Archives: Poems

1 
Oh, glorious are the guarded heights
  Where guardian souls abide—
Self-exiled from our gross delights—
  Above, beyond, outside:
An ampler arc their spirit swings—
  Commands a juster view—
We have their word for all these things,
  No doubt their words are true.
2 
Yet we, the bond slaves of our day,
  Whom dirt and danger press—
Co-heirs of insolence,  delay,
  And leagued unfaithfulness—
Such is our need must seek indeed
  And, having found, engage
The men who merely do the work
  For which they draw the wage.
3 
From forge and farm and mine and bench,
  Deck, altar, outpost lone—
Mill, school, battalion, counter, trench,
  Rail, senate, sheepfold, throne—
Creation's cry goes up on high
  From age to cheated age:
"Send us the men who do the work
  "For which they draw the wage!"
4 
Words cannot help nor wit achieve,
  Nor e'en the all-gifted fool,
Too weak to enter, bide, or leave
  The lists he cannot rule.
Beneath the sun we count on none
  Our evil to assuage,
Except the men that do the work
  For which they draw the wage.
5 
When through the Gates of Stress and Strain
  Comes forth the vast Event—
The simple, sheer, sufficing, sane
  Result of labour spent—
They that have wrought the end unthought
  Be neither saint nor sage,
But only men who did the work
  For which they drew the wage.
6 
Wherefore to these the Fates shall bend
  (And all old idle things)
Wherefore on these shall Power attend
  Beyond the grip of kings:
Each in his place, by right, not grace,
  Shall rule his heritage—
The men who simply do the work
  For which they draw the wage.
7 
Not such as scorn the loitering street,
  Or waste, to earth its praise,
Their noontide's unreturning heat
  About their morning ways;
But such as dower each mortgaged hour
  Alike with clean courage—
Even the men who do the work
  For which they draw the wage—
Men, like to Gods, that do the work
  For which they draw the wage—
Begin-continue-close that work.
  For which they draw the wage!

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 1  
Try as he will, no man breaks wholly loose
    From his first love, no matter who she be.
Oh, was there ever sailor free to choose,
    That didn’t settle somewhere near the sea? 
2  
Myself, it don’t excite me nor amuse
    To watch a pack o’ shipping on the sea,
But I can understand my neighbour’s views
    From certain things which have occurred to me. 
3  
Men must keep touch with things they used to use
     To earn their living, even when they are free;
And so come back upon the least excuse—
     Same as the sailor settled near the sea. 
4  
He knows he’s never going on no cruise
     He knows he’s done and finished with the sea
And yet he likes to feel she’s there to use—
     If he should ask her—as she used to be. 
5  
Even though she cost him all he had to lose,
     Even though she made him sick to hear or see,
Still, what she left of him will mostly choose
     Her skirts to sit by. How comes such to be? 
6  
Parsons in pulpits, tax payers in pews,
     Kings on your thrones, you know as well as me,
We’ve only one virginity to lose,
     And where we lost it there our hearts will be!

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1  
The man who digs himself a tomb 
  And hastes to drop forgotten in it,
May justly, ere he meets his doom,
  Address Creation in a Minute.
It cannot harm a reputation
Gone past all prospect of salvation.
2  
'Oh! very honourable men'—
  Thus writes the Ruler of Madras—
"Your enemies" are happy, when
  The bounds of right you overpass. 
And, since they are so spiteful—why, 
When you go wrong, the fact deny?
3  
All grossly patent forms of fraud 
  Are inexpedient, because
They to our enemies afford
  Excuse to prate of breach of laws. 
Don't blush, my friends! I also find 
How soon old rules slip out of mind.
4  
The Decalogue, for instance, is
  A simple Code of Sections ten,
Yet we occasionally miss
  An odd commandment now and then.
Well—Laws are long and Life is short! 
So, keep your trading out of Court .
5  
Observe, I drop no word of blame,
  No syllable of censure mild;
Nor can men's "spiteful nonsense" shame 
  My colleagues pure and undefiled.
But since the world is so abusive,
Don't make your land-jobs too obtrusive.
6  
You see, a narrow-minded herd 
  By spite and malice actuated,
Take views which are, we know, absurd
  Of lapses such as I have stated. 
Wherefore, I do adjure you, then, 
Keep straight in public, gentlemen.
7  
Buy land in provinces afar— 
  The sinful Pioneer eschew;
Mistrust the wily zemindar
  Who notes whate'er you say and do.
So shall each full of honours die
A pure and pensioned C.S.I. 
8  
Fit ending to a fit career— 
  A dwindling reputation's close— 
But, let us, while we scoff, revere
  The man who, even as he goes, 
Paints in the shame with artist hand,
And flaunts the picture through the land.

