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Pussy can sit by the fire

Pussy can sit by the fire and sing, 
  Pussy can climb a tree,
Or play with a silly old cork and string 
  To 'muse herself, not me.
But I like Binkie my dog, because 
  He knows how to behave;
So, Binkie's the same as the First Friend was, 
  And I am the Man in the Cave.

Pussy will play man-Friday till
  It's time to wet her paw
And make her walk on the window-sill 
  (For the footprint Crusoe saw); 
Then she fluffles her tail and mews, 
  And scratches and won't attend.
But Binkie will play whatever I choose, 
  And he is my true First Friend!

Pussy will rub my knees with her head 
  Pretending she loves me hard;
 But the very minute I go to my bed 
  Pussy runs out in the yard,
And there she stays till the morning-light; 
  So I know it is only pretend;
But Binkie, he snores at my feet all night, 
  And he is my Firstest Friend!

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Pleasant it is …

Pleasant it is for the Little Tin Gods 
When great Jove nods;
But Little Tin Gods make their little mistakes
In missing the hour when great Jove wakes.

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Pit where the buffalo cooled his hide

Pit where the buffalo cooled his hide,
By the hot sun emptied, and blistered and dried;
Log in the plume-grass, hidden and lone;
Bund where the earth-rat's mounds are strewn; 
Cave in the bank where the sly stream steals;
Aloe that stabs at the belly and heels, 
Jump if you dare on a steed untried— 
Safer it is to go wide—go wide!
Hark, from in front, where the best men ride;—
"Pull to the off, boys! Wide! Go wide!"

                                              The Peora Hunt

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Our Fathers of Old

Excellent herbs had our fathers of old—
  Excellent herbs to ease their pain—
Alexanders and Marigold,
  Eyebright, Orris, and Elecampane.
Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue,
  (Almost singing themselves they run)
Vervain, Dittany, Call-me-to-you—
   Cowslip, Melilot, Rose of the Sun.
          Anything green that grew out of the mould
           Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old. 

Wonderful tales had our fathers of old
  Wonderful tales of the herbs and the stars—
The Sun was Lord of the Marigold,
  Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars.
Pat as a sum in division it goes—
   (Every herb had a planet bespoke)—
Who but Venus should govern the Rose?
  Who but Jupiter own the Oak?
          Simply and gravely the facts are told
           In the wonderful books of our fathers of old. 

Wonderful little, when all is said,
  Wonderful little our fathers knew.
Half their remedies cured you dead—
  Most of their teaching was quite untrue—
“Look at the stars when a patient is ill,
   (Dirt has nothing to do with disease,)
Bleed and blister as much as you will,
  Blister and bleed him as oft as you please.”
          Whence enormous and manifold
          Errors were made by our fathers of old. 

Yet when the sickness was sore in the land,
  And neither planets nor herbs assuaged,
They took their lives in their lancet-hand
  And, oh, what a wonderful war they waged!
Yes, when the crosses were chalked on the door—
  (Yes, when the terrible dead-cart rolled,)
Excellent courage our fathers bore—
   Excellent heart had our fathers of old.
          None too learned, but nobly bold
          Into the fight went our fathers of old. 

If it be certain, as Galen says—
  And sage Hippocrates holds as much—
“That those afflicted by doubts and dismays
  Are mightily helped by a dead man’s touch,”
Then, be good to us, stars above!
  Then, be good to us, herbs below!
We are afflicted by what we can prove,
  We are distracted by what we know—
                  So—ah, so!
          Down from your heaven or up from your mould,
          Send us the hearts of our fathers of old!

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Our Fathers Also

1 
Thrones, Powers, Dominions, Peoples, Kings.
Are changing ’neath our hand.
Our fathers also see these things
But they do not understand. 
2 
By—they are by with mirth and tears,
Wit or the works of Desire—
Cushioned about on the kindly years
Between the wall and the fire. 
3 
The grapes are pressed, the corn is shocked
Standeth no more to glean;
For the Gates of Love and Learning locked
When they went out between. 
4 
All lore our Lady Venus bares,
Signalled it was or told
By the dear lips long given to theirs
And longer to the mould. 
5 
All Profit, all Device, all Truth
Written it was or said
By the mighty men of their mighty youth,
Which is mighty being dead. 
6 
The film that floats before their eyes
The Temple’s Veil they call;
And the dust that on the Shewbread lies
Is holy over all. 
7 
Warn them of seas that slip our yoke
Of slow-conspiring stars—
The ancient Front of Things unbroke
But heavy with new wars? 
8 
By—they are by with mirth and tears,
Wit or the waste of Desire—
Cushioned about on the kindly years
Between the wall and the fire!

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Oh! hush thee, my baby

Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us, 
  And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o'er the combers, looks downward to find us 
  At rest in the hollows that rustle between.

Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow; 
  Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, 
  Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.
                                                                 Seal Lullaby

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Not though
you die tonight

Not though you die to-night, O Sweet, and wail, 
A spectre at my door,
Shall mortal Fear make Love immortal fail—
I shall but love you more,
Who, from Death's House returning, give me still 
One moment's comfort in my matchless ill.


                                                   Shadow Houses

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Non Nobis Domine

Non nobis Domine!—
Not unto us, O Lord!
The Praise or Glory be
Of any deed or word;
For in Thy Judgment lies
To crown or bring to nought
All knowledge or device
That Man has reached or wrought.

And we confess our blame—
How all too high we hold
That noise which men call Fame,
That dross which men call Gold.
For these we undergo
Our hot and godless days,
But in our hearts we know
Not unto us the Praise.

O Power by Whom we live—
Creator, Judge, and Friend,
Upholdingly forgive
Nor fail us at the end:
But grant us well to see
In all our piteous ways—
Non nobis Domine!—
Not unto us the Praise!



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Lukannon
			

			
			

				
1 
I met my mates in the morning (and oh, but I am old!)
Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell rolled;
I heard them lift the chorus that dropped the breakers' song–
The beaches of Lukannon–two million voices strong!  
2 
The song of pleasant stations beside the salt lagoons,
The song of blowing squadrons that shuffled down the dunes, 
The song of midnight dances that churned the sea to flame– 
The beaches of Lukannon–before the sealers came!   
3 
I met my mates in the morning (I'll never meet them more!);
They came and went in legions that darkened all the shore.
And through the foam-flecked offing as far as voice could reach 
We hailed the landing-parties and we sang them up the beach. 
4 
The beaches of Lukannon–the winter-wheat so tall–
The dripping, crinkled lichens, and the sea-fog drenching all! 
The platforms of our playground, all shining smooth and worn! 
The beaches of Lukannon–the home where we were born!   
5 
I meet my mates in the morning, a broken, scattered band.
Men shoot us in the water and club us on the land;
Men drive us to the Salt House like silly sheep and tame,
And still we sing Lukannon–before the sealers came. 
6 
Wheel down, wheel down to southward; oh, Gooverooska go!
And tell the Deep-Sea Viceroys! the story of our woe; 
Ere, empty as the shark's egg the tempest flings ashore,
The beaches of Lukannon shall know their sons no more! 


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Look, you have cast out Love!
			

			
			

				
Look, you have cast out Love! What Gods are these
                    You bid me please?
The Three in One, the One in Three? Not so!
                    To my own gods I go.
It may be they shall give me greater ease
Than your cold Christ and tangled Trinities.
                                                                       The Convert


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