grunting pigs that w ait for a ll
, ,

S c ramble and hurry where they fa ll .

J OHN C LA RE .
T/ze Way qf P o e t ry
THE G A R D EN
Ho w vainly m e n themselves amaze ,

To win the pal m t he oak or bays ;

, ,

And their incessant labours see

Cro wned from some s ingle herb or tree ,

Whose short and narro w verg ed shade -

Does prudently their toils upbrai d ;

t ile all the fl o w ers and trees do close ,

To weave the garland s of rep o se "

Fair Q ui e t have I fo und thee here

, ,

And Innocence thy sister dear ?

,

Mistaken lo n g I sought you then

,

I n b usy c o m panies of m e n .

Yo ur sa c red p l ants i f here be lo w

, ,

Only among t he plants w i ll gro w ;

Society i s all but rude
To thi s delicio u s solitude .

No w hite nor re d wa s ever seen

S o amorous as th i s lovely green .

Fond lovers cruel as thei r fl ame

, ,

C ut i n these trees their m istress name

’

Lit t le alas "they kno w or heed

, ,

Ho w far these beauties hers exceed "

’ ’
F a i r trees whe re s e e r your b ark I w ound ,

No name shall b u t your o w n be found .

\Vhen w e have seen our passion s heat

' ’

Love h ither makes his best retreat .

The gods that mort a l

,
beau ty ch a se ,

Stil l in a tree d id e nd thei r ra c e ;

 T/ze Way of
A pollo hunted Daphne so ,

O nly that she might laurel gr ow ;

And Pan did after Syrinx speed ,

N o t as a nymph but for a reed

, .

What wondrous life i s this I lead "

R ipe apples drop about my head ;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mo uth do crush their wine
The nectarine and curio u s peach
, ,

Into my han ds themselves do rea c h

S tumbling on m elons as I pass , ,

Insnared w ith fl o wers I fall on grass , .

Meanwh ile the mind from ple as ure less , ,

Withdraws into its happ iness ;

The mind that ocean where each kind
,

Does straight its o wn resemblance find

Yet it creates transcending these
, ,

Far other worlds and other seas

, ,
’
Ann ihilating all that s made
To a green thought i n a green shade .

Here at the fountain s s l iding foot ’

O r at s ome fruit tree s mos s y root

-
’
,
’
Casting the body s vest aside ,

My soul into the boughs does glide

There li ke a bird it sit s and sings
, , ,

Then whets and combs it s silver w ings ,

And till prepared for longer flight

, ,

Waves in its plumes the various light .

T/ze Way of P o e t ry 65

Such was that happy garden s t ate -

,

Whi le man there walk d without a mate ’

After a place so pure an d s weet ,

Wh at other help could yet be meet "

’ ’
B ut t was beyond a mortal s shar e
To w ander solitary th ere
’
Two paradises twere i n on e ,

To live i n paradise alone .

H ow w ell
the skilful garden er drew
O f flo wers and herbs th is dial ne w ;
, ,

Where from above the m ilder sun

, ,

Does through a fragrant zodiac run ,

A nd as it w orks the i ndustrious b e e

, ,

Computes its t ime as w ell as w e "

Ho w could such sweet and w holesom e hours
Be reckoned but with herbs and flo w ers ?
A N D R EW M A R V E L L.

BK . IV .
 The Way of P o et r y

YATT E ND O N

A M ON G the w oods and tillage

That fringe the t opmost do wns ,

A ll lonely lies the vi llage

,

Far off from seas and to wns .

Ye t w hen her o wn folk slumbered

I he ar d within he r street
Murmur of men unn umbered
And march of myriad feet .

For all she lies so lon ely,

Far off from towns and sea s ,

The village holds not only

The roofs beneath her tree s
While Li fe i s s weet and tragi c
And Death i s veiled and dumb ,

H ither by s inger s magic

’
, ,

The p ilgri m world m us t co me .

