an anthology of australian verse-第20章
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Even the arrow that cleft the core；
Could I wait again for your swift footfall；
And your sunny face coming in at the door。
With the old frank look and the gay young smile；
And the ring of the words you used to say；
I could almost deem the pain worth while；
To greet you again in the olden way！
But you stand without in the dark and cold；
And I may not open the long closed door；
Nor call thro' the night； with the love of old；
〃Come into the warmth； as in nights of yore！〃
I kneel alone in the red fire…glow；
And hear the wings of the wind sweep by；
You are out afar in the night； I know；
And the sough of the wind is like a cry。
You are out afar and I wait within；
A grave…eyed woman whose pulse is slow；
The flames round the red coals softly spin；
And the lonely room's in a rosy glow。
The firelight falls on your vacant chair；
And the soft brown rug where you used to stand；
Dear； never again shall I see you there；
Nor lift my head for your seeking hand。
Yet sometimes still； and in spite of all；
I wistful look at the fastened door；
And wait again for the swift footfall；
And the gay young voice as in hours of yore。
It still seems strange to be here alone；
With the rising sob of the wind without；
The sound takes a deep； insisting tone；
Where the trees are swinging their arms about。
Its moaning reaches the sheltered room；
And thrills my heart with a sense of pain；
I walk to the window； and pierce the gloom；
With a yearning look that is all in vain。
You are out in a night of depths that hold
No promise of dawning for you and me；
And only a ghost from the life of old
Has come from the world of memory！
You are out evermore！ God wills it so！
But ah！ my spirit is yearning yet！
As I kneel alone by the red fire…glow；
My eyes grow dim with the old regret。
O when shall the aching throb grow still；
The warm love…life turn cold at the core！
Must I be watching； against my will；
For your banished face in the opening door？
It may be； dear； when the sequel's told
Of the story； read to its bitter close；
When the inner meanings of life unfold；
And the under…side of our being shows
It may be then； in that truer light；
When all our knowledge has larger grown；
I may understand why you stray to…night；
And I am left； with the past； alone。
Agnes L。 Storrie。
Twenty Gallons of Sleep
Measure me out from the fathomless tun
That somewhere or other you keep
In your vasty cellars； O wealthy one；
Twenty gallons of sleep。
Twenty gallons of balmy sleep；
Dreamless； and deep； and mild；
Of the excellent brand you used to keep
When I was a little child。
I've tasted of all your vaunted stock；
Your clarets and ports of Spain；
The liquid gold of your famous hock；
And your matchless dry champagne。
Of your rich muscats and your sherries fine；
I've drunk both well and deep；
Then； measure me out； O merchant mine；
Twenty gallons of sleep。
Twenty gallons of slumber soft
Of the innocent； baby kind；
When the angels flutter their wings aloft
And the pillow with down is lined；
I have drawn the corks； and drained the lees
Of every vintage pressed；
If I've felt the sting of my honey bees
I've taken it with the rest。
I have lived my life； and I'll not repine；
As I sowed I was bound to reap；
Then； measure me out； O merchant mine；
Twenty gallons of sleep。
A Confession
You did not know； how could you； dear；
How much you stood for？ Life in you
Retained its touch of Eden dew；
And ever through the droughtiest year
My soul could bring her flagon here
And fill it to the brim with clear
Deep draughts of purity：
And time could never quench the flame
Of youth that lit me through your eyes；
And cozened winter from my skies
Through all the years that went and came。
You did not know I used your name
To conjure by； and still the same
I found its potency。
You did not know that； as a phial
May garner close through dust and gloom
The essence of a rich perfume；
Romance was garnered in your smile
And touched my thoughts with beauty； while
The poor world； wise with bitter guile；
Outlived its chivalry。
You did not know our lives were laid
So far apart that thus I drew
The sunshine of my days from you；
That by your joy my own was weighed
That thus my debts your sweetness paid；
And of my heart's deep silence made
A lovely melody。
Martha M。 Simpson。
To an Old Grammar
Oh； mighty conjuror； you raise
The ghost of my lost youth
The happy； golden…tinted days
When earth her treasure…trove displays；
And everything is truth。
Your compeers may be sage and dry；
But in your page appears
A very fairyland； where I
Played 'neath a changeful Irish sky
A sky of smiles and tears。
Dear native land！ this little book
Brings back the varied charm
Of emerald hill and flashing brook；
Deep mountain glen and woodland nook；
And homely sheltered farm。
I see the hayrick where I sat
In golden autumn days；
And conned thy page； and wondered what
Could be the use； excepting that
It gained the master's praise。
I conjugate thy verbs again
Beside the winter's fire；
And； as the solemn clock strikes ten；
