Chapter IV

I woke and found a leaf upon the floor,
And two more golden leaves outside the door.

AIREDALE.

ON EARLY RISING

THE LOVER:

Why not rise with dawn, my Lady?
Why miss these sweet hours?
Come with me: the ghyll is shady,
Carpeted with flowers;
Why miss these sweet hours?

Now thou liest a-bed, my jewel,
How canst thou still sleep?
To encase thyself is cruel--
Beauty thus to keep.
How canst thou still sleep?

HIS LADY:

At this hour, my simple lover,
I prefer to rest
Than to watch the tireless plover
Rise from dewy nest;
I prefer to rest.

Beauty such as mine, my lover,
(This I know is right)
Even thou wilt soon discover
Is more meet for night
(This I know is right).

THE SONG-MAKER:

In the daytime chirp the thrushes;
But the nightingale
Waits until the moonlit hushes
To pour forth her tale;
Wiser nightingale!

JEWELS

O! Gold I lack; I am a man
Who cannot give as others can;
No costly gems of value rare
Are mine to give, my Lady Fair!

Yet would I give, and of my best,
So delve the kingdom of mine eyes:
What say'st thou to a rope of pearls
Strung from the cirro-clouded skies?

A sunlit beck, just after rain,
Should from its ripples lend a chain
Of sparkling diamonds, very meet
To grace thy wrist, my Lady Sweet.

A peaty tarn, lost 'mong the hills,
Of beryl tint should make a ring;
The moors should yield a coronet
Of amethyst, from summer ling.
* * * * *
_Rubies?_ Already thou hast two!
They are the gems for which I sue.

RIBBLESDALE.

BARGAINING

There are many, many forests lying north, south, east, and west,
There are many, many rivers moving slowly to the sea,
But there's a wood of budding beech that claims the heart of me,
And there's a little singing beck that falls from heathered crest.

O! I would give the universe to own that singing stream,
And watch the stars a-hiding from the rosy-fingered morn,
While cuckoos wake the fellside, and daffodils are born--
O! any one can have the world, so I may keep my stream--

Yet would I barter beechen wood and little singing beck
If I could fold my arms once more around my sweetheart's neck.

NIDDERDALE.

SONG OF GOOD-BYE

The ship is speeding fast from out the bay,
Instead of thine, I feel a kiss of spray;
My face is lashed by salt winds from the sea,
My eyes are wet with parting now from thee.
O Husband Sweetheart! send to me a thought--
Some loving word, perchance my lips have taught!

The evening fades to purple, darkly blue,
The air is chill, a few white stars creep through
The steely buckler of the northern sky;
One lonely sound recurs--a sew-mew's cry.
O Husband Sweetheart! send thy heart to me
Across this tireless, surging, tossing sea!

To-night we're severed, many miles apart:
I wonder, canst thou rest, my Dearest Heart?
In Court of Dreams perhaps we'll briefly meet
And kiss upon the Borderland of Sleep.
O Husband Sweetheart! say for me a prayer--
God give you peace, and have you in His care!

OFF THE YORKSHIRE COAST.

KING YESTERDAY

You and King Yesterday both have fled
To the Land-of-the-beautiful-days-that-are-dead.

How full of bird music the dewy-fair Morn
When Yesterday, King of the Past, was born;

How rosy with roses the passionate noon
When you and King Yesterday ruled sweet June;

How royal with splendour the crimsoning west
As Yesterday bravely grew old with zest;

And eve was a glamour of emerald light
When Yesterday greeted the world "Good-night."

Oh! You and King Yesterday gently wean
My thoughts to the Country-it-might-have-been.

KISSING

Thou canst not kiss without consent,
For know, dear Thief, a kiss is lent;
And if thou takest one to-day,
With interest must thou repay:
One now, next week I'll count in fives,--
Thou'lt owe some scores in Paradise!

TANFIELD, WENSLEYDALE.

PHILOSOPHY

Some tell me "_Life is a weariful thing,
That Sorrow remains, while joy takes wing._"
But Sorrow and I already have met:
His face is wan and his lips are set;
He cometh and goeth on silent feet,
Yet between his visits are moments sweet,
Moments that come like a blackbird's dart,
When Happiness holds me close to his heart;
When I sense the rapture of swinging skies
And know the thrill of the spring's surprise,
As I lie on the mothering Earth's deep breast
And clasp my tremulous bosom, lest
Some unknown loveliness I might miss,
Or forgetful be of the West Wind's kiss.

Like the blackbird's notes in the early hours
Which fall like a peal of silver flowers,
Joy rings his bells in my waiting ears,
And Sorrow departs to his silent meres.
"_And if he returns?_"--my soul will sing
Remembering Joy who has taken wing!

RILSTONE FELL.

