Archives: Poems

                           BOMBAY 
 
Royal and Dower-royal, I the Queen
     Fronting thy richest sea with richer hands—
 A thousand mills roar through me where I glean
     All races from all lands. 
              
                        CALCUTTA

 Me the Sea-captain loved, the River built,
     Wealth sought and Kings adventured life to hold.
 Hail, England! I am Asia—Power on silt,
    Death in my hands, but Gold! 
               
                         MADRAS 

Clive kissed me on the mouth and eyes and brow,
    Wonderful kisses, so that I became
 Crowned above Queens—a withered beldame now,
    Brooding on ancient fame. 
               
                        RANGOON 

 Hail, Mother! Do they call me rich in trade?
    Little care I, but hear the shorn priest drone,
 And watch my silk-clad lovers, man by maid,
    Laugh ’neath my Shwe Dagon. 
             
                       SINGAPORE 

 Hail, Mother! East and West must seek my aid
    Ere the spent gear may dare the ports afar.
 The second doorway of the wide world’s trade
    Is mine to loose or bar. 
              
                      HONG-KONG 

 Hail, Mother! Hold me fast; my Praya sleeps
    Under innumerable keels to-day.
 Yet guard (and landward), or to-morrow sweeps
    Thy war-ships down the bay! 
               
                        HALIFAX 

Into the mist my guardian prows put forth,
    Behind the mist my virgin ramparts lie,
 The Warden of the Honour of the North,
    Sleepless and veiled am I! 
        
           QUEBEC AND MONTREAL 
  
Peace is our portion. Yet a whisper rose,
    Foolish and causeless, half in jest, half hate.
 Now wake we and remember mighty blows,
     And, fearing no man, wait! 
               
                      VICTORIA 
 
From East to West the circling word has passed,
    Till West is East beside our land-locked blue;
 From East to West the tested chain holds fast,
    The well-forged link rings true! 
              
                    CAPE TOWN 

 Hail! Snatched and bartered oft from hand to hand,
    I dream my dream, by rock and heath and pine,
 Of Empire to the northward. Ay, one land
    From Lion’s Head to Line! 
              
                  MELBOURNE 

 Greeting! Nor fear nor favour won us place,
    Got between greed of gold and dread of drouth,
 Loud-voiced and reckless as the wild tide-race
    That whips our harbour-mouth! 
               
                     SYDNEY 
 
Greeting! My birth-stain have I turned to good;
    Forcing strong wills perverse to steadfastness:
 The first flush of the tropics in my blood,
    And at my feet Success! 
               
                    BRISBANE 
 
The northern stock beneath the southern skies—
    I build a Nation for an Empire’s need,
 Suffer a little, and my land shall rise,
    Queen over lands indeed! 
               
                    HOBART 

 Man’s love first found me; man’s hate made me Hell;
    For my babes’ sake I cleansed those infamies.
 Earnest for leave to live and labour well,
    God flung me peace and ease. 
               
                   AUCKLAND 
 
Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart—
    On us, on us the unswerving season smiles,
 Who wonder ’mid our fern why men depart
    To seek the Happy Isles!

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Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban;
 Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man.
 Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the bone that I bare;
 Stark as your sons shall be—stern as your fathers were.
 Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether,
 But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together.
 My arm is nothing weak, my strength is not gone by;
 Sons, I have borne many sons, but my dugs are not dry.
 Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors,
 That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors—
 Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower Seas,
 Ay, talk to your gray mother that bore you on her knees!—
 That ye may talk together, brother to brother’s face—
 Thus for the good of your peoples—thus for the Pride of the Race.
 Also, we will make promise. So long as The Blood endures,
 I shall know that your good is mine: ye shall feel that my strength is yours:
 In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight of all,
 That Our House stand together and the pillars do not fall.
 Draw now the threefold knot firm on the ninefold bands,
 And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands.
 This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle-bloom,
 This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern Broom.
 The Law that ye make shall be law and I do not press my will,
 Because ye are Sons of The Blood and call me Mother still.
 Now must ye speak to your kinsmen and they must speak to you,
 After the use of the English, in straight-flung words and few.
 Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways,
 Balking the end half-won for an instant dole of praise.
 Stand to your work and be wise—certain of sword and pen,
 Who are neither children nor Gods, but men in a world of men!