H E N RY N EW BOLT .
 T/ze Way of P o e t ry 67

TH E S CH O LA R G IPS Y
‘
The re wa s v er y lat e ly a l ad in t he U ni v r ity
e s o f Ox f o rd , who w as
b y his po e rt y v f cdt
or e o le a v e h is t
s udie s t h e re "a nd at la st t o
j o in hirn se l f t o a c mp o g ip sie s
an yA m o ng the se
o f v a ga b o nd .

e xt ra a a nt
g v pe o pl e , b y t he ins inua t ing sub til ty o f his arriage , h e c
c c v
q u i kl y g e t so m u h o f t h e ir l o e a nd e s t e e m as that t he y d is o e re d cv
t o h im the ir m yst e ry A ft e r he had be e n a pre tt y w hile e x e r se d
. ci
in t he t rad e t he re cha nce d t o rid e b y a c o upl e o f sch o l a rs wh o h a d
, ,

fo rm e rly be e n o f his acq uaint ance The y q uickly Spie d o ut t he ir .

o ld fr ie nd a m o n
g t he gip sies ; a nd he g ave the m a n a cco unt o f t he
ne c e ssit y w hic h d ro v e him t o t h at kind o f l ife and t o l d th e m that ,

t he pe o p l e he we nt w ith we re no t suc h im p o st o rs as t h e y w e re ta ke n
fo r b ut t hat t he y h a d a t radit io na l kind o f lea rning a m o n th em
,
g
,

a nd c o u l d d o w o nd e rs b
y t h e p o we r o f im ag inat io n t he ir fa ncy ,

b ind ing t h at o f o the rs " t h at him s e lf ha d le arne d m uch o f t he ir

art a nd w h e n he h ad c o m asse d t he w h o l e se cre t h e int e nd e d
, p , ,

h e s a id t o l eave t h e ir co m p a ny a nd give t h e wo rld an a cc o unt o f

w hat he ha d l ear ne d —G LA N V IL S V anit y of D ogm at iz ing 1 661
, ,
’ ’
.
, .

G o for they call you shepherd from t he hill

, , ,

Go shepherd and unti e the wattled cotes "

, ,

No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed ,

Nor let thy ba w li ng fello w s rack their t hroats ,

Nor the c ro pp d grasses shoot another head " ’

But w hen the field s are s till ,

And the tired m e n an d dog s all gone t o res t ,

A nd only the white s heep are someti m es see n

’
C ross and recross the s t rips of moo n b lanc h d gree n -
,

Come s hepherd and agai n be gin the quest "

, ,

H erc , w here th e reaper was at work o Llat c

’
In thi s high field s dark corner w here he leav e s ,

I l i s coat hi s basket and hi s earthen cruse

, , ,

A nd i n the sun all morning binds the sheaves ,

Then here at noon comes back his stores to use

, ,

H ere w ill I Sit and w ait ,

68 Tba Way of P oe t ry

Whi le to my
from upland s far a w ay
c ar

The bleating of the folded flocks i s borne ,

With d istant c rie s of reapers in the corn .

All the live murmur of a summer s d ay ’

.

’
i s this no ok o er the high half re ap d field
Se r e c n d
’
,
-
’
,

And here till sun do w n shepherd w ill 1 be "

-
, ,

Through t he thick corn the scarlet poppi es peep ,

And round green roots and yello w ing stalks I see

Pale blue convolvulus in tendrils creep ;
An d air swept linden s yield
-

Thei r s cent and ru stle d o w n their perfumed sho w ers

,

Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid ,

And bo w er me from the August sun w ith shade ;

And the e ye travels do wn t o O xford s t o wers ’
.

’
And n ear m e o n the grass lies G lanv il s book
Com e let m e read the oft read tale agai n '
,
-

T he story of that Oxford scholar poor ,

O f shining parts and quick inventive brain ,

Who t ired of knocking at prefe rm ent s door

,
’
,

O ne su m mer morn forsook

H is friends and w ent to learn the gipsy lore
, ,

And ro am d the w o rld with that wild brother hood

’
,

And cam e a s most m e n d e e m d t o little good

,
’
, ,

But ca m e to Oxfo rd an d his fri e nd s no m ore .

But once ye ars aft e r i n the co un t ry lanes

,
.
.
,
-
,

Tw o s cholars who m at college erst he knew

Me t him and of hi s w ay of life inq uir d
’
.
,

Whereat he answ e r d t hat the gipsy c re w

’
, ,

His mates had arts to rule as they desired

,

The worki ngs of me n s brain s ;

’
T/ze Way of P o et ry 69

An d they c an bind them t o wha t thought s they wi ll .

An d I he said t he s ecret of their art

‘
,
’
,
‘
,

When fully le arn d w ill to the w orld i mpart ;

’
,

But i t needs heaven sent moments for thi s skill -

’
Thi s said he left them and re t urn d no more
, , .