I lay thee on the shelf； and then
To dreams of thee retire。
Thy Saxon roots reveal to me
A silent； empty school；
And one poor prisoner who could see；
As if to increase her misery；
Her mates released from rule；
Rushing to catch the rounder ball；
Or circling in the ring。
Those merry groups！ I see them all；
And even now I can recall
The songs they used to sing。
Thy syntax conjures forth a morn
Of spring； when blossoms rare
Conspired the solemn earth to adorn；
And spread themselves on bank and thorn；
And perfumed all the air。
The dewdrops lent their aid and threw
Their gems with lavish hand
On every flower of brilliant hue；
On every blade of grass that grew
In that enchanted land。
The lark her warbling music lent；
To give an added charm；
And sleek…haired kine； in deep content；
Forth from their milking slowly went
Towards the homestead farm。
And here thy page on logic shows
A troop of merry girls；
A meadow smooth where clover grows；
And lanes where scented hawthorn blows；
And woodbine twines and curls。
And； turning o'er thy leaves； I find
Of many a friend the trace；
Forgotten scenes rush to my mind；
And some whom memory left behind
Now stare me in the face。
。 。 。 。 。
Ah； happy days！ when hope was high；
And faith was calm and deep！
When all was real and God was nigh；
And heaven was 〃just beyond the sky〃；
And angels watched my sleep。
Your dreams are gone； and here instead
Fair science reigns alone；
And； when I come to her for bread；
She smiles and bows her stately head
And offers me a stone。
William Gay。
Primroses
They shine upon my table there；
A constellation mimic sweet；
No stars in Heaven could shine more fair；
Nor Earth has beauty more complete；
And on my table there they shine；
And speak to me of things Divine。
In Heaven at first they grew； and when
God could no fairer make them； He
Did plant them by the ways of men
For all the pure in heart to see；
That each might shine upon its stem
And be a light from Him to them。
They speak of things above my verse；
Of thoughts no earthly language knows；
That loftiest Bard could ne'er rehearse；
Nor holiest prophet e'er disclose；
Which God Himself no other way
Than by a Primrose could convey。
To M。
（With some Verses）
If in the summer of thy bright regard
For one brief season these poor Rhymes shall live
I ask no more； nor think my fate too hard
If other eyes but wintry looks should give；
Nor will I grieve though what I here have writ
O'erburdened Time should drop among the ways；
And to the unremembering dust commit
Beyond the praise and blame of other days：
The song doth pass； but I who sing； remain；
I pluck from Death's own heart a life more deep；
And as the Spring； that dies not； in her train
Doth scatter blossoms for the winds to reap；
So I； immortal； as I fare along；
Will strew my path with mortal flowers of song。
Vestigia Nulla Retrorsum
O steep and rugged Life； whose harsh ascent
Slopes blindly upward through the bitter night！
They say that on thy summit； high in light；
Sweet rest awaits the climber； travel…spent；
But I； alas； with dusty garments rent；
With fainting heart and failing limbs and sight；
Can see no glimmer of the shining height；
And vainly list； with body forward bent；
To catch athwart the gloom one wandering note
Of those glad anthems which （they say） are sung
When one emerges from the mists below：
But though； O Life； thy summit be remote
And all thy stony path with darkness hung；
Yet ever upward through the night I go。
Edward Dyson。
The Old Whim Horse
He's an old grey horse； with his head bowed sadly；
And with dim old eyes and a queer roll aft；
With the off…fore sprung and the hind screwed badly；
And he bears all over the brands of graft；
And he lifts his head from the grass to wonder
Why by night and day the whim is still；
Why the silence is； and the stampers' thunder
Sounds forth no more from the shattered mill。
In that whim he worked when the night winds bellowed
On the riven summit of Giant's Hand；
And by day when prodigal Spring had yellowed
All the wide； long sweep of enchanted land；
And he knew his shift； and the whistle's warning；
And he knew the calls of the boys below；
Through the years； unbidden； at night or morning；
He had taken his stand by the old whim bow。
But the whim stands still； and the wheeling swallow
In the silent shaft hangs her home of clay；
And the lizards flirt and the swift snakes follow
O'er the grass…grown brace in the summer day；
And the corn springs high in the cracks and corners
Of the forge； and down where the timber lies；
And the crows are perched like a band of mourners
On the broken hut on the Hermit's Rise。
All the hands have gone； for the rich reef paid out；
And the company waits till the calls come in；
But the old grey horse； like the claim； is played out；
And no market's near for his bones and skin。
So they let him live； and they left him grazing
By the creek； and oft in the evening dim
I have seen him stand on the rises； gazing
At the ruined brace and the rotting whim。
The floods rush high in the gully under；
And the lightnings lash at the shrinking trees；
Or the cattle