A THRUSH'S SONG

(To My First Love, Daddy)

A thrush's call
Has chanced to fall
Into my heart
Where dwell apart
Dear memories
Of summer skies,
Of heartsome days,
Of flower-fair ways,
Of kisses shy
With people high.
What did I ken
Of lovers then,
Of lover-laws,
Of lover-saws?
The sweet, sweet earth
Was giving birth
To lovely things
With songs and wings;
And yonder thrush
On yonder bush
Brings home to me
The little years of memory.

A FEBRUARY DAY

(_There is a country saying that spring has not come until you can set your foot on seven daisies at once_)

"_O! How do you know
When spring has come?
Still falls the snow
And the birds are dumb._"

The grass will wear
A greener tone,
The thrush will dare
To carol alone.

The silver rain
Will warmly fall,
The woods will gain
The blackbird's call.

But the way to tell,
And the only way,
Is to find a dell
Where the breezes play,

And seek and seek
Where the daisy-bloom
Shows white and meek
Like a baby moon.

And when your foot treads
With tender fear
On seven white heads,--
Then spring is here.

COXWOLD.

LAUS DEO

(For My Little God-son)

God Darling! Listen to my song,
The one I sing the whole day long,
Of thanks to Thee for every good,
Whether at home, in field, or wood.

I thank Thee for the lovely spring,
And for Thy little birds that sing;
I thank Thee for the summer's sun,
When 'mong the roses I can run.

I thank Thee for the sickle time,
When corn is ripe, and apples prime.
I thank Thee for the deep white snow,
When I tobogganing can go.

I thank Thee for the bright sweet day,
For hours of love and work and play;
I thank Thee for the deep blue night
When I and flower-buds fold up tight.

NIDDERDALE.

"PAST-TEN-O'CLOCK-LAND"

"_It was Moonlight Land and Past-ten-o'clock Land and we were in it and of it._"--KENNETH GRAHAM.

There's a lovely land that is all your own,
If your years but number ten,
Where the cherryblossom's ever in flower,
And found in "Past-ten-o'clock Glen."

There's a river with musical water-falls,
You paddle as long as you please,
And the daisies don't die as you pick them,
When found on "Past-ten-o'clock Leas."

And the rivulet leads to a harbour,
Full of the quaintest of ships,
One wish will transport you to China,
Or other "Past-ten-o'clock Trips."

Away in dim mountains of amber,
Which drop sheer down to the waves,
Fierce brigands, be-weaponed and ear-ringed,
Live in "Past-ten-o'clock Caves."

O! the folk understand you and love you,
You never can do any wrong--
You can shoot the cat with a catapult,
Or shout the "Past-ten-o'clock Song."

You can play you are really an otter,
And get as wet as you like;
You can lie in wait as a Redskin does,
In a deep "Past-ten-o'clock Dyke."

It's a lovely land that is all your own,
If you're only ten years old,
But when you are more, you are apt to forget
"Past-Ten-o'clock-Dreams of Gold!"

BARDEN FELL, WHARFEDALE.

TO MEMORY

Mem'ry, sweet witch! you brought him to my door.
I heard you knock, and saw your fingers ope
The rosy gateway of a lingering hope,
And I beheld his dear face as of yore.
You held him by the hand I oft caressed,
And seemed so small a sprite by his tall side,
As in his leathern coat you tried to hide,
The same old coat my cheek so often pressed.

Then searchingly his deep blue eyes found mine,
As if to plead against forgetfulness,
With all the old-time loving kindliness:
And then you led him back without one sign.
Sweet little Mem'ry, lead him back once more,
And, knocking, bring him in, and close the door.

A WAR PRAYER FOR A LITTLE BOY

Morning

The day is just beginning,
But all the long night through,
The sailor-men were watching
Out in the dark night blue.
Dear God! when my turn comes,
May my watch be as true.

Evening

The long, still night is coming,
But whilst I've been at play,
The soldier-men were fighting
Thro' all the live-long day.
Dear God! when my turn comes,
Please keep me brave as they.

ROBIN HOOD'S BAY.

STAR-SCANDAL

One summer eve, my own dear love and I
Sat arm-entwined beneath a rowan-tree.
A little wind flew past us with a sigh,
And all the velvet leaves waved merrily.
Then, as mine eyes escaped his ardent glance,
I saw a star peep o'er the purple hill
And climb up to the topmost branch and dance,
And wink at its reflection in the rill.
"_Come, kiss me once, O timorous-hearted Love.
Full many thousand kisses dost thou owe.
Prithee but one, thy pretty love to prove;
No one in all the world shall ever know._"
No one? That spying star but told a poet,
And in a song he let the whole world know it.

THE FIRST OF JULY 1916

For the Mothers, Wives, and Sweethearts of the 15th West Yorks ("Leeds Pals")