But rumours hung about the country side -

That t he lost Scholar long was seen to stray ,

S een by rare glimpses p e ns ive and tongue tied ,

-
,

I n hat of anti que shape and cloak of gray , ,

The same the gipsies w ore .

Shepherds had m et him on the Hurst i n spring ;

At some lon e alehouse i n the B erkshire moors ,

O n the w arm ingle beneh the smock fro e k d boors -

,
-
’

Had foun d him s eated at their entering ,

But m i d their drink and clatter he w ould fly;

, ,

An d I myself seem ha lf to kno w thy looks ,

An d put the shepherd s w anderer on thy trace ; , ,

An d boys who in lone w he at fi e ld s sc are the ro c ks

’
I ask if thou hast p ass d their quiet place ;
O r i n my boat I lie
’
Moor d to the cool bank i n the summer heats ,

Mi d w i de grass meado w s w hich the sunshine fills ,

And w atch the w arm green mu ffled Cum ne r hills -

,
’
And w onder if thou haunt st their shy retreats .

Fo rm ost I know thou lo v st retired ground "

, ,
’

Thee at the ferry Oxford riders blithe

, , ,

Return ing home on summer nights have met ,

Crossing the stripling T hames at Bablo e k hithe -

,

Trailing i n t he cool stream thy finger s w e t ,

As t he pun t s rope chops ro un d ;

’
 T/ze W y of
a P oe t ry

And leaning back w ard i n a pensive dream ,

And fostering in thy lap a heap of flo w ers

P lu e k d in shy fields and di stant Wych w ood bo wers
’
,

And thine eyes resting on the m o o nlit stre a m

And then they land and thou art seen n o more "
,

Mai dens w ho from the di stant hamlets c o m e

To dan ce aroun d the Fyfi e ld elm in May ,

O ft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam ,

Or cross a stile into the public way .

O ft thou hast give n them store

O f flo w e rs—the frai l le a f d w hite anemone
-
’

, ,

’
D ark bluebells d re nc h d w ith de w s of summer eves ,

And purple orchises w ith spotted lea v es

But non e has w ords she can report of thee .

’
And above Godsto w B ridge w hen hay time s h ere
, ,
-

In J une and many a scythe in sunshine flames

, ,

Men who through those w i de fields of breezy grass

Where black wing d s wallo w s haunt the glittering
-
’

Thames ,

’
To bathe in the ab and o n d lasher pass ,

’
Have often pass d thee near
’
S itting upon the river bank o e rgro wn ;
Mark d thine outland ish garb t hy figure spare
’
, ,

Thy dark vague eyes and soft abstracted air,

But when they came from bathing thou w c rt g one

, ,

At some lone homestead in the Cum ne r hills ,

Where at her open door the house w ife darns ,

Thou hast been seen or hanging on a gate,

To w atch the threshers i n the mossy barns .

Children who early range t hese slo p es a nd l at e

,

For cresses from the ri lls ,

T/ze Way (j P o e t ry 71

Have k no wn thee w atch ing all an April d ay ,

.

The springing p a stures and t he feeding kine ;

An d m ark d thee w hen t he stars come out and shin e
’
, ,

Thro u gh the long de w y gr a s s mo v e slo wlv away .

In autu m n on t he skirts of B agley wood

,
-
,

Wh ere most the gipsies by the turf edged way -

Pit c h their smoked tents and every bush you ,

se e

Wi t h scarlet patches t agg d and shred s o f gray

’
’
,

Abo v e the fores t ground c all d Thes saly

-
’

The blackbird picking food

Sees thee nor stops his meal nor fe a rs at a ll "
, ,

So often has he kno wn thee past him stray

It apt t w irli ng in thy hand a wit he r d spray
’
, ,

A nd waiting for the spark from Hea v e n to fall .

And once in w inter on the causew ay chil l

, ,

Where home through flooded fields foot travellers go -

,

’
Have I not pass d thee on the w ooden bridge
Wrapt i n thy cloak and battling with the sno w ,

Thy face to w ard Hinksey and its w intry ridge ?

’
An d thou hast c lim b d the hill
And gain d the w hite brow of the Cum ne r range ;
’

Turn d once to w atch w hile t hic k the sno w flakes

’
,

fall ,

The line of festal light i n Christ Church hall -

’
Then sought thy straw i n some se q ue st e r d grange .

