main street and other poems-第3章
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From the white rose vine and the pink rose bush and from the red rose tree。
But when I took my posy and laid it at His feet
I found He had His roses a million times more sweet。
There was a scarlet blossom upon each foot and hand；
And a great pink rose bloomed from His side for the healing of the land。
Now of this fair and awful King there is this marvel told；
That He wears a crown of linked thorns instead of one of gold。
Where there are thorns are roses； and I saw a line of red；
A little wreath of roses around His radiant head。
A red rose is His Sacred Heart； a white rose is His face；
And His breath has turned the barren world to a rich and flowery place。
He is the Rose of Sharon； His gardener am I；
And I shall drink His fragrance in Heaven when I die。
The Visitation
（For Louise Imogen Guiney）
There is a wall of flesh before the eyes
Of John； who yet perceives and hails his King。
It is Our Lady's painful bliss to bring
Before mankind the Glory of the skies。
Her cousin feels her womb's sweet burden rise
And leap with joy； and she comes forth to sing；
With trembling mouth； her words of welcoming。
She knows her hidden God； and prophesies。
Saint John； pray for us； weary souls that tarry
Where life is withered by sin's deadly breath。
Pray for us； whom the dogs of Satan harry；
Saint John； Saint Anne； and Saint Elizabeth。
And； Mother Mary； give us Christ to carry
Within our hearts； that we may conquer death。
Multiplication
（For S。 M。 E。）
I take my leave； with sorrow； of Him I love so well；
I look my last upon His small and radiant prison…cell；
O happy lamp！ to serve Him with never ceasing light！
O happy flame！ to tremble forever in His sight！
I leave the holy quiet for the loudly human train；
And my heart that He has breathed upon is filled with lonely pain。
O King； O Friend； O Lover！ What sorer grief can be
In all the reddest depths of Hell than banishment from Thee？
But from my window as I speed across the sleeping land
I see the towns and villages wherein His houses stand。
Above the roofs I see a cross outlined against the night；
And I know that there my Lover dwells in His sacramental might。
Dominions kneel before Him； and Powers kiss His feet；
Yet for me He keeps His weary watch in the turmoil of the street：
The King of Kings awaits me； wherever I may go；
O who am I that He should deign to love and serve me so？
Thanksgiving
（For John Bunker）
The roar of the world is in my ears。
Thank God for the roar of the world！
Thank God for the mighty tide of fears
Against me always hurled！
Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife；
And the sting of His chastening rod！
Thank God for the stress and the pain of life；
And Oh； thank God for God！
The Thorn
（For the Rev。 Charles L。 O'Donnell； C。 S。 C。）
The garden of God is a radiant place；
And every flower has a holy face：
Our Lady like a lily bends above the cloudy sod；
But Saint Michael is the thorn on the rosebush of God。
David is the song upon God's lips；
And Our Lady is the goblet that He sips：
And Gabriel's the breath of His command；
But Saint Michael is the sword in God's right hand。
The Ivory Tower is fair to see；
And may her walls encompass me！
But when the Devil comes with the thunder of his might；
Saint Michael； show me how to fight！
The Big Top
The boom and blare of the big brass band is cheering to my heart
And I like the smell of the trampled grass and elephants and hay。
I take off my hat to the acrobat with his delicate； strong art；
And the motley mirth of the chalk…faced clown drives all my care away。
I wish I could feel as they must feel； these players brave and fair；
Who nonchalantly juggle death before a staring throng。
It must be fine to walk a line of silver in the air
And to cleave a hundred feet of space with a gesture like a song。
Sir Henry Irving never knew a keener； sweeter thrill
Than that which stirs the breast of him who turns his painted face
To the circling crowd who laugh aloud and clap hands with a will
As a tribute to the clown who won the great wheel…barrow race。
Now； one shall work in the living rock with a mallet and a knife；
And another shall dance on a big white horse that canters round a ring；
By another's hand shall colours stand in similitude of life；
And the hearts of the three shall be moved by one mysterious high thing。
For the sculptor and the acrobat and the painter are the same。
They know one hope； one fear； one pride； one sorrow and one mirth；
And they take delight in the endless fight for the fickle world's acclaim；
For they worship art above the clouds and serve her on the earth。
But you； who can build of the stubborn rock no form of loveliness；
Who can never mingle the radiant hues to make a wonder live；
Who can only show your little woe to the world in a rhythmic dress
What kind of a counterpart of you does the three…ring circus give？
Well here in the little side…show tent to…day some people stand；
One is a giant； one a dwarf； and one has a figured skin；
And each is scarred and seared and marred by Fate's relentless hand；
