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He wandered down the mountain grade
    Beyond the speed assigned—
A youth whom Justice often stayed
    And generally fined.

He went alone, that none might know
    If he could drive or steer.
Now he is in the ditch, and Oh!
    The differential gear!

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SINCE ye distemper and defile
Sweet Herè by the measured mile,
Nor aught on jocund highways heed
Except the evidence of speed;
And bear about your dreadful task
Faces beshrouded ’neath a mask;
Great goblin eyes and gluey hands
And souls enslaved to gears and bands;
Here shall no graver curse be said
Than, though y’are quick, that ye are dead!

1 
Across a world where all men grieve
And grieving strive the more,
The great days range like tides and leave
Our dead on every shore.
Heavy the load we undergo,
And our own hands prepare,
If we have parley with the foe,
The load our sons must bear.
2 
Before we loose the word
That bids new worlds to birth,
Needs must we loosen first the sword
Of Justice upon earth;
Or else all else is vain
Since life on earth began,
And the spent world sinks back again
Hopeless of God and Man.
3 
A People and their King
Through ancient sin grown strong,
Because they feared no reckoning
Would set no bound to wrong;
But now their hour is past,
And we who bore it find
Evil Incarnate held at last
To answer to mankind.
4 
For agony and spoil
Of nations beat to dust,
For poisoned air and tortured soil
And cold, commanded lust,
And every secret woe
The shuddering waters saw—
Willed and fulfilled by high and low—
Let them relearn the Law.
5 
That when the dooms are read,
Not high nor low shall say:—
“My haughty or my humble head
Has saved me in this day.”
That, till the end of time,
Their remnant shall recall
Their fathers’ old, confederate crime
Availed them not at all.
6 
That neither schools nor priests,
Nor Kings may build again
A people with the heart of beasts
Made wise concerning men.
Whereby our dead shall sleep
In honour, unbetrayed,
And we in faith and honour keep
That peace for which they paid.

One day whilst full of burning thought, 
  I faced the Corridor—
The term was young, and I espied
  A new boy very raw.

His face was pale, his brow was sad, 
  His eyes with fearful rolls
Pierced with their dull and leaden glance 
  My sympathetic soul.

His attitude of inward pain 
  Convulsed each thrilling sense;
Aesthetic souls must leap to him—
  He surely is 'intense'.

What ails thee, gentle boy, I cried, 
  Canst thou confide in me,
Is it a mother's care you miss, 
  Your home and family?

He turned on me a frenzied glance, 
  His eye with passion lights;
'I don't feel quite the thing,' said he, 
  I've just been down to Keyte's.'

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(On the re-assembling of Parliament after the 
Coronation, the Government have no intention 
of allowing their followers to vote according to their 
convictions on the Declaration of London, but insist
on a strictly party vote.—Daily Papers.)


We were all one heart and one race
When the Abbey trumpets blew.
For a moment’s breathing-space
We had forgotten you.
Now you return to your honoured place
Panting to shame us anew. 

We have walked with the Ages dead—
With our Past alive and ablaze.
And you bid us pawn our honour for bread,
This day of all the days!
And you cannot wait till our guests are sped,
Or last week’s wreath decays? 

The light is still in our eyes
Of Faith and Gentlehood,
Of Service and Sacrifice;
And it does not match our mood,
To turn so soon to your treacheries
That starve our land of her food. 

Our ears still carry the sound
Of our once-Imperial seas,
Exultant after our King was crowned,
Beneath the sun and the breeze.
It is too early to have them bound
Or sold at your decrees. 

Wait till the memory goes,
Wait till the visions fade,
We may betray in time, God knows,
But we would not have it said,
When you make report to our scornful foes.

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1 
He came in the winter midnight—
  Our Ruler—Time's youngest boy,
And we murdered his predecessor,
  With revel and riot and joy.
2 
'Te morituri salutant!'
  Oh! what are your measures?' we cried.
'And what is your policy usward?'
  And our baby King replied:—
3 
'My people! Some chairs will empty; 
  And sundry cradles will fill;
And divers passions will vanish;
  And hopes and hearts will chill
4 
Ere I quit you in next December.' 
  (Our Ruler paused and smiled,
And the eyes of the terrible Father
  Looked out from the face of the Child.)
5 
'Some vows will be plighted and broken
  And women and men will lie; 
And envy and hatred and malice
  Will thrive apace till I die.
6 
And Loves Eternal will perish,
  Ere half of my reign be done, 
And a thousand good resolutions
  Will melt like snow in the sun.'
7 
Then we spread the tables for feasting
  And made the great bells swing;
And clamoured aloud for largesse
  At the hands of our generous King.
8 
Rich nuts to the toothless gave he; 
  Strong meats to the aged and weak—
The gift of a fading eyesight—
  The gift of a withered cheek.
9 
High hopes, brave aspirations, 
  That sank us deep in the mire;
Fair visions of long–lost chances;
  The gifts of a vain desire.
10 
He dowered us richly with knowledge, 
  The sins of our youth to mourn,
And gave us the gift of loving,
  When the time for loving was gone.
11 
So we hugged his gifts to our bosoms, 
  And feasted and made good cheer;
And we grasped the hands of our neighbours, 
  And wished them:—'A Happy New Year'.

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I passed through the lonely Indian town,
  Deep sunk 'twixt the walls of wheat,
And the dogs that lived in the land came down 
  And bayed at me in the street.

But I struck with my dog-whip o'er nose and back 
  Of the yelping, yellow crew,
Till I cleared a pathway athwart the pack,
  And I and my horse went through.

I passed through the streets of my haunted heart,
  In the hush of a hopeless night;
And from every gully a dog would start
  And bay my soul with affright.

But I smote with the dog-whip of Work and Fact 
  These evil beasts on the head,
Till I made of my heart a wholesome tract, 
  Empty and garnishèd.

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Over the edge of the purple down,
   Where the single lamplight gleams,
Know ye the road to the Merciful Town
   That is hard by the Sea of Dreams–
Where the poor may lay their wrongs away,
   And the sick may forget to weep?
But we–pity us! Oh, pity us!
   We wakeful; ah, pity us!–
We must go back with Policeman Day–
   Back from the City of Sleep!

Weary they turn from the scroll and crown,
   Fetter and prayer and plough–
They that go up to the Merciful Town,
   For her gates are closing now.
It is their right in the Baths of Night
   Body and soul to steep,
But we – pity us! ah, pity us!
   We wakeful; oh, pity us!–
We must go back with Policeman Day–
   Back from the City of Sleep!

Over the edge of the purple down,
   Ere the tender dreams begin,
Look–we may look–at the Merciful Town,
   But we may not enter in!
Outcasts all, from her guarded wall
   Back to our watch we creep:
We–pity us! ah, pity us!
   We wakeful; ah, pity us!–
We that go back with Policeman Day–
   Back from the City of Sleep!

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