Archives: Poems

Give me my rein, my sais!' Give me my rein! 
    I have a need of it, an absolute need,
To climb upon that bounding back again
    And curb the bad, mad gambols of my steed.
'Tis strange we are thus parted—by no lust
    Of mine, but rather blind, unwearied force 
    That worked upon the sinews of my horse, 
And drove me from him, howling in the dust.

Now he is neither gentle, kind, nor quiet,
    And strives (though vainly) to outleap his girth, 
While right and left the armed hooves are hurled. 
    O Destrier! bethink thee that this riot
    Shall, in the end, bring neither rest nor mirth. . .
Only the heaviest bit in all the world!

Choose another poem

1 
 The fans and the beltings they roar round me.
 The power is shaking the floor round me
 Till the lathes pick up their duty and the midnight-shift takes over.
                 It is good for me to be here! 

     Guns in Flanders—Flanders guns!
     (I had a man that worked ’em once!)
     Shells for guns in Flanders, Flanders!
     Shells for guns in Flanders, Flanders!
     Shells for guns in Flanders! Feed the guns! 

2 
 The cranes and the carriers they boom over me,
 The bays and the galleries they loom over me,
 With their quarter-mile of pillars growing little in the distance—
                 It is good for me to be here! 
3 
 The Zeppelins and Gothas they raid over us.
 Our lights give warning, and fade over us.
 (Seven thousand women keeping quiet in the darkness!)
                 Oh, it’s good for me to be here! 
4 
 The roofs and the buildings they grow round me,
 Eating up the fields I used to know round me;
 And the shed that I began in is a sub-inspector’s office—
                 So long have I been here! 
5 
 I’ve seen six hundred mornings make our lamps grow dim,
 Through the bit that isn’t painted round our sky-light rim,
 And the sunshine through the window slope according to the seasons,
                 Twice since I’ve been here. 
6 
 The trains on the sidings they call to us
 With the hundred thousand blanks that they haul to us;
 And we send ’em what we’ve finished, and they take it where it’s wanted,
                 For that is why we are here! 
7 
 Man’s hate passes as his love will pass.
 God made woman what she always was.
 Them that bear the burden they will never grant forgiveness
                So long as they are here! 
8 
 Once I was a woman, but that’s by with me.
 All I loved and looked for, it must die with me;
 But the Lord has left me over for a servant of the judgment,
               And I serve His judgments here! 

     Guns in Flanders-Flanders guns!
     (I had a son that worked ’em once!)
     Shells for guns in Flanders, Flanders!
     Shells-for guns in Flanders, Flanders!
     Shells for guns in Flanders! Feed the guns! 

Choose another poem

We now, held in captivity,
  Spring to our bondage nor grieve—
See now, how it is blesseder,
  Brothers, to give than receive! 
Keep trust, wherefore we were made,
  Paying the debt that we owe;
For a clean thrust, and the shear of the blade, 
  Will carry us where we would go.

Choose another poem

1 
E'en now the heron treads the wet
  Slush swamps of Goosey pool,  
Now proses vex my Latin set
  That first set upper school.
2 
E'en now, across the summer air, 
  The call bell's clamour floats,
Down to the weed hung rock pools where 
  The Juniors sail their boats.
3 
E'en now the gorze is out in bloom
  Along the Torridge valley,
E'en now the sparrow meets his doom
  From catapult and 'Sally'.
4 
E'en now to Corey's bath they flock 
  Old comrades, after three.
E'en now the lower schoolboys 'rock'
  The Bideford bargee.
5 
For me no call bell rings alas!
  For me, no proses are,
No lounging on the playground grass
  No sails across the Bar.
6 
The hot winds blow, the punkah flaps 
  Incessant, to and fro.
Ah well for those most lucky chaps
  'Who lark at Westward Ho!
7 
The sunlight thro' the palm tree falls,
  Full on the whitewashed roof,
And worse than any college 'calls'
  Are printers' calls for proof.
8 
More dread than any sudden squall 
  A careless prose could raise,
Are people who drop in to call, 
  And take my busiest days.
9 
Grimmer than any 'thousand lines',
  The lines that I must read,
More crabbed than Euclid's worst designs
  A correspondent's screed.
10 
What wonder, while the punkah flaps,
  And hell like hot winds blow, 
I envy those too lucky chaps
  Who work at Westward Ho!

Choose another poem

Follow and faint not, if the road be long
   The pathway desolate, 
No day so sad but reacheth even song
   Be still and wait.
Through good reports and ill, through joy and sorrow
Surely thy Lady comes to thee tomorrow— 

I followed tho' the day was long indeed
   The pathway desolate,
Night came not to me in my dire need
   Where lost, I sate.
Through good report and ill, through joy and sorrow
I waited, but there came not any morrow.
   Surely, who waits on woman waits on sorrow ....

Choose another poem

We were alone on the beach,
   Facing the summer sea,
Watching the waves on the beach, 
  Watching the moon on the sea.

Words were not many, I ween; 
  Why should we want them, we?
Two hearts, and nothing between, 
  Facing the summer sea.

Silence! such silence is speech. 
  She, with her arm in mine,
Pacing the moonlit beach, 
  Makes it communion divine.

Voice of the world around? 
  Blatant bands on the pier?
We have not heard a sound,
  And yet you say they were near!

Well, we must go there once more, 
  Hear them play, you and I
Lo! the day's glory is o'er; 
  Until to-morrow, good-bye.

Choose another poem

1 
  I followed my Duke ere I was a lover,
   To take from England fief and fee;
  But now this game is the other way over -
   But now England hath taken me!
2 
  I had my horse, my shield and banner,
   And a boy's heart, so whole and free;
  But now I sing in another manner -
   But now England hath taken me!
3 
  As for my Father in his tower,
   Asking news of my ship at sea,
  He will remember his own hour -
   Tell him England hath taken me!
4 
  As for my Mother in her bower,
   That rules my Father so cunningly,
  She will remember a maiden's power -
   Tell her England hath taken me!
5 
  As for my Brother in Rouen City,
   A nimble and naughty page is he,
  But he will come to suffer and pity -
   Tell him England hath taken me!
6 
  As for my little Sister waiting
   In the pleasant orchards of Normandie,
  Tell her youth is the time for mating -
   Tell her England hath taken me!
7 
  As for my comrades in camp and highway,
   That lift their eyebrows scornfully,
  Tell them their way is not my way -
   Tell them England hath taken me!
8 
  Kings and Princes and Barons famed,
   Knights and Captains in your degree;
  Hear me a little before I am blamed -
   Seeing England hath taken me!
9 
  Howso great man's strength be reckoned,
   There are two things he cannot flee.
  Love is the first, and Death is the second -
   And Love in England hath taken me!

Choose another poem