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1 
Yearly, with tent and rifle, our careless white men go
By the Pass called Muttianee, to shoot in the vale below.
Yearly by Muttianee he follows our white men in—
Matun, the old blind beggar, bandaged from brow to chin. 
2 
Eyeless, noseless, and lipless - toothless, broken of speech,
Seeking a dole at the doorway he mumbles his tale to each;
Over and over the story, ending as he began:
"Make ye no truce with Adam-zad - the Bear that walks like a Man! 
3 
"There was a flint in my musket - pricked and primed was the pan,
When I went hunting Adam-zad - the Bear that stands like a Man.
I looked my last on the timber, I looked my last on the snow,
When I went hunting Adam-zad fifty summers ago! 
4 
"I knew his times and his seasons, as he knew mine, that fed
By night in the ripened maizefield and robbed my house of bread.
I knew his strength and cunning, as he knew mine, that crept
At dawn to the crowded goat-pens and plundered while I slept. 
5 
"Up from his stony playground - down from his well-digged lair—
Out on the naked ridges ran Adam-zad the Bear—
Groaning, grunting, and roaring, heavy with stolen meals,
Two long marches to northward, and I was at his heels! 
6 
"Two long marches to northward, at the fall of the second night,
I came on mine enemy Adam-zad all panting from his flight.
There was a charge in the musket - pricked and primed was the pan—
My finger crooked on the trigger - when he reared up like a man.
7 
"Horrible, hairy, human, with paws like hands in prayer,
Making his supplication rose Adam-zad the Bear!
I looked at the swaying shoulders, at the paunch's swag and swing,
And my heart was touched with pity for the monstrous, pleading thing. 
8 
"Touched with pity and wonder, I did not fire then . . .
I have looked no more on women - I have walked no more with men.
Nearer he tottered and nearer, with paws like hands that pray—
From brow to jaw that steel-shod paw, it ripped my face away!
9 
"Sudden, silent, and savage, searing as flame the blow -
Faceless I fell before his feet, fifty summers ago.
I heard him grunt and chuckle - I heard him pass to his den.
He left me blind to the darkened years and the little mercy of men.
10 
"Now ye go down in the morning with guns of the newer style,
That load (I have felt) in the middle and range (I have heard) a mile?
Luck to the white man's rifle, that shoots so fast and true,
But - pay, and I lift my bandage and show what the Bear can do!"
11 
(Flesh like slag in the furnace, knobbed and withered and grey—
Matun, the old blind beggar, he gives good worth for his pay.)
"Rouse him at noon in the bushes, follow and press him hard -
Not for his ragings and roarings flinch ye from Adam-zad.
12 
"But (pay, and I put back the bandage) this is the time to fear,
When he stands up like a tired man, tottering near and near;
When he stands up as pleading, in wavering, man-brute guise,
When he veils the hate and cunning of his little, swinish eyes;
13 
"When he shows as seeking quarter, with paws like hands in prayer
That is the time of peril - the time of the Truce of the Bear!" 
14 
Eyeless, noseless, and lipless, asking a dole at the door,
Matun, the old blind beggar, he tells it o'er and o'er;
Fumbling and feeling the rifles, warming his hands at the flame,
Hearing our careless white men talk of the morrow's game; 
15 
Over and over the story, ending as he began:—
"There is no truce with Adam-zad, the Bear that looks like a Man!"

