II. 1908–1911   
13. The Life Beyond   
     
HE wakes, who never thought to wake again,      
  Who held the end was Death. He opens eyes      
Slowly, to one long livid oozing plain      
  Closed down by the strange eyeless heavens.      
  He lies;           5   
  And waits; and once in timeless sick surmise      
Through the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,      
Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,      
  Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;      
An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speck          10   
  Of moveless horror; an Immortal One      
Cleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a fly      
  Fast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse’s neck.      
     
I though when love for you died, I should die.      
It’s dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.          15

II. 1908–1911   
14. Lines Written in the Belief That the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead Was Called Ambarvalia   
     
SWINGS the way still by hollow and hill,      
  And all the world’s a song;      
“She’s far,” it sings me, “but fair,” it rings me,      
  “Quiet,” it laughs, “and strong!”      
     
Oh! spite of the miles and years between us,           5   
  Spite of your chosen part,      
I do remember; and I go      
  With laughter in my heart.      
     
So above the little folk that know not,      
  Out of the white hill-town,          10   
High up I clamber; and I remember;      
  And watch the day go down.      
     
Gold is my heart, and the world’s golden,      
  And one peak tipped with light;      
And the air lies still about the hill          15   
  With the first fear of night;      
     
Till mystery down the soundless valley      
  Thunders, and dark is here;      
And the wind blows, and the light goes,      
  And the night is full of fear,          20   
     
And I know, one night, on some far height,      
  In the tongue I never knew,      
I yet shall hear the tidings clear      
  From them that were friends of you.      
     
They’ll call the news from hill to hill,          25   
  Dark and uncomforted,      
Earth and sky and the winds; and I      
  Shall know that you are dead.      
     
I shall not hear your trentals,      
  Nor eat your arval bread;          30   
For the kin of you will surely do      
  Their duty by the dead.      
     
Their little dull greasy eyes will water;      
  They’ll paw you, and gulp afresh.      
They’ll sniffle and weep, and their thoughts will creep          35   
  Like flies on the cold flesh.      
     
They will put pence on your grey eyes,      
  Bind up your fallen chin,      
And lay you straight, the fools that loved you      
  Because they were your kin.          40   
     
They will praise all the bad about you,      
  And hush the good away,      
And wonder how they’ll do without you,      
  And then they’ll go away.      
     
But quieter than one sleeping,          45   
  And stranger than of old,      
You will not stir for weeping,      
  You will not mind the cold;      
     
But through the night the lips will laugh not,      
  The hands will be in place,          50   
And at length the hair be lying still      
  About the quiet face.      
     
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,      
  And dim and decorous mirth,      
With ham and sherry, they’ll meet to bury          55   
  The lordliest lass of earth.      
     
The little dead hearts will tramp ungrieving      
  Behind lone-riding you,      
The heart so high, the heart so living,      
  Heart that they never knew.          60   
     
I shall not hear your trentals,      
  Nor eat your arval bread,      
Nor with smug breath tell lies of death      
  To the unanswering dead.      
     
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,          65   
  The folk who loved you not      
Will bury you, and go wondering      
  Back home. And you will rot.      
     
But laughing and half-way up to heaven,      
  With wind and hill and star,          70   
I yet shall keep, before I sleep,      
  Your Ambarvalia.

II. 1908–1911   
15. Dead Men’s Love   
     
THERE was a damned successful Poet;      
  There was a Woman like the Sun.      
And they were dead. They did not know it.      
  They did not know their time was done.      
  They did not know his hymns           5   
  Were silence; and her limbs,      
  That had served Love so well,      
  Dust, and a filthy smell.      
     
And so one day, as ever of old,      
  Hands out, they hurried, knee to knee;          10   
On fire to cling and kiss and hold      
  And, in the other’s eyes, to see      
  Each his own tiny face,      
  And in that long embrace      
  Feel lip and breast grow warm          15   
  To breast and lip and arm.      
     
So knee to knee they sped again,      
  And laugh to laugh they ran, I’m told,      
Across the streets of Hell…      
  And then          20   
  They suddenly felt the wind blow cold,      
  And knew, so closely pressed,      
  Chill air on lip and breast,      
  And, with a sick surprise,      
  The emptiness of eyes.          25

II. 1908–1911   
16. Town and Country   
     
HERE, where love’s stuff is body, arm and side      
  Are stabbing-sweet’gainst chair and lamp and wall.      
In every touch more intimate meanings hide;      
  And flaming brains are the white heart of all.      
     
