THE VENTURERS
Yea! even such as creep With eyes bent earthward, in the little space Between the dawn and waning of the day, Between a sleep and sleep: Even these, without a fixed abiding-place, Travel, though tardily, upon the way Labouring; while your lighter, swifter sail Soars, rising over sudden hills of foam, Exultant, through the storm; and, eager, flies Like a fleet swallow up to meet the gale, That drives with anger, through the heaven's dome, Clouds, like great silver galleons in a sea of skies.
For every man, and each, Is like a venture putting forth to sea, Voyaging into unknown ways to find Kindlier lands; and urges on to reach Kingdoms which there may be Hidden the grey gloom of the sea behind: Fabulous kingdoms piled with golden toil And the slow garnering of mortal dreams: Such as lured forth the splendid sails of Spain. So, journeying, we, in hope of that great spoil, Steer hardily through all conflicting streams Of Ocean, and count all the exultant battling gain.
AFTER NIGHT
TO LILLIE
Lovely thou art, O Dawn! As a maiden, who wakes, Opening eyes on a world Filled with wonder and light, After a sleep of dreams. Issuing, clad in a robe Of blue, and silver, and green. From the tents of God in the east Comest thou; as a thought Slippeth into the mind Of a maid, awakened from sleep, By the swallows, under the eaves, Twittering to their young; As a flower awakens in Spring, After the sweet warm rains Pass away, and the sun Nourishes it; and slow The curving petals unclose. And a presence escapes from its heart, An odour remote, and vague, Trembling upon the air, A frail, mysterious ghost, That comes and goes on the wind, Like the inspiration of God.
Lovely thou art, O Dawn! Coming shy as a maid, At nightfall, to meet her love By the ricks of clover and hay. They speak not, but hands Meet hands, mouth mouth, and desire Broods like a God in the night, Under the yellow moon: They speak not, having all things.
Lovely thou art, O Dawn! Healing comes in thine hands, The wide sea laughs at thy birth, The multitudinous waves Ripple about thy feet, For joy at thy coming; the birds Shake the dew from the leaves, Shake the song from their throats; The full ewes call to the lambs; Lowing, the cattle come To drink at the reed-fringed pool, Bending, they drink, and lift Dripping muzzles, to gaze With patient, satisfied eyes Over the plenteous earth. While slowly out of the fens, And heavy plough-lands the mist Rises to greet thee, and spires Of thin blue smoke, that ascend Trembling into the calm Windless air, and float From the habitations of man.
Man, too, cometh forth; but he Scarcely regards thee: with eyes Bent to the earth he comes, Busy with cares of toil, Plotting to gain him ease, Meat, drink, and warmth for his age: Plotting in vain! He goes Out of the ways of life, Utterly frustrate, and spent. Gone, who was king of thy fields! Gone, who was lord of thy flocks! Like a dream. And his children forget, Even they, too, that he was. They turn to their toil, and eat, Sleep, drink, as of old he did, Spinning the woof and the warp Of life, on the Looms of Stone Which the Fates rule, and God.