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1 
Ever so little to shew for it
   And I shouldn't have cared but I haven't a thing
   Excepting her battered turquoise ring 
And my finger's so thick it's too small to fit.
2 
Nothing to shew for all the sorrow—
   And!—Good God! I am here by myself 
   With those two watch pockets over our shelf
I must take the red one down tomorrow.
3 
I wonder why she went so fast.
   I'm sure she ought to have lived a while, 
   For the doctor said, with his sawdust smile,
'She's bound to go—but a week she'll last.'
4 
I shouldn't ha' minded, if only I'd known— 
   But it happened so suddenly—first the gasp
   And then—she was holding me tight in her clasp—
The jaw went down, and she fell like a stone.
5 
What came next after the stillness?
   Oh! tea, on a tray, with cups for two—
   (You see they thought that she'd pull through,
And we'd always taken it so, in her illness.)
6 
That upset me—Lord knows why:
   When the slavey left and shut the door 
   I gulped a bit, and I drop't on the floor 
But my throat was so hot I couldn't cry—
7 
And then the business next morning and all
  The hideous wrangling over the price
  'For three pun ten you can do it nice
But there's ten bob more for the use of the pall
8 
And three bob more if you 'as the bell,
  An' then there's the land; we manages that,
  And then there's the crape what goes round your 'at
And then there's the parson's fees as well.'
9 
(The worst of it is you can't escape 
  The detail after a loved one dies,
  But must quit at once, gird loins & rise 
To haggle for feathers and nails and crape)
10 
'We'll manage it all.' God! What did I care 
  As he preached in a dreary monotone
  Of the different merits of different stone
And asked when the men should come and where.
11 
A wholesale business—mercantile
  To the gilt-head letter—nails hammered in—
  A matter of money—Who cared a pin 
Or thought of my Lottie all the while!