Here, million pulses to one centre beat:           5   
  Closed in by men’s vast friendliness, alone,      
Two can be drunk with solitude, and meet      
  On the sheer point where sense with knowing’s one.      
     
Here the green-purple clanging royal night,      
  And the straight lines and silent walls of town,          10   
And roar, and glare, and dust, and myriad white      
  Undying passers, pinnacle and crown      
     
Intensest heavens between close-lying faces      
  By the lamp’s airless fierce ecstatic fire;      
And we’ve found love in little hidden places,          15   
  Under great shades, between the mist and mire.      
     
Stay! though the woods are quiet, and you’ve heard      
  Night creep along the hedges. Never go      
Where tangled foliage shrouds the crying bird,      
  And the remote winds sigh, and waters flow!          20   
     
Lest—as our words fall dumb on windless noons,      
  Or hearts grow hushed and solitary, beneath      
Unheeding stars and unfamiliar moons,      
  Or boughs bend over, close and quiet as death,—      
     
Unconscious and unpassionate and still,          25   
  Cloud-like we lean and stare as bright leaves stare,      
And gradually along the stranger hill      
  Our unwalled loves thin out on vacuous air,      
     
And suddenly there’s no meaning in our kiss,      
  And your lit upward face grows, where we lie,          30   
Lonelier and dreadfuller than sunlight is,      
  And dumb and mad and eyeless like the sky.

II. 1908–1911   
17. Paralysis   
     
FOR moveless limbs no pity I crave,      
  That never were swift! Still all I prize,      
Laughter and thought and friends, I have;      
  No fool to heave luxurious sighs      
For the woods and hills that I never knew.           5   
The more excellent way’s yet mine! And you      
     
Flower-laden come to the clean white cell,      
  And we talk as ever—am I not the same?      
With our hearts we love, immutable,      
  You without pity, I without shame.          10   
We talk as of old; as of old you go      
Out under the sky, and laughing, I know,      
     
Flit through the streets, your heart all me;      
  Till you gain the world beyond the town.      
Then—I fade from your heart, quietly;          15   
  And your fleet steps quicken. The strong down      
Smiles you welcome there; the woods that love you      
Close lovely and conquering arms above you.      
     
O ever-moving, O lithe and free!      
  Fast in my linen prison I press          20   
On impassable bars, or emptily      
  Laugh in my great loneliness.      
And still in the white neat bed I strive      
Most impotently against that gyve;      
Being less now than a thought, even,          25   
To you alone with your hills and heaven.

II. 1908–1911   
18. Menelaus and Helen   
     
I


HOT through Troy’s ruin Menelaus broke      
  To Priam’s palace, sword in hand, to sate      
  On that adulterous whore a ten years’ hate      
And a king’s honour. Through red death, and smoke,      
And cries, and then by quieter ways he strode,           5   
  Till the still innermost chamber fronted him.      
  He swung his sword, and crashed into the dim      
Luxurious bower, flaming like a god.      
     
High sat white Helen, lonely and serene.      
  He had not remembered that she was so fair,          10   
And that her neck curved down in such a way;      
And he felt tired. He flung the sword away,      
  And kissed her feet, and knelt before her there,      
The perfect Knight before the perfect Queen.      
     
II


So far the poet. How should he behold          15   
  That journey home, the long connubial years?      
  He does not tell you how white Helen bears      
Child on legitimate child, becomes a scold,      
Haggard with virtue. Menelaus bold      
  Waxed garrulous, and sacked a hundred Troys          20   
  ’Twixt noon and supper. And her golden voice      
Got shrill as he grew deafer. And both were old.      
     
Often he wonders why on earth he went      
  Troyward, or why poor Paris ever came.      
Oft she weeps, gummy-eyed and impotent;          25   
  Her dry shanks twitch at Paris’ mumbled name.      
So Menelaus nagged; and Helen cried;      
And Paris slept on by Scamander side.

II. 1908–1911   
19. Libido   
     
HOW should I know? The enormous wheels of will      
  Drove me cold-eyed on tired and sleepless feet.      
Night was void arms and you a phantom still,      
  And day your far light swaying down the street.      
As never fool for love, I starved for you;           5   
  My throat was dry and my eyes hot to see.      
Your mouth so lying was most heaven in view,      
  And your remembered smell most agony.      
     