But w hat —I dream " Two hundred years are flo w n

Sin c e first thy story ran through O xford halls ,

An d the grave G lanv il d id the tale i nscribe

That thou w ert wa nd c r d from t he studious w a lls
’

To l earn str ange arts a nd j oin a gi psy t ri b e

, .

A nd t he n f rom e a rt h a rt gon e
7 2 Toe Way of P oe t y r

Long sin ce an d in som e quiet churchyard lai d "

,

Some country nook where o er thy unkno w n gra v e

,
’

Tall grasses an d w h ite flo w ering nettles w ave

’
Under a d ark re d fr u ited ye w tree s shade
- -
.

No no t ho u h a st not felt the l ap se of hours "

, ,

For w h at w ears o ut the life of mortal men ?

Tis t hat from ch ange to ch ange their bei ng rolls
’

"
I is that repeated shocks ag a in again
‘

, , ,

E xhaust the en ergy of strongest so uls

And numb the elasti c po wers .

Till ha v ing used our nerves w ith bliss and te e n .

And tired upon a thous and schemes o ur w it ,

To the j ust pausing Genius w e remi t

-

Our w el l w orn l ife an d a re —what w e hav e been "

-
,

Thou h a st not lived why should st thou perish s o ?

’

Thou hadst o ne aim o ne business o ne desire "

, ,

E lse w ert t hou long since n umber ( 1 with t he dead — u

E lse had st tho u spent like other m e n t hy fire ' , ,

The generati on s of thy peers are fled ,

An d w e ourselves sh all go
But thou po ss essest a n i mm ortal lot ,

And w e im agin e t hee exem pt from age

And l i v ing a s thou liv st on Glanv il s p age ’ ’
,

Because thou h adst—what w e alas "h ave not " ,

Fo rearly d idst thou leave the w orld w ith po we rs ,

Fresh und iverted to the world without

, ,

Firm to t heir m ark not spent on other things ; ,

Free from the sic k fatigue the languid doubt , ,

Which mu c h to hav e trie d i n much been b a ffl ed , ,

br ings .

'
0 life unlike to ours
T/ze Way of P o e t ry 73

Who fluct u ate idly w ithout

term or scope ,

Of w hom each stri v es nor kno w s for w hat he strives

, ,

An d each h al f l i v es a hundred di fferent li v es

Who w ait like thee but not like thee in hope
, , , .

Tho u w ait e st for the spark from H eaven " and w e .

Li ght half b eli evers of our casual creeds

-
,

Who n ever deeply felt nor clearly w ill d

,
’

Whose in sight n e v er has born e fruit i n deeds ,

Wh os e v ague resolves n ever have been fulfill d ’ '

For w hom each year w e see

B reeds new beginnings disappointments n e w ;
,

Who hesitate an d falter life aw ay

'

ji nd los e to —
,

morro w t he groun d wo n to day -

Ah do not w e w anderer aw ait i t too ?

, , ,

Yes "w e a w ait i t b ut it still delay s

, ,

An d then w e suffer "an d amo ngst us o n e ,

’
\Vho m o st has su ffe r d takes dej ectedly
,

Hi s seat upon th e i ntellectual throne ;

And all hi s store of sad experi ence he
Lays bare of wretched days ;
’
Tells u s hi s m isery s b irth and gro wth and signs ,

And ho w the dying spark of hop e w as fed ,

An d ho w th e breast was soothed an d ho w the head , ,

And all hi s hourly vari ed anodynes .

Thi s for our wi sest "and w e others pine ,

An d w i s h the lo ng unhappy dream w ould e nd

An d w ai v e all clai m to bli ss and try to bear , ,

With close lipp d p ati ence for our on ly friend

-
’
,

S ad pati en ce too ne ar n eighbour to despai r ;

,

But none has hope like thine "

7
I 4 The W y of P oet y
a r

Thou thro ugh t he fi elds an d through the woo d s dost

s tray ,

R oaming the country side a truant boy -

, ,

Nursing thy proj ect in un clouded j oy ,

A n d e v ery doubt long blown by t ime a w ay .

