Archives: Poems

1 
Oh, long had we paltered
    With bridle and girth
Ere those horses were haltered
   That gave us the Earth— 
2 
Ere the Flame and the Fountain,
    The Spark and the Wheel,
Sank Ocean and Mountain
    Alike ’neath our keel. 
3 
But the Wind in her blowing,
    The bird on the wind,
Made naught of our going,
    And left us behind. 
4 
Till the gale was outdriven,
    The gull overflown,
And there matched us in Heaven
    The Sun-God alone. 
5 
He only the master
    We leagued to o’erthrow,
He only the faster
    And, therefore, our foe! 
   
   
        *  *  *  *  *  *  
    
6 
Light steals to uncurtain
    The dim-shaping skies
That arch and make certain
    Where he shall arise. 
7 
We lift to the onset.
    We challenge anew.
From sunrise to sunset,
    Apollo, pursue! 
  

        *  *  *  *  *  * 

8 
What ails thee, O Golden?
    Thy Chariot is still?
What Power has withholden
    The Way from the Will? 
9 
Lo, Hesper hath paled not,
    Nor darkness withdrawn.
The Hours have availed not
     To lead forth the Dawn! 
10 
Do they flinch from full trial,
    The Coursers of Day?
The shade on our dial
     Moves swifter than they! 
11 
We fleet, but thou stayest
     A God unreleased;
And still thou delayest
    Low down in the East— 
12 
A beacon faint-burning,
    A glare that decays
As the blasts of our spurning
    Blow backward its blaze. 
13 
The mid-noon grows colder,
     Night rushes to meet,
And the curve of Earth’s shoulder
    Heaves up thy defeat. 
14 
Storm on at that portal,
    We have thee in prison!
Apollo, immortal,
    Thou hast not arisen!

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Alas! Alas! it is a tale so old—
   Alas! Alas! its pain is very new;
   It is a strange, hard thought for me and you—
That warm limbs and strong hearts should ere wax cold,
That ever Life should cease within our eyes,
   And silence for a season fall on each,
   And for a season, Loving ended be.—
Ah! Sweet, what need to follow phantasies
When Love's best fruit lies hard within our reach—
   And nought disturbs immutability—
Trust me—when weak the heart and faint the hand,
And Death, the master, little tarrieth—
Then, through Death's own blow shall we understand,
   How Love is stronger than all earthly Death.

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So the end came
      In the darkness of night— 
There was no flame,
      There was no light 
To guide us aright.

And I called to her out of the gloom—
      (She was all to me)
      'Flee thou to the sea 
Lest they seek for thee
And hale us twain to the doom.'

And she said 'This is woe 
      Greater than all—
      In the way that we go 
There be many that fall
      And trouble will come to us so'—

But we fled away,
      (Tho' the face of the sea 
 Was covered with spray,
      And the wave rose angrily)
To 'scape from the God of the Seas—
And we twain were ill at ease 

And we came  to  a weedy shore— 
      But when we would have passed
The boat stayed evermore
      In the wrack that held it fast, 
Even as Sin that will last,
      Though many years be o'er. 

So we waited for God on the sea 
      (Silent and hand in hand)
Till there came a wind from the land 
      And the deep was stirred with pain,
And she passed with a sigh from me
Into the mist and the rain—
Yet I pray to the God of the Seas 
      That he give me my Love again, 
      That he bring my spirit ease.
        But I fear me, my prayers are vain.

