October and Other Poems with Occasional Verses on the War

Robert Bridges

October and Other Poems / with Occasional Verses on the War

PREFACE

This miscellaneous volume is composed of three sections. The first twelve poems were written in 1913, and printed privately by Mr. Hornby in 1914.

The last of these poems proved to be a “war poem,” and on that follow eighteen pieces which were called forth on occasion during the War, the last being a broadsheet on the surrender of the German ships. All of these verses appeared in some journal or serial. There were a few others, but they are not included in this collection, either because they are lost, or because they show decidedly inferior claims to salvage.

The last six poems or sonnets are of various dates.

R. B.

OCTOBER

April adance in playmet with his lover Maywhere she came garlanded.The blossoming boughs o’erheadwere thrill’d to bursting bythe dazzle from the skyand the wild music therethat shook the odorous air.Each moment some new birthhasten’d to deck the earthin the gay sunbeams.Between their kisses dreams:And dream and kiss were rifewith laughter of mortal life.But this late day of golden fallis still as a picture upon a wallor a poem in a book lying open unread.Or whatever else is shrinedwhen the Virgin hath vanishèd:Footsteps of eternal Mindon the path of the dead.

THE FLOWERING TREE

What Fairy fann’d my dreamswhile I slept in the sun?As if a flowering treewere standing over me:Its young stem strong and lithewent branching overheadAnd willowy sprays aroundfell tasseling to the groundAll with wild blossom gayas is the cherry in MayWhen her fresh flaunt of leafgives crowns of golden green.The sunlight was enmesh’din the shifting splendourAnd I saw through on highto soft lakes of blue sky:Ne’er was mortal slumberso lapt in luxury.Rather—Endymion—would I sleep in the sunNeath the trees divinelywith day’s azure aboveWhen my love of Beautyis met by beauty’s love.So I slept enchantedunder my loving treeTill from his late restingthe sweet songster of nightRousing awaken’d me:Then! this—the birdis note—Was the voice of thy throatwhich thou gav’st me to kiss.

NOEL: CHRISTMAS EVE, 1913

Pax hominibus bonæ voluntatisA frosty Christmas Evewhen the stars were shiningFared I forth alonewhere westward falls the hill,And from many a villagein the water’d valleyDistant music reach’d mepeals of bells aringing:The constellated soundsran sprinkling on earth’s floorAs the dark vault abovewith stars was spangled o’er.Then sped my thought to keepthat first Christmas of allWhen the shepherds watchingby their folds ere the dawnHeard music in the fieldsand marveling could not tellWhether it were angelsor the bright stars singing.Now blessed be the tow’rsthat crown England so fairThat stand up strong in prayerunto God for our souls:Blessed be their founders(said I) an’ our country folkWho are ringing for Christin the belfries to-nightWith arms lifted to clutchthe rattling ropes that raceInto the dark aboveand the mad romping din.But to me heard afarit was starry musicAngels’ song, comfortingas the comfort of ChristWhen he spake tenderlyto his sorrowful flock:The old words came to meby the riches of timeMellow’d and transfiguredas I stood on the hillHeark’ning in the aspectof th’ eternal silence.

IN DER FREMDE

Ah! wild-hearted wand’rerfar in the world awayRestless nor knowest whyonly thou canst not stayAnd now turnest tremblinghearing the wind to sigh:’Twas thy lover callingwhom thou didst leave forby.So faint and yet so farso far and yet so fain—“Return belov’d to me”but thou must onward strain:Thy trembling is in vainas thy wand’ring shall be.What so well thou lovestthou nevermore shalt see.

THE PHILOSOPHER AND HIS MISTRESS

We watch’d the wintry moonSuffer her full eclipseRiding at night’s high noonBeyond the earth’s ellipse.The conquering shadow quell’dHer splendour in its robe:And darkling we beheldA dim and lurid globe;Yet felt thereat no dread,Nor waited we to seeThe sullen dragon fled,The heav’nly Queen go free.So if my heart of painOne hour o’ershadow thine,I fear for thee no stain,Thou wilt come forth and shine:And far my sorrowing shadeWill slip to empty spaceInvisible, but madeHappier for that embrace.

NARCISSUS

Almighty wondrous everlastingWhether in a cradle of astral whirlfireOr globed in a piercing star thou slumb’restThe impassive body of God:Thou deep i’ the core of earth—Almighty!—From numbing stress and gloom profoundMadest escape in life desirousTo embroider her thin-spun robe.’Twas down in a wood—they tell—In a running water thou sawest thyselfOr leaning over a pool: The sedgesWere twinn’d at the mirror’s brimThe sky was there and the trees—Almighty!—A bird of a bird and white clouds floatingAnd seeing thou knewest thine own imageTo love it beyond all else.Then wondering didst thou speakOf beauty and wisdom of art and worshipDidst build the fanes of Zeus and ApolloThe high cathedrals of Christ.All that we love is thine—Almighty!—Heart-felt music and lyric songLanguage the eager grasp of knowledgeAll that we think is thine.But whence?—Beauteous everlasting!—Whence and whither? Hast thou mistaken?Or dost forget? Look again! Thou seestA shadow and not thyself.

