Sunk Lyonesse

In sea-cold Lyonesse,
When the Sabbath eve shafts down
On the roofs, walls, belfries
Of the foundered town,
The Nereids pluck their lyres
Where the green translucency beats,
And with motionless eyes at gaze
Make ministrely in the streets.

And the ocean water stirs
In salt-worn casement and porch.
Plies the blunt-nosed fish
With fire in his skull for torch.
And the ringing wires resound;
And the unearthly lovely weep,
In lament of the music they make
In the sullen courts of sleep:
Whose marble flowers bloom for aye:
And - lapped by the moon-guiled tide -
Mock their carver with heart of stone,
Caged in his stone-ribbed side.

The Listeners

"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
     Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
     Of the forest's ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
     Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
     "Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
     No head from leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
     Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
     That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
     To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
     That goes down to an empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
     By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
     Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
     'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote upon the door, even
     Louder, and lifted his head: -
"Tell them I came, and no one answered,
     That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
     Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
     From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
     And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backwards,
     When the plunging hooves were gone.

Tom's Little Dog

Tom told his dog called Tim to beg,
And up at once he sat,
His two clear amber eyes fixed fast,
His haunches on the mat.

Tom poised a lump of sugar on
His nose; then 'Trust!' says he;
Stiff as a guardsman sat his Tim,
Never a hair stirred he.

'Paid for!" says Tom; and in a trice
Up jerked that moist black nose;
A snap of teeth, a crunch, a munch,
And down the sugar goes!

A Song of Enchantment

A song of Enchantment I sang me there,
In a green-green wood, by waters fair,
Just as the words came up to me
I sang it under the wild wood tree.

Widdershins turned I, singing it low,
Watching the wild birds come and go;
No cloud in the deep dark blue to be seen
Under the thick-thatched branches green.

Twilight came: silence came:
The planet of Evening's silver flame;
By darkening paths I wandered through
Thickets trembling with drops of dew.

But the music is lost and the words are gone
Of the song I sang as I sat alone,
Ages and ages have fallen on me -
On the wood and the pool and the elder tree.

Nicoletta

Oh, my pretty Nicoletta,
Come away, come away!
There's a linnet in the willow,
And the moon is up to-day,
When the one is sleepy silent
And the other wildly clear,
I know a hazel thicket
Where I'll kiss you, dear.

Ah, sweetheart, Nicoletta
Come away, come away!
There are rabbits in the warren,
There is blossom on the may;
And when the first are nibbling
And the other's cold with dew,
I'll tell you tales of magic,
And of moonshine, and of you.

Come away, Nicoletta,
Nicoletta-likkalay!
There's a secret I must sigh you
And a hidden thing to say;
Creep out as soon as evening comes,
Not a wink your eyelids close,
And I'll show you where on hills of dream
The wild thyme blows.

The Ship of Rio

There was a ship of Rio
     Sailed out into the blue,
And nine and ninety monkeys
     Were all her jovial crew.
From bo'sun to the cabin boy,
     From quarter to caboose,
There weren't a stitch of calico
     To breech 'em - tight or loose;
From spar to deck, from deck to keel,
     From barnacle to shroud,
There weren't one pair of reach-me-downs
     To all that jabbering crowd.
But wasn't it a gladsome sight,
     When roared the deep-sea gales,
To see them reef her fore and aft,
     A-swinging by their tails!
Oh! wasn't it a gladsome sight,
     When glassy calm did come,
To see them squatting tailor-wise
     Around a keg of rum!
Oh, wasn't it a gladsome sight,
     When in she sailed to land,
To see them all a-scampering skip
     For nuts across the sand!

The Keys of Morning

While at her bedroom window once,
     Learning her task for school,
Little Louisa lonely sat
     In the morning clear and cool,
She slanted her small bead-brown eyes
     Across the empty street,
And saw Death softly watching her
     In the sunshine pale and sweet.

His was a long lean sallow face;
     He sat with half-shut eyes,
Like a old sailor in a ship
     Becalmed 'neath tropic skies.
Beside him in the dust he had set
     His staff and shady hat;
These, peeping small, Louisa saw
     Quite clearly where she sat -
The thinness of his coal-black locks,
     His hands so long and lean
They scarcely seemed to grasp at all
     The keys that hung between:
Both were of gold, but one was small,
     And with this last did he
Wag in the air, as if to say,
     "Come hither, child, to me!"

Louisa laid her lesson book
     On the cold window-sill;
And in the sleepy sunshine house
     Went softly down, until
She stood in the half-opened door,
     And peeped. But strange to say
Where Death just now had sunning sat
     Only a shadow lay:
Just the tall chimney's round-topped cowl,
     And the small sun behind,
Had with its shadow in the dust
     Called sleepy Death to mind.
But most she thought how strange it was
     Two keys that he should bear,
And that, when beckoning, he should wag
     The littlest in the air.

Silver

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch:
Crouched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With claws of silver and a silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Away

There is no sorrow
Time heals never;
No loss, betrayal,
Beyond repair.
Balm for the soul, then,
Though grave should sever
Lover from loved
And all they share;
See, the sweet sun shines,
The shower is over,
Flower preen their beauty,
The day how fair!
Brood not too closely
On love, or duty;
Friends long forgotten
May wait you where
Life with death
Brings all to an issue;
None will long mourn for you,
Pray for you, miss you,
Your place left vacant,
You not there.

Why

Ever, ever
Stir and shiver
The reeds and rushes
By the river:
Ever, ever,
As if in dream,
The lone moon's silver
Sleeks the stream.
What old sorrow,
What lost love,
Moon, reeds, rushes,
Dream you of?