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1 
Hans Breitmann vent to India—
   Dere vasn't no demonsdration—
He bummed along in a B and O 
   To look at de Aryan nation;
But Himmel's face had a shiny smile 
   As if it knowed de thing,
Und liddle shtars coom out und vinked 
   At Breitmann on de ving.
2 
Hans Breitmann went to India— 
   Dey drop him at Bombay—
He hoonted aroun' for de Gofernor, 
   On top of a buggy—shay.
'Darwaza bund', de porter said—
   Der Breitmann speak him fair:—
'Dere vasn't any sooch a man,
   Und if dere vas I'm dere!
3 
I seek a shenuine Deutscher, 
   Dey say he runs dis show,
Und arguin' on a door-mat
   Is dwice so mean ash slow—
Derefore!' He shvore ein juron
   De liddlest dot he knew—
De porter faint mit horror und
   De Breitmann pass through.
4 
He found de crate Herr Gofernor
   In bens and ink geshpilt
Wrop up in adminisdration—
   Likevise in a plazin' kilt.
'Die Färb' sind mir nicht unbekannt— 
   But I guess de green haf ran
Into die red und vhite und plue, 
   Remark de Breitmann.
5 
Dey sat him down on a sofa, 
   Dey gafe him a long cigar,
Vhile de Gofernor dell of troubles 
   Mit bapers in Kathiawar—
Und vhen he haf grasp de inwardness 
   Und lighted another schmoke,
Mit his feet on de fop of de dable 
   'Tvas so de Breitmann shboke:—
6 
'Now bist du Scotch or Deutscher 
   Or bist du both—in shpots,
It's bedder to vork on a brinciple 
   Vhich I'll pring down to dots:
For de more dot brinciple's acted on 
   Und trifen home to de heft,
De less vill you be hong up to dry,
   Und de less vill you get left.
7 
Dere's a certain sort of cussin' 
   Dot bolidicks mostly breeds—
Slanganderin' men by nations
   And drowin' mud on deir creeds;
But dot's legitimate pizness
   For, since de world pegan,
Lager, de girls and de gali
   Ish more dan meat to a man.
8 
He'll shvear at de Pope und Kaiser 
   He'll shvear at his frau, by shings!
Und ven his frau shvears back at him, 
   He'll shvear at afery dings!
Und 'lowin' for human nadure
   De notion's safe und sound,
So long as de man mit grievance 
   Joost sloshes his shvearin' around.
9 
But vhen subjectif cussin' 
   Tevelops a tefinite line
Und begomes objectif libel,
   Fidelicit:—"Schmitt is a schwein!"
De Schmitt dot is called a schwein-pick,
   Howefer his bolidicks lean,
Vill call on de Herr Redakteur'  
   Und say:—"Vot Hell you mean?"
10 
Nun! Oonder your vay of pizness— 
   I put de matter in prief—
A snigglin', snoopin' schwein–blatt 
   Have called your servant a  thief;
Und when you asked for de proofments
   Und found dot dere vasn't none,
Insdeat of bustin' de druckerei  
   You leaf dat schwein–blatt alone.'
11 
De Gofernor look at de ceilin'— 
   De Gofernor look on de floor,
He never vas so behondelt 
   By voman or man pefore.
'Now dere was a custom in Kansas'— 
   Hans schmile a derrible schmile—
'For sublimatin' de kultur 
   Und puttin' a gloss on de style.
12 
Ve passed a simple rulin' 
   To raise de tone of de blace,
Und nailed a gratis copy 
   To every forme und case:— 
"De man dot publishes ardicles  
   Peyont his politishescope
De Viligance Committee 
   Sub-edits ... mit a rope!"
13 
Und dot vas in "bleedin' Kansas",  
   Vhere men are ge–built in de raw—
Und foorst dey empty deir bistol 
   Und den enquire de Law;
But no one was called a horse–thief  
   Mitout a mountain of proof,
For de only case of libel 
   Ve hanged from his office roof.
14 
Gut! Toornin' again to your trouble,  
   Vhich you have so mooch bemessed
De man dot vas tarred in de paper  
   Haf folded his vings in de West,
Und, since dot paper haf shwallowed  
   Its statement hump and paw,
Onless you vass heeled und ready, 
   Vhy Devil und all did you draw.
15 
Potzblitz! and dou art a Deutscher!  
   Herr Gott! and a Baron too!
Mit a lien on de Sherman nation  
   Vhich makes it Reayson–de–blu
Dot you shouldn't be so spread–eagled  
   Und hung by der heels to bleed,
But I guess I haf taught you somedings.

              *               *               *
 
   Here endet de Breitmannleid.