And each one shows his grief for pay； with a sort of pride therein。
You put your sorrow into rhyme and want the world to look；
You sing the news of your ruined hope and want the world to hear；
Their woe is pent in a canvas tent and yours in a printed book。
O； poet of the broken heart； salute your brothers here！
Queen Elizabeth Speaks
My hands were stained with blood； my heart was proud and cold；
My soul is black with shame 。 。 。 but I gave Shakespeare gold。
So after aeons of flame； I may； by grace of God；
Rise up to kiss the dust that Shakespeare's feet have trod。
Mid…ocean in War…time
（For My Mother）
The fragile splendour of the level sea；
The moon's serene and silver…veiled face；
Make of this vessel an enchanted place
Full of white mirth and golden sorcery。
Now； for a time； shall careless laughter be
Blended with song； to lend song sweeter grace；
And the old stars； in their unending race；
Shall heed and envy young humanity。
And yet to…night； a hundred leagues away；
These waters blush a strange and awful red。
Before the moon； a cloud obscenely grey
Rises from decks that crash with flying lead。
And these stars smile their immemorial way
On waves that shroud a thousand newly dead！
In Memory of Rupert Brooke
In alien earth； across a troubled sea；
His body lies that was so fair and young。
His mouth is stopped； with half his songs unsung；
His arm is still； that struck to make men free。
But let no cloud of lamentation be
Where； on a warrior's grave； a lyre is hung。
We keep the echoes of his golden tongue；
We keep the vision of his chivalry。
So Israel's joy； the loveliest of kings；
Smote now his harp； and now the hostile horde。
To…day the starry roof of Heaven rings
With psalms a soldier made to praise his Lord；
And David rests beneath Eternal wings；
Song on his lips； and in his hand a sword。
The New School
（For My Mother）
The halls that were loud with the merry tread of young and careless feet
Are still with a stillness that is too drear to seem like holiday；
And never a gust of laughter breaks the calm of the dreaming street
Or rises to shake the ivied walls and frighten the doves away。
The dust is on book and on empty desk； and the tennis…racquet and balls
Lie still in their lonely locker and wait for a game that is never played；
And over the study and lecture…room and the river and meadow falls
A stern peace； a strange peace； a peace that War has made。
For many a youthful shoulder now is gay with an epaulet；
And the hand that was deft with a cricket…bat is defter with a sword；
And some of the lads will laugh to…day where the trench is red and wet；
And some will win on the bloody field the accolade of the Lord。
They have taken their youth and mirth away
from the study and playing…ground
To a new school in an alien land beneath an alien sky；
Out in the smoke and roar of the fight their lessons and games are found；
And they who were learning how to live are learning how to die。
And after the golden day has come and the war is at an end；
A slab of bronze on the chapel wall will tell of the noble dead。
And every name on that radiant list will be the name of a friend；
A name that shall through the centuries in grateful prayers be said。
And there will be ghosts in the old school；
brave ghosts with laughing eyes；
On the field with a ghostly cricket…bat； by the stream with a ghostly rod；
They will touch the hearts of the living with a flame that sanctifies；
A flame that they took with strong young hands
from the altar…fires of God。
Easter Week
（In memory of Joseph Mary Plunkett）
（〃Romantic Ireland's dead and gone；
It's with O'Leary in the grave。〃）
William Butler Yeats。
〃Romantic Ireland's dead and gone；
It's with O'Leary in the grave。〃
Then； Yeats； what gave that Easter dawn
A hue so radiantly brave？
There was a rain of blood that day；
Red rain in gay blue April weather。
It blessed the earth till it gave birth
To valour thick as blooms of heather。
Romantic Ireland never dies！
O'Leary lies in fertile ground；
And songs and spears throughout the years
Rise up where patriot graves are found。
Immortal patriots newly dead
And ye that bled in bygone years；
What banners rise before your eyes？
What is the tune that greets your ears？
The young Republic's banners smile
For many a mile where troops convene。
O'Connell Street is loudly sweet
With strains of Wearing of the Green。
The soil of Ireland throbs and glows
With life that knows the hour is here
To strike again like Irishmen
For that which Irishmen hold dear。
Lord Edward leaves his resting place
And Sarsfield's face is glad and fierce。
See Emmet leap from troubled sleep
To grasp the hand of Padraic Pearse！
There is no rope can strangle song
And not for long death takes his toll。
No prison bars can dim the stars
Nor quicklime eat the living soul。
Romantic Ireland is not old。
For years untold her youth will shine。
Her heart is fed on Heavenly bread；
The blood of martyrs is her wine。
The Cathedral of Rheims
（From the French of Emile Verhaeren）
He who walks through the meadows of Champagne
At noon in Fall； when leaves like gold appear；
Sees it draw near
Like some great mountain set upon the pl