0 born in days w hen w its w ere fresh and clear ,

And life ran gaily as th e sparkling Thames ;

Before this strange disease of modern life ,

With its s i ck hurry its d ivided aims , ,

’
Its head o e rt ax d its palsied hea rts wa s rife
’

, ,

Fly hence our contact fear "

,

Still fly plun ge deeper in the bo w ering wood "

,

Averse as D ido did w ith gesture stern

,

’
From h er false friend s approach in Hades turn ,

Wave u s aw ay and keep thy solitude "

,

Still nursing the u nconquerable hop e ,

S till clutching the inviolable shade ,

With a free on w ard impulse brushing through ,

By night the sil v e r d bran ches of the glade

,
’

Far on the forest skirts w here none pursue-

, ,

On some m ild pastoral slope

E merge and resting on the moonlit pales
, ,

Freshen thy flo w ers as in former years , ,

With d e w or listen w ith en chanted ears

, ,

From th e dark ding les to the n ig htinga les " ,

But fly our paths our feverish contact fly "

,

For strong the i nfection of our m ental stri fe ,

Whi ch though i t gi v e s no bliss yet spoi ls for

, ,

And w e should win thee from thy o wn fair li fe ,

Like us distracted and like us unblest " ,

Soon soon t hv cheer w ould d ie

, ,
T/ze Way of P oe t r y 75

Thy hopes gro w timorous and unfix d thy po w ers ,

’
,

A nd thy clear aims be cross and shi fting made ;

And then thy glad perenni al yo uth w ou l d fade ,

Fad e and gro w old at las t and d ie like o urs

, ,
.

Then fly our greetings fly our speech and smiles "

,

-
As some grave Tyri an trader from the s ea , ,

D escri ed at sunris e an emerging pro w

’
Lifting the coo l bair d creepers stealthily
-
,

The fringes of a south w ard facing brow -

Among the ZEge an isles ;

A n d saw the merry Greci an coaster c o m e ,

F re ight e d w ith amber grapes and Chi an w in e , ,

Green bur sting figs and tunni es st e e p d i n br ine ;

,
’

And kn ew the intru ders on hi s anci ent home ,

The yo ung light hearted masters of the w aves ;

-

A nd snat c h d his rudd er an d shook out more sail

’

, ,

And day an d night held on in dignantly

O er the blue Midlan d w aters w ith the gale
’

B etw ixt the Syr tes and soft Sicily ,

To w here the Atlanti c raves

O utsi de the w estern straits an d unbent sails ,

There w h ere do wn cloudy cli ffs through sheets o f

, ,

foam ,

Shv traffi ckers the dark Iberians come ;

,

An d on the beach und id hi s corded bales .

M A TTH E W A R N OLD .
 L IST O F A U T H O RS
Da t e s are g i v e n, e xce pt in t he ca se f
o l iv ing po e t s
PA C E
A N ON Y M O U S

M y L ady G ree nsle e ves

A R N O LD MA TT H E W ( 1 8 2 2 —1 8 8 8 )
,

T he Scho lar Gip sy

B R ID G ES R OB E RT ,

T he Wind m ill
B RO O KE , R U P E R T —
( 1 8 8 7 1 91 5 )
T he So ldie r
B U R N S R O B E R T ( 1 7 5 9—1 7 9 6)
,

J o hn A nd e rso n m y j o
T he B anks 0 D o o n
’

A Re d ,
Re d Ro se
CA R E W TH O M A S
,

So ng
C L A R E J O H N ( 1 7 93
,
-
1 8 64 )
A ut u mn

CO R Y W I LLI A M ( 1 8 2 3 4
,
8 92 )
H eraclit us
D A V IES W H ,
. .

T he M o on
DE L A MAR E WA LTE R ,

A rabia

D RI NKWATE R , J O IIN
A i rs Willo w
GA LES ,
R . L .

T he Te mp tatio n of Saint A ntho ny

G IBS O N , VV IL F R ID WILS O N
T he I c e C arl
GOSSE ED M U ND
,

With a Cop y of H errick

List o
f A ut ho r s 77
PA G E

G RA E S V , R O BE R T
S tar Ta lh
G R AY , T H O M A S ( 17 1 6 -
17 7 1 )
E legy writte n in a Co unt ry C hurchya rd
H RR IC H R O BE R T ( 1 5 9 1 —
E
1 67 4 )
,

H is P r aye r to B e n J o nso n
To h is d e a r G o d
T o JI e ad o ws
A Tha nksgiv ing to G o d .
f
or his H o us e
HO R N E R IC H AR D H E N R Y ( 1 8 03 —1 8 8 4 )
,

