Poems, 1908-1919

POEMS 1908-1919
By JOHN DRINKWATER
BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY The Riverside Press Cambridge COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY JOHN DRINKWATER ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO MY WIFE

I do not think that skies and meadows are Moral, or that the fixture of a star Comes of a quiet spirit, or that trees Have wisdom in their windless silences. Yet these are things invested in my mood With constancy, and peace, and fortitude, That in my troubled season I can cry Upon the wide composure of the sky, And envy fields, and wish that I might be As little daunted as a star or tree.

Those hours are best when suddenly The voices of the world are still, And in that quiet place is heard The voice of one small singing bird, Alone within his quiet tree;
When to one field that crowns a hill, With but the sky for neighbourhood, The crowding counties of my brain Give all their riches, lake and plain, Cornland and fell and pillared wood; When in a hill-top acre, bare For the seed’s use, I am aware Of all the beauty that an age Of earth has taught my eyes to see;
When Pride and Generosity The Constant Heart and Evil Rage, Affection and Desire, and all The passions of experience Are no more tabled in my mind, Learning’s idolatry, but find Particularity of sense In daily fortitudes that fall From this or that companion, Or in an angry gossip’s word; When one man speaks for Every One, When Music lives in one small bird, When in a furrowed hill we see All beauty in epitome— Those hours are best; for those belong To the lucidity of song.

Beyond my window in the night Is but a drab inglorious street, Yet there the frost and clean starlight As over Warwick woods are sweet.
Under the grey drift of the town The crocus works among the mould As eagerly as those that crown The Warwick spring in flame and gold.