They pity me who have grown old,—
So old, mine eyes may not behold
If any wolf chance near the fold.
They pity me, because, alas!
I lie and dream among the grass,
And let the herds unheeded pass.
They deem I must be sorrowing,
Because I note not when the Spring
Is over me and everything.
They know not why I am forlorn,—
How could they know?—They were not born
When he rode here that April morn.
They were not living when he came
Into this valley, swift like flame,—
Perchance they have not heard his name!
My men were very valiant men—
(Alas, that I had only ten!
These people were not living then.)
But when one is not yet awake
His banner is not hard to take,
His spears are easy things to break.
And dazed men are not hard to slay
When many foes, as strong as they,
With swords and spears come down their way.
This valley now has quiet grown;
And I lie here content, alone,
Dreaming of things that I have known;
And count the mounds of waving grass—
(Ten,—yea, and ten more, by the Mass!)
And let the restless cattle pass.
THE KINGFISHER
Under the sun, the Kingfisher
From his high place was watching her.
He knew she came from some far place;
For when she threw her body down,
She seemed quite tired; and her face
Had dust upon it; and her gown,
That had been yellow, now was brown.
She lay near where the shadows lie
At noontime when they meet the sun.
The water floated slowly by
Her feet. Her hair was all undone,
And with the grass its gold was spun.
The trees were tall and green behind,
And hid the house upon the hill.
This place was sheltered from the wind,
And all the little leaves were still,
And every fern and daffodil.
Her face was hidden in her hands;
And through the grass, and through her hair,
The sunlight found the golden bands
About her wrists. (It was aware,
Also, that her two arms were bare.)
From his high branch, the Kingfisher
Looked down on her and pitied her.
He wondered who that she could be,—
This dear, strange lady, who had come
To vex him with her misery;
And why her days were wearisome,
And what far country was her home.
Her home must be far off indeed,
Wherein such bitter grief could grow.
Had there been no one there to plead
For her when they had wronged her so?
Did none her perfect honor know?
Was there no sword or pennoned lance
Omnipotent in hall or field
For her complete deliverance?
To make them cry, "We yield! we yield
Were not her colors on some shield?
Had he been there? the Kingfisher,
How he had fought and died for her!
A little yellow bird flew by;
And where the water-weeds were still,
Hovered a great blue dragon-fly;
Small fishes set the streams a-thrill
The Kingfisher forgot to kill.
He only thought of her who lay
Upon the ground and was so fair,—
As fair as she who came one day
And sat long with her lover there.
The same gold sun was in her hair.
They had come down, because of love,
From the great house on the hillside:
This lady had no share thereof,
For now this place was sanctified!
Had this fair lady's lover died?
Was this dear lady's lover dead?
Had she come here to wait until
Her heart and soul were comforted?
Why was it not within her will
To seek the lady on the hill?
She, too, was lonely; for he had
Beheld her just this morning, when
Her last kiss made her lover glad
Who went to fight the heathen-men:
(He said he would return again!)
That lady would have charity
He knew, because her love was great;
And this one—fairer even than she—
Should enter in her open gate
And be no more disconsolate!
Under the sun, the Kingfisher
Knew no one else might comfort her.
THE CONQUEROR
I will go now where my dear Lady is,
And tell her how I won in this great fight;
Ye know not death who say this shape is his
That loometh up between me and the light.
As if death could wish anything of one
Who hath to-day brought many men to death!
Why should it not grow dark?—Surely the sun
Hath seen since morning much that wearieth.
Dead bodies; red, red blood upon the land;
Torn sails of scattered ships upon the sea;
And dead forgotten men stretched on the sand
Close to the sea's edge, where the waves are free;
What day hath seen such things and hath not fled?
What day hath stayed, hearing, for frequent sounds,
The flashing swords of men well-helmeted,
The moans of warriors sick of many wounds?
Ye know not death; this thing is but the night.
Wherefore I should be glad that it is come:
For when I left my Lady for this fight,
I said, "At sunset I am coming home."
"When you return, I shall be here," she said,
"God knows that I must pray a little while."
And as she put my helmet on my head,
She kissed me; and her blue eyes tried to smile.
And still she waiteth underneath the trees.
(When we had gone a little on our way
I turned and looked; she knelt there on her knees:
I heard her praying many times to-day.)
Nay, nay, I need no wine! She waiteth still
Watching and praying till I come to her.
She saw the sun drop down behind the hill
And wondereth I am a loiterer.
So I must go. Bring me my shield and sword!
(Is there no unstained grass will clean this stain?)
This day is won;—but now the great reward
Cometh! O Love, thy prayers were not in vain!
I am well rested now.—Nay, I can rise
Without your help! Why do ye look at me
With so much pain and pity in your eyes,
Who gained with me to-day this victory?
I think we should be glad we are not dead,
—Only, perchance, no Lady waiteth you,
No Lady who is all uncomforted,
And who hath watched and prayed these long hours through.
Yea, I must go.—What? Am I tired yet?
Let me lie here and rest my aching side.
The thought of her hath made me quite forget
How sharp his sword was just before he died.
THE KING'S HOSTEL
Let us make it fit for him!
He will come ere many hours
Are passed over. Strew these flowers
Where the floor is hard and bare!
Ever was his royal whim
That his place of rest were fair.
Such a narrow little room!
Think you he will deign to use it?
Yes, we know he would not choose it
Were there any other near;
Here there is such damp and gloom,
And such quietness is here.
That he loved the light, we know;
And we know he was the gladdest
Always when the mirth was maddest
And the laughter drowned the song;
When the fire's shade and glow
Fell upon the loyal throng.
Yet it may be, if he come,
Now, to-night, he will be tired;
And no more will be desired
All the music once he knew;
He will joy the lutes are dumb
And be glad the lights are few.
Heard you how the fight has gone?
Surely it will soon be ended!
Was their stronghold well defended
Ere it fell before his might?
Did it yield soon after dawn,
Or when noon was at its height?
Hark! his trumpet! It is done.
Smooth the bed. And for a cover
Drape those scarlet colors over;
And upon these dingy walls
Hang what banners he has won.
Hasten ere the twilight falls!
They are here!—We knew the best
When we set us to prepare him
Such a place; for they that bear him
—They as he—seem weary too;
Peace! and let him have his rest;
There is nothing more to do.
BETWEEN THE WINTER AND THE SPRING
Between the Winter and the Spring
One came to me at dead of night;
I heard him well as any might,
Although his lips, unmurmuring.
Made no sweet sounds for my delight;
Also, I knew him, though long days
(It seemed) had fallen across my ways
Since I had felt his comforting.
It was quite dark, but I could see
His hair was yellow as the sun;
And his soft garments, every one,
Were white as angels' throats may be;
And as some man whose pain is done
At last, and peace is surely his,
His eyes were perfect with great bliss
And seemed so glad to look at me.
I knew that he had come to bring
The change that I was waiting for,
And, as he crossed my rush-strewn floor,
I had no thought of questioning;
And then he kissed me, o'er and o'er,
Upon the eyes; so I fell
Asleep unfrightened,—knowing well
That morning would fulfil the Spring.
And when they came at early morn
And found that I at last was dead,
Some two or three knelt by my bed
And prayed for one they deemed forlorn;
But he they wept for only said
(Thinking of when the old days were),
"Alas that God had need of her
The very morning Spring was born!"
THE MOTHER