SESTINA OF THE TRAMP-ROYAL
SPEAKIN' in general, I 'ave tried 'em all—
The 'appy roads that take you o'er the world.
Speakin' in general, I 'ave found them good
For such as cannot use one bed too long,
But must get 'ence, the same as I 'ave done,
observin' matters till they die.
What do it matter where or 'ow we die,
So long as we've our 'ealth to watch it all—
The different ways that different things are done,
An' men an' women lovin' in this world;
Takin' our chances as they come along,
An' when they ain't, pretendin' they are good?
In cash or credit-no, it aren't no good;
You 'ave to 'ave the 'abit or you'd die,
Unless lived your
life but one day long,
Nor didn't prophesy nor fret at all,
But drew your tucker some'ow from the world,
An' never bothered what you might ha' done.
But, Gawd, what things are they I 'aven't done!
I've turned my 'and to most, an' turned it good,
In various situations round the world—
For 'im that doth not work must surely die;
But that's no reason man should labour all
'Is life on one same shift-life's none so long.
Therefore, from job to job I've moved along.
Pay couldn't 'old me when my time was done,
For something in my 'ead upset it all,
Till I 'ad dropped whatever 't was for good,
An', out at sea, be'eld the dock-lights die,
An' met my mate—the wind that tramps the world!
It's like a book, I think, this bloomin' world,
Which you can read and care for just so long,
But presently you feel that you will die
Unless you get the page you're readin' done,
An' turn another-likely not so good;
But what you're after is to turn 'em all.
Gawd bless this world! Whatever she 'ath done-
Excep' when awful long-I've found it good.
So write, before I die, "'E liked it all!"
SENT a message to my dear
A thousand leagues and more to Her
The dumb sea-levels thrilled to hear,
And Lost Atlantis bore to Her!
Behind my message hard I came,
And nigh had found a grave for me;
But that I launched of steel and flame
Did war against the wave for me.
Uprose the deep, in gale on gale,
To bid me change my mind again—
He broke his teeth along my rail,
And, roaring, swung behind again.
I stayed the sun at noon to tell
My way across the waste of it;
I read the storm before it fell
And made the better haste of it.
Afar, I hailed the land at night-
The towers I built had heard of me—
And, ere my rocket reached its height,
Had flashed my Love the word of me.
Earth sold her chosen men of strength
(They lived and strove and died for me)
To drive my road a nation's length,
And toss the miles aside for me.
I snatched their toil to serve my needsToo slow their fleetest flew for me.
I tired twenty smoking steeds,
And bade them bait a new for me.
I sent the Lightnings forth to see
Where hour by hour She waited me.
Among ten million one was She,
And surely all men hated me!
Dawn ran to meet me at my goal—
Ah, day no tongue shall tell again!
And little folk of little soul
Rose up to buy and sell again!
SONG OF THE WISE CHILDREN
WHEN the darkened Fifties dip to the North,
And frost and the fog divide the air,
And the day is dead at his breaking-forth,
Sirs, it is bitter beneath the Bear!
Far to Southward they wheel and glance,
The million molten spears of morn—
The spears of our deliverance
That shine on the house where we were born.
Flying-fish about our bows,
Flying sea-fires in our wake:
This is the road to our Father's House,
Whither we go for our souls' sake!
We have forfeited our birthright,
We have forsaken all things meet;
We have forgotten the look of light,
We have forgotten the scent of heat.
They that walk with shaded brows,
Year by year in a shining land,
They be men of our Father's House,
They shall receive us and understand.
We shall go back by the boltless doors,
To the life unaltered our childhood knew
To the naked feet on the cool, dark floors,
And the high-ceiled rooms that the Trade blows through:
To the trumpet-flowers and the moon beyond,
And the tree-toad's chorus drowning all-
And the lisp of the split banana-frond
That talked us to sleep when we were small.
The wayside magic, the threshold spells,
Shall soon undo what the North has doneBecause of the sights and the sounds and the smells That ran with our youth in the eye of the sun.
And Earth accepting shall ask no vows,
Nor the Sea our love, nor our lover the Sky.
When we return to our Father's House
Only the English shall wonder why!
THE Doorkeepers of Zion,
They do not always stand
In helmet and whole armour,
With halberds in their hand;
But, being sure of Zion,
And all her mysteries,
They rest awhile in Zion,
Sit down and smile in Zion;
Ay, even jest in Zion;
In Zion, at their ease.
The Gatekeepers of Baal,
They dare not sit or lean,
But fume and fret and posture
And foam and curse between;
|