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1 
The road to En-dor is easy to tread
  For Mother or yearning Wife.
  There, it is sure, we shall meet our Dead
  As they were even in life.
 Earth has not dreamed of the blessing in store
 For desolate hearts on the road to En-dor. 
2
 Whispers shall comfort us out of the dark—
  Hands—ah God!—that we knew!
 Visions and voices—look and hark!—
  Shall prove that the tale is true,
An that those who have passed to the further shore
May be hailed—at a price—on the road to En-dor. 
3
But they are so deep in their new eclipse
  Nothing they say can reach,
Unless it be uttered by alien lips
  And framed in a stranger's speech.
The son must send word to the mother that bore,
Through an hireling's mouth. 'Tis the rule of En-dor.
4
And not for nothing these gifts are shown
  By such as delight our dead.
They must twitch and stiffen and slaver and groan
  Ere the eyes are set in the head,
And the voice from the belly begins. Therefore,
We pay them a wage where they ply at En-dor.
5
Even so, we have need of faith
  And patience to follow the clue.
Often, at first, what the dear one saith
  Is babble, or jest, or untrue.
(Lying spirits perplex us sore
Till our loves—and their lives—are well-known at
        En-dor). . . . .  
6
Oh, the road to En-dor is the oldest road
  And the craziest road of all!
Straight it runs to the Witch's abode,
  As it did in the days of Saul,
And nothing has changed of the sorrow in store
For such as go down on the road to En-dor!

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1 
Eddi, priest of St. Wilfrid
In his chapel at Manhood End,
Ordered a midnight service
For such as cared to attend.
2 
But the Saxons were keeping Christmas,
And the night was stormy as well.
Nobody came to service,
Though Eddi rang the bell.
3 
'Wicked weather for walking,'
Said Eddi of Manhood End.
'But I must go on with the service
For such as care to attend.
4 
The altar-lamps were lighted, –
An old marsh-donkey came,
Bold as a guest invited,
And stared at the guttering flame.
5 
The storm beat on at the windows,
The water splashed on the floor,
And a wet, yoke-weary bullock
Pushed in through the open door.
6 
'How do I know what is greatest,
How do I know what is least?
That is My Father's business,'
Said Eddi, Wilfrid's priest.
7 
'But – three are gathered together –
Listen to me and attend.
I bring good news, my brethren!'
Said Eddi of Manhood End.
8 
And he told the Ox of a Manger
And a Stall in Bethlehem,
And he spoke to the Ass of a Rider,
That rode to Jerusalem.
9 
They steamed and dripped in the chancel,
They listened and never stirred,
While, just as though they were Bishops,
Eddi preached them The Word,
10 
Till the gale blew off on the marshes
And the windows showed the day,
And the Ox and the Ass together
Wheeled and clattered away.
11 
And when the Saxons mocked him,
Said Eddi of Manhood End,
'I dare not shut His chapel
On such as care to attend.'

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               (Horace, Ode 17, Bk. V. )

1 
How comes it that, at even-tide,
When level beams should show most truth,
Man, failing, takes unfailing pride
In memories of his frolic youth?
2 
Venus and Liber fill their hour;
The games engage, the law-courts prove;
Till hardened life breeds love of power
Or Avarice, Age's final love.
3 
Yet at the end, these comfort not–
Nor any triumph Fate decrees–
Compared with glorious, unforgot–
Ten innocent enormities
4 
Of frontless days before the beard,
When, instant on the casual jest,
The God Himself of Mirth appeared
And snatched us to His heaving breast
5 
And we–not caring who He was
But certain He would come again–
Accepted all He brought to pass
As Gods accept the lives of men...
6 
Then He withdrew from sight and speech,
Nor left a shrine. How comes it now,
While Charon's keel grates on the beach,
He calls so clear: "Rememberest thou?"

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1 
When the grey geese heard the Fool’s tread
   Too near to where they lay,
 They lifted neither voice nor head,
  But took themselves away. 
2
No water broke, no pinion whirred-
  There went no warning call.
 The steely, sheltering rushes stirred
  A little—that was all. 
3
Only the osiers understood,
  And the drowned meadows spied
 What else than wreckage of a flood
  Stole outward on that tide. 
4
But the far beaches saw their ranks
   Gather and greet and grow
 By myriads on the naked banks
  Watching their sign to go; 
5
Till, with a roar of wings that churned
  The shivering shoals to foam,
 Flight after flight took air and turned
  To find a safer home; 
6
And, far below their steadfast wedge,
  They heard (and hastened on)
 Men thresh and clamour through the sedge
  Aghast that they were gone! 
7
And, when men prayed them come anew 
  And nest where they were bred,
“Nay, fools foretell what knaves will do,"
  Was all the grey geese said.