Love wakens love! I felt your hot wrist shiver      
  And suddenly the mad victory I planned          10   
  Flashed real, in your burning bending head.…      
My conqueror’s blood was cool as a deep river      
  In shadow; and my heart beneath your hand      
  Quieter than a dead man on a bed.

   
II. 1908–1911   
20. Jealousy   
     
WHEN I see you, who were so wise and cool,      
Gazing with silly sickness on that fool      
You’ve given your love to, your adoring hands      
Touch his so intimately that each understands,      
I know, most hidden things; and when I know           5   
Your holiest dreams yield to the stupid bow      
Of his red lips, and that the empty grace      
Of those strong legs and arms, that rosy face,      
Has beaten your heart to such a flame of love,      
That you have given him every touch and move,          10   
Wrinkle and secret of you, all your life,      
—Oh! then I know I’m waiting, lover-wife,      
For the great time when love is at a close,      
And all its fruit’s to watch the thickening nose      
And sweaty neck and dulling face and eye,          15   
That are yours, and you, most surely, till you die!      
Day after day you’ll sit with him and note      
The greasier tie, the dingy wrinkling coat;      
As prettiness turns to pomp, and strength to fat,      
And love, love, love to habit!          20   
     
  And after that,      
When all that’s fine in man is at an end,      
And you, that loved young life and clean, must tend      
A foul sick fumbling dribbling body and old,      
When his rare lips hang flabby and can’t hold          25   
Slobber, and you’re enduring that worst thing,      
Senility’s queasy furtive love-making,      
And searching those dear eyes for human meaning,      
Propping the bald and helpless head, and cleaning      
A scrap that life’s flung by, and love’s forgotten,—          30   
Then you’ll be tired; and passion dead and rotten;      
And he’ll be dirty, dirty!      
O little and free      
And lightfoot, that the poor heart cries to see,      
That’s how I’ll see your man and you!—          35   
     
But you      
—Oh, when that time comes, you’ll be dirty too!

   
II. 1908–1911   
21. Blue Evening   
     
MY restless blood now lies a-quiver      
  Knowing that always, exquisitely,      
This April twilight on the river      
  Stirs anguish in the heart of me.      
     
For the fast world in that rare glimmer           5   
  Puts on the witchery of a dream,      
The straight grey buildings, richly dimmer,      
  The fiery windows, and the stream      
     
With willows leaning quietly over,      
  The still ecstatic fading skies…          10   
And all these, like a waiting lover,      
  Murmur and gleam, lift lustrous eyes,      
     
Drift close to me, and sideways bending      
  Whisper delicious words.      
  But I          15   
Stretch terrible hands, uncomprehending,      
  Shaken with love; and laugh; and cry.      
     
My agony made the willows quiver;      
  I heard the knocking of my heart      
Die loudly down the windless river,          20   
  I heard the pale skies fall apart,      
     
And the shrill stars’ unmeaning laughter,      
  And my voice with the vocal trees      
Weeping. And Hatred followed after,      
  Shrilling madly down the breeze.          25   
     
In peace from the wild heart of clamour,      
  A flower in moonlight, she was there,      
Was rippling down white ways of glamour      
  Quietly laid on wave and air.      
     
Her passing left no leaf a-quiver.          30   
  Pale flowers wreathed her white, white brows.      
Her feet were silence on the river;      
  And “Hush!” she said, between the boughs.

II. 1908–1911   
22. The Charm   
     
IN darkness the loud sea makes moan;      
And earth is shaken, and all evils creep      
About her ways.      
  Oh, now to know you sleep!      
Out of the whirling blinding moil, alone,           5   
Out of the slow grim fight,      
One thought to wing—to you, asleep,      
In some cool room that’s open to the night      
Lying half-forward, breathing quietly,      
One white hand on the white          10   
Unrumpled sheet, and the ever-moving hair      
Quiet and still at length!…      
     
Your magic and your beauty and your strength,      
Like hills at noon or sunlight on a tree,      
Sleeping prevail in earth and air.          15   
     
In the sweet gloom above the brown and white      
Night benedictions hover; and the winds of night      
Move gently round the room, and watch you there.      
And through the dreadful hours      
The trees and waters and the hills have kept          20   
The sacred vigil while you slept,      
And lay a way of dew and flowers      
Where your feet, your morning feet, shall tread.      
And still the darkness ebbs about your bed.      
Quiet, and strange, and loving-kind, you sleep.          25   
And holy joy about the earth is shed;      
And holiness upon the deep.