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When by the labour of my ’ands
  I’ve ’elped to pack a transport tight
With prisoners for foreign lands,
   I ain’t transported with delight.
  I know it’s only just an’ right,
     But yet it somehow sickens me,
For I ’ave learned at Waterval   
     The meanin’ of captivity. 

Be’ind the pegged barb-wire strands,
  Beneath the tall electric light,
We used to walk in bare-’ead bands,
   Explainin’ ’ow we lost our fight;
  An’ that is what they’ll do to-night
     Upon the steamer out at sea,
If I ’ave learned at Waterval
     The meanin’ of captivity. 

They’ll never know the shame that brands—
  Black shame no livin’ down makes white—
The mockin’ from the sentry-stands,
  The women’s laugh, the gaoler’s spite.
  We are too bloomin’-much polite,
     But that is ’ow I’d ’ave us be . . .
Since I ’ave learned at Waterval
     The meanin’ of captivity. 

They’ll get those draggin’ days all right,
  Spent as a foreigner commands,
An’ ’orrors of the locked-up night,
  With ’Ell’s own thinkin’ on their ’ands.
  I’d give the gold o’ twenty Rands
     (If it was mine) to set ’em free
For I ’ave learned at Waterval
     The meanin’ of captivity!

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1 
 Who knows the heart of the Christian? How does he reason?
 What are his measures and balances? Which is his season
 For laughter, forbearance or bloodshed, and what devils move him
 When he arises to smite us? I do not love him. 
2 
 He invites the derision of strangers—he enters all places.
 Booted, bareheaded he enters. With shouts and embraces
 He asks of us news of the household whom we reckon nameless.
 Certainly Allah created him forty-fold shameless! 
3 
 So it is not in the Desert. One came to me weeping—
 The Avenger of Blood on his track—I took him in keeping.
 Demanding not whom he had slain, I refreshed him, I fed him
 As he were even a brother. But Eblis had bred him. 
4 
 He was the son of an ape, ill at ease in his clothing.
 He talked with his head, hands and feet. I endured him with loathing.
 Whatever his spirit conceived his countenance showed it
 As a frog shows in a mud-puddle. Yet I abode it! 
5 
 I fingered my beard and was dumb, in silence confronting him.
 His soul was too shallow for silence, e’en with Death hunting him.
 I said: “’Tis his weariness speaks,” but, when he had rested,
 He chirped in my face like some sparrow, and, presently, jested! 
6 
 Wherefore slew I that stranger? He brought me dishonour.
 I saddled my mare, Bijli, I set him upon her.
 I gave him rice and goat’s flesh. He bared me to laughter.
 When he was gone from my tent, swift I followed after,
 Taking my sword in my hand. The hot wine had filled him.
 Under the stars he mocked me—therefore I killed him!

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"The interpreter then called for a
man-servant of his, one Great-Heart."
—Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.

1 
Concerning brave Captains
   Our age hath made known
For all men to honour,
   One standeth alone,
2 
Of whom, o’er both oceans,
   Both peoples may say:
“Our realm is diminished
   With Great-Heart away.”
3 
In purpose unsparing,
   In action no less,
The labours he praised
   He would seek and profess
4 
Through travail and battle,
   At hazard and pain. . .
And our world is none the braver
   Since Great-Heart was ta’en!
5 
Plain speech with plain folk,
   And plain words for false things,
Plain faith in plain dealing
   ’Twixt neighbours or kings,
6 
He used and he followed,
   However it sped. . . .
Oh, our world is none more honest
   Now Great-Heart is dead!
7 
The heat of his spirit
   Struck warm through all lands;
For he loved such as showed
   ’Emselves men of their hands;
 8 
In love, as in hate,
   Paying home to the last...
But our world is none the kinder
   Now Great-Heart hath passed!
9 
Hard-schooled by long power,
   Yet most humble of mind
Where aught that he was
   Might advantage mankind.
10 
Leal servant, loved master,
   Rare comrade, sure guide.
Oh, our world is none the safer
   Now Great-Heart hath died!
11 
Let those who would handle
   Make sure they can wield
His far-reaching sword
   And his close-guarding shield:
12 
For those who must journey
   Henceforward alone
Have need of stout convoy
   Now Great-Heart is gone.

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