               *          *         *          *
              
12 
Why is it so? What's the good of it all?
  I'd ha' kept her alive if they'd let me try— 
  And she—what need to make her die?
God of the Pestilence answer my call. 
13 
Surely our God is a little blind,
  Or a little careless maybe—perhaps
  He is out of the reach of those awful taps
On the shell that are driving me out of my mind.
14 
All so horrible! all so strange!
  She can't have altered to this so quickly! 
  Her colour was always a little sickly,
But what a change! Oh what a change!
15 
The straight, lax lines by the curve of the lips,
  The stretched wax skin where no colour lingers, 
  The blackening tips of her little fingers,
And the hollow under the finger tips
16 
Lottie? The heart of our nomad life?
  Madcap girl with the reckless tongue?
  That her?—Why should she die so young
Scarcely passed from the child to the wife?
17 
Old in the wit that our headrace brings, 
  But oh! so sweet, so loving, so ready—
  Younger than I but she kept me steady
Through a year of trouble and buffetings.
18 
And she's somewhere apart and away from me, 
  Flown like a wild bird, out of my hand—
  There's the pain—Can you understand
How it feels and what it must be
19 
To think of our councils, her head on my breast 
  And the cash book balanced somehow or other, 
  With plenty of kisses deficits to smother?
(Foolish of course-but we liked it best)
20 
And then our evening strolls and our talks 
  On the benches facing the Serpentine, 
  Retold the old story, her hand in mine,
While darkness settled down on the walks,
21 
Went over the year that joined us two
  Step by step—slowly, so slowly—
  Till night hid the lapping waters wholly, 
And I felt her ulster damp with the dew.
22 
Now—just nothing and worse than that
  For the room is full of the clothes she wore—
  There's her corset lying about on the floor
With her knowing, brown, little sealskin hat.
23 
But the step, and the laugh and the eye are gone—
  These things proclaim the fact aloud,
  While the sun glares in from the grey smoke cloud,
Lest I miss the bed that she lay upon—		
24 
What days those were—and now they're over—
  I could work like a slave before 'twas light 
  All through the day and half the night
But then—I'm Curtiss not Lottie's lover.—
25 
Peace for her, I suppose so—
  For me What peace is there, except the lull 
  After a storm has blown to its full
And the sodden corpses come out of the sea,
26 
There's one thought strikes as the worst of it—
  The years will heal the scar they made
  And fix it, a youthful escapade
When I'm older—and wiser a little bit
27 
Nothing is fixed—The newer day
  Smothers the dead one—New interests crowd 
  (With little breathing space allowed)
To take the edge of our grief away.—
28 
What have I to keep me out of the pit,
  Now you are gone—What chance for me
  To make my life as it used to be
With you, sole arbitress of it—
29 
Oh girl wife I was the world to you!
  How will it be when we meet again?
  You stamped with my seal, that you remain
For ever as loving, as sweet and true.
30 
And I, with the hand some alien she
  Presses in fire over the first
  Maybe—or else (the last and worst)
My passion frittered utterly
31 
Through a dozen channels of later loves, 
  No one single, or perfect or clean— 
  How could I face you Oh my Queen
When we meet again if Fate approves.
32 
I think you would put out your arms as of old, 
  With that odd, quick gesture—draw my face 
  Down on your breast in a strict embrace,
And keep it there till the tale was told.—
33 
And after it all—you would turn your head 
  To the bar—'This man was a god to me 
  Even as Thou art—set him free
Seeing he stood for a time in thy stead'
34 
What am I raving of? There you lie 
  And now you are going—I shan't go
  I loved you too much in life, you know 
To follow up to the cemetery—
35 
You shall be Lottie, a little worn, 
  And very silent, a little pale
  Nothing more—what would it avail
If I walked behind you—where you are borne?
36 
You shall be Lottie—so fast asleep,
  That you will not wake though I kiss you now—
  Once, twice, thrice-lips, eyes, and brow
And give you our marriage lines to keep
37 
Rest in peace—God bless you—Goodnight 
  And another kiss before the screw
  Comes to sunder me from you
And the top-board shuts your face from sight
38 
The bitterest wrench of it all is near—
  Up till now it was nothing—but
  God have mercy! It's shut, it's shut
And they're going to take it away from here.
39 
Help me someone! Let it bide!
  Open it only once again—
  I'm perfectly well, I can bear the pain,
I'll swear that a camphor bag slipped inside—
40 
A great Love spilt, and to shew for it— 
  Nothing—the white face there is quiet
  While the first floor children continue their riot,
And my head is aching fit to split.

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Thirteen as twelve my Murray always took—
    He was a publisher. The new Police
Have neater ways of bringing men to book,
    So Juan found himself before J.P.’s
Accused of storming through that placid nook
    At practically any pace you please.
The Dogberry, and the Waterbury, made
It fifty mile—five pounds. And Juan paid!

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1 
Ere the mother’s milk had dried
  On my lips, the Brethren came—
Tore me from my nurse’s side,
  And bestowed on me a name 
2
Infamously overtrue—
  Such as ‘Bunny,’ ‘Stinker,’ ‘Podge’;—
But, whatever I should do,
   Mine for ever in the Lodge. 
3
Then they taught with palm and toe—
  Then I learned with yelps and tears—
All the Armoured Man should know
  Through his Seven Secret Years . . . 
4
Last, oppressing as oppressed,
  I was loosed to go my ways
With a Totem on my breast
  Governing my nights and days— 
5
Ancient and unbribeable,
  By the virtue of its Name—
Which, however oft I fell
  Lashed me back into The Game. 
6
And the World, that never knew,
  Saw no more beneath my chin
Than a patch of rainbow-hue,
  Mixed as Life and crude as Sin.

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