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[Page 49]
October 13
49.
Greyness over the skies, and the three trees by us like faint etchings, faintly and timidly drawn and partly coloured yellow green and brown red.
Now the rains heavy, and the only light blown candles.
50.
Poems, Ralph Hodgson
Time you old Gypsy Man.
Time you old gypsy man
Will you not stay,
Put up your caravan
Just for one day?
All things I'll give you
Will you be my guest,
Bells for your jennet
Of silver the best,
Goldsmiths shall beat you
A great golden ring,
Peacocks shall bow to you,
Little boys sing,
Oh, and sweet girls will
Festoon you with may,
Time you old gypsy man,
Why hasten away?
Last week in Babylon
Last night in Rome
Morning, and in the crush
Under Paul's dome:
Under Paul's dial
You tighten your rein –
Only a moment,
And off once again:
Off to some city
Now blind in the womb.
Off to another,
Ere that's in the tomb.
Oct. 13
"The Song of Honour"
I stared into the sky
As wondering men have always done
Since beauty and the stars were one,
Though none so hard as I.
It seemed, so still the valleys were,
As if the whole world knelt at prayer,
Save me and me alone:
So pure and wide that silence was
I feared to bend a blade of grass,
And there I stood like stone.
I heard the hymn of being sound
From every well of honour found
In human sense and soul:
The song of poets when they write
The testament of Beautysprite
Upon a flying scroll.
The song of painters when they take
A burning brush for Beauty's sake
And limn her features whole.
The song of men all sorts and kinds,
And many tempers, moods and minds
As leaves are on a tree,
And many faiths and castes and creeds,
As many human bloods and breeds
As in the world may be.
The song of each and all who gaze
On Beauty in her naked blaze,
Or see her dimly in a haze,
Or get her light in fitful rays
And tiniest needles even,
The song of all not wholly dark,
Not wholly sunk in stupor stark
Too deep for grasping Heaven.