October and Other Poems with Occasional Verses on the War . Bridges Robert

s

      October and Other Poems / with Occasional Verses on the War

      PREFACE

      This miscellaneous volume is composed of three sections. The first twelve poems were written in 1913, and printed privately by Mr. Hornby in 1914.

      The last of these poems proved to be a “war poem,” and on that follow eighteen pieces which were called forth on occasion during the War, the last being a broadsheet on the surrender of the German ships. All of these verses appeared in some journal or serial. There were a few others, but they are not included in this collection, either because they are lost, or because they show decidedly inferior claims to salvage.

      The last six poems or sonnets are of various dates.

R. B.

      OCTOBER

      April adance in play

      met with his lover May

      where she came garlanded.

      The blossoming boughs o’erhead

      were thrill’d to bursting by

      the dazzle from the sky

      and the wild music there

      that shook the odorous air.

      Each moment some new birth

      hasten’d to deck the earth

      in the gay sunbeams.

      Between their kisses dreams:

      And dream and kiss were rife

      with laughter of mortal life.

      But this late day of golden fall

      is still as a picture upon a wall

      or a poem in a book lying open unread.

      Or whatever else is shrined

      when the Virgin hath vanishèd:

      Footsteps of eternal Mind

      on the path of the dead.

      THE FLOWERING TREE

      What Fairy fann’d my dreams

      while I slept in the sun?

      As if a flowering tree

      were standing over me:

      Its young stem strong and lithe

      went branching overhead

      And willowy sprays around

      fell tasseling to the ground

      All with wild blossom gay

      as is the cherry in May

      When her fresh flaunt of leaf

      gives crowns of golden green.

      The sunlight was enmesh’d

      in the shifting splendour

      And I saw through on high

      to soft lakes of blue sky:

      Ne’er was mortal slumber

      so lapt in luxury.

      Rather—Endymion—

      would I sleep in the sun

      Neath the trees divinely

      with day’s azure above

      When my love of Beauty

      is met by beauty’s love.

      So I slept enchanted

      under my loving tree

      Till from his late resting

      the sweet songster of night

      Rousing awaken’d me:

      Then! this—the birdis note—

      Was the voice of thy throat

      which thou gav’st me to kiss.

      NOEL: CHRISTMAS EVE, 1913

Pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis

      A frosty Christmas Eve

      when the stars were shining

      Fared I forth alone

      where westward falls the hill,

      And from many a village

      in the water’d valley

      Distant music reach’d me

      peals of bells aringing:

      The constellated sounds

      ran sprinkling on earth’s floor

      As the dark vault above

      with stars was spangled o’er.

      Then sped my thought to keep

      that first Christmas of all

      When the shepherds watching

      by their folds ere the dawn

      Heard music in the fields

      and marveling could not tell

      Whether it were angels

      or the bright stars singing.

      Now blessed be the tow’rs

      that crown England so fair

      That stand up strong in prayer

      unto God for our souls:

      Blessed be their founders

      (said I) an’ our country folk

      Who are ringing for Christ

      in the belfries to-night

      With arms lifted to clutch

      the rattling ropes that race

      Into the dark above

      and the mad romping din.

      But to me heard afar

      it was starry music

      Angels’ song, comforting

      as the comfort of Christ

      When he spake tenderly

      to his sorrowful flock:

      The old words came to me

      by the riches of time

      Mellow’d and transfigured

      as I stood on the hill

      Heark’ning in the aspect

      of th’ eternal silence.

      IN DER FREMDE

      Ah! wild-hearted wand’rer

      far in the world away

      Restless nor knowest why

      only thou canst not stay

      And now turnest trembling

      hearing the wind to sigh:

      ’Twas thy lover calling

      whom thou didst leave forby.

      So faint and yet so far

      so far and yet so fain—

      “Return belov’d to me”

      but thou must onward strain:

      Thy trembling is in vain

      as thy wand’ring shall be.

      What so well thou lovest

      thou nevermore shalt see.

      THE PHILOSOPHER AND HIS MISTRESS

      We watch’d the wintry moon

      Suffer her full eclipse

      Riding at night’s high noon

      Beyond the earth’s ellipse.

      The conquering shadow quell’d

      Her splendour in its robe:

      And darkling we beheld

      A