OUR LADY

IGoddess azure-mantled and aureoledThat standing barefoot upon the moonOr throned as a Queen of the earthTranquilly smilest to holdThe Child-god in thine arms,Whence thy glory? Art not sheThe country maiden of GalileeSimple in dowerless povertyWho from humble cradle to graveHadst no thought of this wonder?When to man dull of heartDawn’d at length graciouslyThy might of MotherhoodThe starry Truth beam’d on his home;Then with insight exalted he gave theeThe trappings—Lady—wherewith his artDelighteth to picture his spirit to senseAnd that grace is immortal.Fount of creative LoveMother of the Word eternalAtoning man with God:Who set thee apart as a garden enclosedFrom Nature’s all-producing wildsTo rear the richest fruit o’ the LifeEver continuing out from HimUrgent since the beginning.IIBehold! Man setteth thine image in the height of HeavenAnd hallowing his untemper’d loveCrowneth and throneth thee ador’d(Tranquilly joyous to holdThe man-child in thine arms)God-like apart from conflict to save theeTo guard thy weak caressive beautyWith incontaminate jewels of soulCourage, patience, and self-devotion:All this glory he gave thee.Secret and slow is NatureImperceptibly movingWith surely determinate aim:To woman it fell to be early in primeReady to labour, mould, and cherishThe delicate head of all ProductionThe wistful late-maturing boyWho made Knowing of Being.Therefore art thou ador’dMother of God in manNaturing nurse of power:They who adore not thee shall perishBut thou shalt keep thy path of joyEnvied of Angels because the All-fatherCall’d thee to mother his nascent WordAnd complete the creation.

THE CURFEW TOWER

Thro’ innocent eyes at the world awond’ringNothing spake to me more superblyThan the round bastion of Windsor’s wallThat warding the Castle’s southern angleAn old inheritor of Norman prowessWas call’d by the folk the Curfew Tow’r.Above the masonry’s rugged coursesA turreted clock of Caroline fashionTold time to the town in black and gold.It charmed the hearts of Henry’s scholarsAs kingly a mentor of English storyAs Homer’s poem is of Ilion:Nor e’er in the landscape look’d it fairerThan when we saw its white bulk halo’dIn a lattice of slender scaffoldings.Month by month on the airy platformsWorkmen labour’d hacking and hoistingTill again the tower was stript to the sun:The old tow’r? Nay a new tow’r stood thereFrom footing to battlemented skylineAnd topt with a cap the slice of a coneArchæologic and counterfeitedThe smoothest thing in all the high-streetAs Eton scholars to-day may see:They—wherever else they find their wonderAnd feed their boyhood on Time’s enchantment—See never the Tow’r that spoke to me.

FLYCATCHERS

Sweet pretty fledgelings, perched on the rail arow,Expectantly happy, where ye can watch belowYour parents a-hunting i’ the meadow grassesAll the gay morning to feed you with flies;Ye recall me a time sixty summers ago,When, a young chubby chap, I sat just soWith others on a school-form rank’d in a row,Not less eager and hungry than you, I trow,With intelligences agape and eyes aglow,While an authoritative old wise-acreStood over us and from a desk fed us with flies.Dead flies—such as litter the library south-window,That buzzed at the panes until they fell stiff-baked on the sill,Or are roll’d up asleep i’ the blinds at sunrise,Or wafer’d flat in a shrunken folio.A dry biped he was, nurtured likewiseOn skins and skeletons, stale from top to toeWith all manner of rubbish and all manner of lies.

GHOSTS

Mazing around my mind like moths at a shaded candle,In my heart like lost bats in a cave fluttering,Mock ye the charm whereby I thought reverently to lay you,When to the wall I nail’d your reticent effigys?

Έτώσιον ἄχθος ἀρούρης

Who goes there? God knows. I’m nobody. How should I answer?Can’t jump over a gate nor run across the meadow.I’m but an old whitebeard of inane identity. Pass on!What’s left of me to-day will very soon be nothing.

HELL AND HATE

Two demons thrust their arms out over the world,Hell with a ruddy torch of fire,And Hate with gasping mouth,Striving to seize two children fairWho play’d on the upper curve of the Earth.Their shapes were vast as the thoughts of man,But the Earth was smallAs the moon’s rim appearethScann’d through an optic glass.The younger child stood erect on the EarthAs a charioteer in a carOr a dancer with arm upraised;Her whole form—barely cladFrom feet to golden head—Leapt brightly against the uttermost azure,Whereon the stars were splashes of lightDazed in the gulfing beds of space.The elder might have been stell’d to showThe lady who led my boyish love;But her face was graver than e’er to meWhen I look’d in her eyes long ago,And the hair on her shoulders fal’nNested its luminous brownI’ the downy spring of her wings:Her figure aneath was screen’d by the Earth,Whereoff—so small that wasNo footing for her could be—She appeared to be sailing freeI’ the glide and poise of her flight.Then knew I the Angel Faith,Who was guarding human Love.Happy were both, of peaceful mien,Contented as mankind longeth to be,Not merry as children are;And show’d no fear of the Fiends’ pursuit,

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