POEMS BY THE WAY

I am Day; I bring again
Life and glory, Love and pain:
Awake, arise! from death to death
Through me the World's tale quickeneth.

Spring am I, too soft of heart
Much to speak ere I depart:
Ask the Summer-tide to prove
The abundance of my love.

Summer looked for long am I;
Much shall change or e'er I die.
Prithee take it not amiss
Though I weary thee with bliss.

Laden Autumn here I stand
Worn of heart, and weak of hand:
Nought but rest seems good to me,
Speak the word that sets me free.

I am Winter, that do keep
Longing safe amidst of sleep:
Who shall say if I were dead
What should be remembered?

I am Night: I bring again
Hope of pleasure, rest from pain:
Thoughts unsaid 'twixt Life and Death
My fruitful silence quickeneth.

The fateful slumber floats and flows
About the tangle of the rose;
But lo! the fated hand and heart
To rend the slumberous curse apart!

The threat of war, the hope of peace,
The Kingdom's peril and increase
Sleep on, and bide the latter day,
When fate shall take her chain away.

The maiden pleasance of the land
Knoweth no stir of voice or hand,
No cup the sleeping waters fill,
The restless shuttle lieth still.

Here lies the hoarded love, the key
To all the treasure that shall be;
Come fated hand the gift to take,
And smite this sleeping world awake.

O treacherous scent, O thorny sight,
O tangle of world's wrong and right,
What art thou 'gainst my armour's gleam
But dusky cobwebs of a dream?

Beat down, deep sunk from every gleam
Of hope, they lie and dully dream;
Men once, but men no more, that Love
Their waste defeated hearts should move.

Here sleeps the world that would not love!
Let it sleep on, but if He move
Their hearts in humble wise to wait
On his new-wakened fair estate.

O won at last is never late!
Thy silence was the voice of fate;
Thy still hands conquered in the strife;
Thine eyes were light; thy lips were life.

I once a King and chief
Now am the tree-bark's thief,
Ever 'twixt trunk and leaf
Chasing the prey.

The Beasts that be
In wood and waste,
Now sit and see,
Nor ride nor haste.

By woodman's edge I faint and fail;
By craftsman's edge I tell the tale.

High in the wood, high o'er the hall,
Aloft I rise when low I fall.

Unmoved I stand what wind may blow.
Swift, swift before the wind I go.

I am the ancient Apple-Queen,
As once I was so am I now.
For evermore a hope unseen,
Betwixt the blossom and the bough.

Ah, where's the river's hidden Gold!
And where the windy grave of Troy?
Yet come I as I came of old,
From out the heart of Summer's joy.

I am the handmaid of the earth,
I broider fair her glorious gown,
And deck her on her days of mirth
With many a garland of renown.

And while Earth's little ones are fain
And play about the Mother's hem
I scatter every gift I gain
From sun and wind to gladden them.

Midst bitten mead and acre shorn,
The world without is waste and worn,

But here within our orchard-close,
The guerdon of its labour shows.

O valiant Earth, O happy year
That mocks the threat of winter near,

And hangs aloft from tree to tree
The banners of the Spring to be.

I am the Roof-tree and the Keel;
I bridge the seas for woe and weal.

High o'er the lordly oak I stand,
And drive him on from land to land.

I heft my brother's iron bane;
I shaft the spear, and build the wain.

Dark down the windy dale I grow,
The father of the fateful Bow.

The war-shaft and the milking-bowl
I make, and keep the hay-wain whole.

The King I bless; the lamps I trim;
In my warm wave do fishes swim.

I bowed my head to Adam's will;
The cups of toiling men I fill.

I draw the blood from out the earth;
I store the sun for winter mirth.

Amidst the greenness of my night,
My odorous lamps hang round and bright.

I who am little among trees
In honey-making mate the bees.

Love's lack hath dyed my berries red:
For Love's attire my leaves are shed.

High o'er the mead-flowers' hidden feet
I bear aloft my burden sweet.

Look on my leafy boughs, the Crown
Of living song and dead renown!

Lo silken my garden,
and silken my sky,
And silken my apple-boughs
hanging on high;
All wrought by the Worm
in the peasant carle's cot
On the Mulberry leafage
when summer was hot!