The P l o ugh
KE A TS J O H N ( 1 7 95 —1 8 2 1 )
,

Od e to A ut u m n

L ED W I D G E ’

, F R AN CI S ( 1 8 92 —
1 91 7 )
H ad I a G ld no e P o und
BIA RL O W E , C H R IST O P HE R ( 1 5 64 —
1 5 93 )
The P assio nate Shep herd to his L o v e
l\IA RV E LL , A N D R E W ( 1 62 1—1 67 8 )
The G ar d e n

MA SE IELD J O H N
F ,

The Wil d D uck

On Ill a lv e rn H ill
ME YN ELL , A LI CE
E aste r N ight
MO N R O , H A R O LD
R eal P rop erty
NE W B O LT , HE N R Y
Yat te ndo n
N ICH O LS , R O BE R T

f an H umble Se rv a nt
P l a int o

P A T M O R E CO V E N T R Y ( 1 8 2 3 —
, 1 8 9 6)
T he To ys
SH K ES P E
A ARE , WI LLI A M ( 1 5 64 —
1 61 6)
‘
Whe n i n the chron ic le of waste d t ime
’

D irge fro m Cymbel ine

‘ ’

‘
When to the se ssio ns o f sweet s ile nt tho ught
’
7 8 List f
o ( fa t hom

SHELLE Y , P E RC Y IE
-

( —
17 9 2 1 8 2 2 )
P A GE

Od e t o t he IVe st '
Wind
SHI R LE Y , J A M ES ( 1 5 96—1 666)
'
T he glo rie s blo o d and
‘

f
o o ur s t ate

SQ U I R E , J C . .

T U RN E R W J , . .

Ro m ance
VV ORD SWO RT H WILLI A M ( 1 7 7 0 1 8 5 0)
The Reap er
‘
I t is a be aute o us ec ening, c al m and free
’
 IN D E" O F FIRST LIN ES

A is br us hi ng d ow n t he c lo ver
w in d
A b o ve yon so m b re s we ll o f l an d
A l as "my l o ve yo u d o m e wrong
,

A l l n ight h a d s h o ut o f m e n a nd c r v
A mong t he w oo d s a nd t illage
A r e yo u awa ke G eme l li ,

A sk m e no more wh ere Jo v e b esto ws

B ehol d h e r S ingl e in t h e fi el d
,

( tome l i v e w it h m e a nd b e my l o v e
Far a re t he shad es O f A rab ia
Fear no more t he h eat 0 t he sun ’

Fr esh w ith all airs Of wood land b rooks

G o for they call yo u She pherd from t he hi ll ?
, , ,

G oblins c ame On mis ch ie f b ent

,

H ad I a gold en p o u nd to s p en d
H o w v ainl y m e n the m se l v es amaz e
I l o v e t he fi t ful gust t hat s h akes
If I sh o ul d die t hink on ly t h is o f m e
,

I ll hope no more
’

It is a b eaut e o us e v ening cal m and free ,

J ohn A n d erson my jo John ,

Lord thou ha st gi ven m e a cel l

,

Mrs Tho m as W il low seems ver y glum

My l ittle son who lo o k d fro m tho ught ful eyes
,
’

0 L ord w ho d i d st c reate all th ing s

,

0 my Luv e s l ik e a r e d r e d rose
’
,

0 w il d West “7ind t ho u b reath o f a utumn s b eing

‘

P er che d o n my c ity Offic e stoo l -

Season o f mists a nd me ll o w fr uit f ul ness

T e l l m e ab o ut t hat har vest fi e l d
The c ur few tol ls t h e knel l o f parting d ay
T he g lories o f Our bloo d and state
79
80 Inde x f
o First Lines

T he g reen corn waving in t he d ale

There w a s no song nor sh o ut Of jo y
They tol d m e H era cl it us they told m e yo u were d ea d
, ,

T hy beauty h aunts m e heart a nd soul

Tw i l igh t
. R e d in t he w est
When I a verse shall make
When I w as b ut th irteen or so
Whe n in t he chroni cl e o f w asted t im e
When to t he sessions o f sweet sil ent tho ught
Y e fl o w ery b ank s 0 b on ie D oon
’

Ye have b e en fresh and green

L ON D ON A N D G I A SG O\V Z
. C OLLI N S CLEA R TY P E
,
-
ES S
PR .
 0 34 1

Dr i nkwa t e r J o hn
The wa y of po e t r y

bo o k 4

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