Chapter I: WAS picking raspberries, my head was in the canes,

And he came behind and kissed me, and I smacked him for his pains.
Says he, “You take it easy! That ain’t the way to do!
I love you hot as fire, my girl, and you know you know it too.
So won’t you name the day?”
But I said, “That I will not.”
And I pushed him away,
Out among the raspberries all on a summer day.
And I says, “You ask in winter, if your love’s so hot,
For it’s summer now, and sunny, and my hands is full,” says I,
“With the fair by and by,
And the village dance and all;
And the turkey poults is small,
And so’s the ducks and chicks,
And the hay not yet in ricks,
And the flower-show’ll be presently and hop-picking’s to come,
And the fruiting and the harvest home,
And my new white gown to make, and the jam all to be done.
Can’t you leave a girl alone?
Your love’s too hot for me!
Can’t you leave a girl be
Till the evenings do draw in,
Till the leaves be getting thin,
Till the fires be lighted early, and the curtains drawed for tea?
That’s the time to do your courting, if you come a-courting me!”

. . . . .

And he took it as I said it, an’ not as it was meant.
And he went.

. . . . .

The hay was stacked, the fruit was picked, the hops were dry and
brown,
And everything was garnered, and the year turned upside down,
And the winter it come on, and the fires were early lit,
And he’d never come anigh again, and all my life was sick.
And I was cold alone, with nought to do but sit
With my hands in my black lap, and hear the clock tick.
For father, he lay dead
With the candles at his head,
And his coffin was that black I could see it through the wall;
And I’d sent them all away,
Though they’d offered for to stay.
I wanted to be cold alone, and learn to bear it all.
Then I heard him. I’d a-known it for his footstep just as plain
If he’d brought his regiment with him up the rutty frozen lane.
And I hadn’t drawed the curtains, and I see him through the pane;
And I jumped up in my blacks and I threw the door back wide.
Says I, “You come inside;
For it’s cold outside for you,
And it’s cold here too;
And I haven’t no more pride—
It’s too cold for that,” I cried.

. . . . .

Then I saw in his face
The fear of death, and desire.
And oh, I took and kissed him again and again,
And I clipped him close and all,
In the winter, in the dusk, in the quiet house-place,
With the coffin lying black and full the other side the wall;
And “_You_ warm my heart,” I told him, “if there’s any fire in men!”
And he got his two arms round me, and I felt the fire then.
And I warmed my heart at the fire.

SONG

NOW the Spring is waking,
Very shy as yet,
Busy mending, making
Grass and violet.
Frowsy Winter’s over:
See the budding lane!
Go and meet your lover:
Spring is here again!

Every day is longer
Than the day before;
Lambs are whiter, stronger,
Birds sing more and more;
Woods are less than shady,
Griefs are more than vain—
Go and kiss your lady:
Spring is here again!

A PARTING

SO good-bye!
This is where we end it, you and I.
Life’s to live, you know, and death’s to die;
So good-bye!

I was yours
For the love in life that loves while life endures,
For the earth-path that the Heaven-flight ensures
I was yours.

You were mine
For the moment that a garland takes to twine,
For the human hour that sorcery shews divine
You were mine.

All is over.
You and I no more are love and lover;
Nought’s to seek now, gain, attain, discover.
All is over.

THE GIFT OF LIFE

LIFE is a night all dark and wild,
Yet still stars shine:
This moment is a star, my child—
Your star and mine.

Life is a desert dry and drear,
Undewed, unblest;
This hour is an oasis, dear;
Here let us rest.

Life is a sea of windy spray,
Cold, fierce and free:
An isle enchanted is to-day
For you and me.

Forget night, sea, and desert: take
The gift supreme,
And, of life’s brief relenting, make
A deathless dream.

INCOMPATIBILITIES

IF you loved me I could trust you to your fancy’s furthest bound
While the sun shone and the wind blew, and the world went round,
To the utmost of the meshes of the devil’s strongest net . . .
If you loved me, if you loved me—but you do not love me yet!

I love you—and I cannot trust you further than the door!
But winds and worlds and seasons change, and you will love me more
And more—until I trust you, dear, as women do trust men—
I shall trust you, I shall trust you, but I shall not love you then!

THE STOLEN GOD LAZARUS TO DIVES

WE do not clamour for vengeance,
We do not whine for fear;
We have cried in the outer darkness
Where was no man to hear.
We cried to man and he heard not;
Yet we thought God heard us pray;
But our God, who loved and was sorry—
Our God is taken away.

Ours were the stream and the pasture,
Forest and fen were ours;
Ours were the wild wood-creatures,
The wild sweet berries and flowers.
You have taken our heirlooms from us,
And hardly you let us save
Enough of our woods for a cradle,
Enough of our earth for a grave.

You took the wood and the cornland,
Where still we tilled and felled;
You took the mine and quarry,
And all you took you held.
The limbs of our weanling children
You crushed in your mills of power;
And you made our bearing women toil
To the very bearing hour.

You have taken our clean quick longings,
Our joy in lover and wife,
Our hope of the sunset quiet
At the evening end of life;
You have taken the land that bore us,
Its soil and stone and sod;
You have taken our faith in each other—
And now you have taken our God.

When our God came down from Heaven
He came among men, a Man,
Eating and drinking and working
As common people can;
And the common people received Him
While the rich men turned away.
But what have we to do with a God
To whom the rich men pray?

He hangs, a dead God, on your altars,
Who lived a Man among men,
You have taken away our Lord
And we cannot find Him again.
You have not left us a handful
Of even the earth He trod . . .
You have made Him a rich man’s idol
Who came as a poor man’s God.

He promised the poor His heaven,
He loved and lived with the poor;
He said that the rich man’s shadow
Should never darken His door:
But bishops and priests lie softly,
Drink full and are fully fed
In the Name of the Lord, who had not
Where to lay His head.

This is the God you have stolen,
As you steal all else—in His name.
You have taken the ease and the honour,
Left us the toil and the shame.
You have chosen the seat of Dives,
We lie where Lazarus lay;
But, by God, we will not yield you our God,
You shall not take Him away.

All else we had you have taken;
All else, but not this, not this.
The God of Heaven is ours, is ours,
And the poor are His, are His.
Is He ours? Is He yours? Give answer!
For both He cannot be.
And if He is ours—O you rich men,
Then whose, in God’s name, are ye?

WINTER

HOLD your hands to the blaze;
Winter is here
With the short cold days,
Bleak, keen and drear.
Was there ever a day
With hawthorn along the way
Where you wandered in mild mid-May
With your dear?

That was when you were young
And the world was gold;
Now all the songs are sung,
The tales all told.
You shiver now by the fire
Where the last red sparks expire;
Dead are delight and desire:
You are old.

SEA-SHELLS