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Man dies too soon, beside his works half-planned.
  His days are counted and reprieve is vain:
  Who shall entreat with Death to stay his hand;
    Or cloke the shameful nakedness of pain? 

Send here the bold, the seekers of the way—
  The passionless, the unshakeable of soul,
Who serve the inmost mysteries of man’s clay,
   And ask no more than leave to make them whole.

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'A singular scarcity of men prevails this year
at most of the Hill Stations of Upper India;
owing to the number of men who have taken
leave to England or Kashmir—Newsletter.'

1 
    There's wailing on the Camel's Back;
    There's grief on Simla Mall;
    Blank horror thrills the Murree Hills
    And broods o'er Naini Tal!
    The dances stop; the dinners drop;
    The blatant bands are dumb:
    The maidens wait disconsolate
    For men who never come.
2 
    The 'rickshaws run—none run beside,
    Uncavaliered they go;
    The only mails (Her Majesty's)
    Accentuate their woe.
    Ah ha! they scorned our simple worth
    In other, livelier years;
    Come, let us mock their misery,
    And gloat upon their tears!
3 
    Go, ask the bounding barasingh
    Where are your partners gone!
    Speak to the flying P and O,
    Or Thomas Cook and Son!
    They hunt another quarry now,
    The men whose loss you grieve;
    For half of them are in Kashmir
    And half at Home on leave.
4 
    For six short weeks each rover seeks
    A broader, bustling Mall—
    A cool, electric-lighted Ind
    Behind the Albert Hall.
    What is the scent of deodars-
    The bray of G– ldst– n's band—
    To odours dear of London smoke,
    And tumult of the Strand?
5 
    They will return, I know them well,
    But you must eke till then
    A semi-torpid season out
    With 'boys' and aged men.
    The rawest thing in uniform,
    The rowdiest in check,
    Shall save your dance from breaking down,
    Your picnic from a wreck.
6 
    Go up, bald-headed patriarchs!
    Time brings again your chance;
    A dado of sweet wallflowers
    Is withering for a dance.
    Fly, flaxen-headed innocence!
    Flirt while your Fate allows;
    The Law is kind and does not bind
    A minor to his vows.

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1 
Who recalls the twilight and the rangèd tents in order
  (Violet peaks uplifted through the crystal evening air?)
And the clink of iron teacups and the piteous, noble laughter,
  And the faces of the Sisters with the dust upon their hair? 
2 
(Now and not hereafter, while the breath is in our nostrils,
  Now and not hereafter, ere the meaner years go by—
Let us now remember many honourable women,
  Such as bade us turn again when we were like to die.) 
3 
Who recalls the morning and the thunder through the foothills
  (Tufts of fleecy shrapnel strung along the empty plains?)
And the sun-scarred Red-Cross coaches creeping guarded to the culvert,
  And the faces of the Sisters looking gravely from the trains? 
4 
(When the days were torment and the nights were clouded terror,
  When the Powers of Darkness had dominion on our soul—
When we fled consuming through the Seven Hells of Fever,
  These put out their hands to us and healed and made us whole.) 
5 
Who recalls the midnight by the bridge’s wrecked abutment
  (Autumn rain that rattled like a Maxim on the tin?)
And the lightning-dazzled levels and the streaming, straining wagons,
  And the faces of the Sisters as they bore the wounded in? 
6 
(Till the pain was merciful and stunned us into silence—
  When each nerve cried out on God that made the misused clay;
When the Body triumphed and the last poor shame departed—
  These abode our agonies and wiped the sweat away.) 
7 
Who recalls the noontide and the funerals through the market
  (Blanket-hidden bodies, flagless, followed by the flies?)
And the footsore firing-party, and the dust and stench and staleness,
  And the faces of the Sisters and the glory in their eyes? 
8 
(Bold behind the battle, in the open camp all-hallowed,
   Patient, wise, and mirthful in the ringed and reeking town,
These endured unresting till they rested from their labours—
  Little wasted bodies, ah, so light to lower down!) 
9 
Yet their graves are scattered and their names are clean forgotten,
  Earth shall not remember, but the Waiting Angel knows
Them that died at Uitvlugt when the plague was on the city—
   Her that fell at Simon’s Town in service on our foes. 
10 
Wherefore we they ransomed, while the breath is in our nostrils;
   Now and not hereafter—ere the meaner years go by—
Praise with love and worship many honourable women,
  Those that gave their lives for us when we were like to die! 

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