In the Water

THE

SWINBURNE

HE sea is awake, and the sound of the song of the joy of her waking is rolled

From afar to the star that recedes, from anear to the wastes of the wild-wide shore.

Her call is a trumpet compelling us homeward: if dawn in her east be acold,

From the sea shall we crave not her grace to rekindle the life that it kindled before,

Her breath to requicken, her bosom to rock us, her kisses to bless as of yore?

For the wind, with his wings half open, at pause in the sky, neither fettered nor free,

Leans waveward and flutters the ripple to laughter : and fain would the twain of us be

Where lightly the wave yearns forward from under the curve of the deep dawn's dome,

And, full of the morning and fired with the pride of the glory thereof and the glee,

Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and beseeches, athirst for the foam.

Life holds not an hour that is better to live in the past is a tale that is told,

The future a sun-flecked shadow, alive and asleep, with a blessing in store.

As we give us again to the waters, the rapture of limbs that the waters enfold

Is less than the rapture of spirit whereby, though the burden it quits were sore,

Our souls and the bodies they wield at their will are absorbed in the life they adore—

In the life that endures no burden, and bows not the forehead, and bends not the knee—

In the life everlasting of earth and of heaven, in the laws that atone and agree,

In the measureless music of things, in the fervour of forces that rest or that roam,

That cross and return and re-issue, as I after you and as you after me

Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and beseeches, athirst for the foam.

For, albeit he were less than the least of them, haply the heart of a man may be bold

To rejoice in the word of the sea as a mother's that saith to the son she bore,

Child, was not the life in thee mine, and my spirit the breath in thy lips from of old ?

Have I let not thy weakness exult in my strength, and thy foolishness learn of my lore?

Have I helped not or healed not thine anguish, or made not the might of thy gladness more?

And surely his heart should answer, The light of

the love of my life is in thee.

She is fairer than earth, and the sun is not fairer, the wind is not blither than she:

From my youth hath she shown me the joy of her bays that I crossed, of her cliffs that I clomb. Till now that the twain of us here, in desire of the dawn and in trust of the sea,

Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and beseeches, athirst for the foam.

Friend, earth is a harbour for winter, a covert whereunder to flee,

When day is the vassal of night, and the strength of the hosts of her mightier than he ;

But here is the presence adored of me, here my desire is at rest and at home,

There are cliffs to be climbed upon land, there are ways to be trodden and ridden: but we

Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and beseeches, athirst for the foam.

Hawthorn Dyke

AL

LL the golden air is full of balm and bloom Where the hawthorns line the shelving bank with flowers.

Joyous children born of April's happiest hours,

S

High and low they laugh and lighten, knowing their doom,

Brief as brief-to bless and cheer they know not

whom,

Heed not how, but washed and warmed with suns and showers

Smile, and bid the sweet soft gradual banks and bowers

Thrill with love of sunlit fire or starry gloom. All our moors and lawns all round rejoice; but here

All the rapturous resurrection of the year

Finds the radiant utterance perfect, sees the word

Spoken, hears the light that speaks it. Far and

near,

All the world is heaven: and man and flower

and bird

Here are one at heart with all things seen and heard.

Children

F such is the kingdom of heaven. No glory that ever was shed From the crowning star of the seven That crown the north world's head,

No word that ever was spoken
Of human or godlike tongue,
Gave ever such godlike token
Since human harps were strung.

No sign that ever was given

To faithful or faithless eyes

Showed ever beyond clouds riven
So clear a Paradise.

Earth's creeds may be seventy times seven
And blood have defiled each creed:
If of such be the kingdom of heaven,
It must be heaven indeed.

The Sweet Wise Death of

Old Men Honourable

TH

'HE sweet wise death of old men honourable,
Who have lived out all the length of all their
years

Blameless, and seen well-pleased the face of gods,
And without shame and without fear have wrought
Things memorable, and while their days held out
In sight of all men and the sun's great light
Have got them glory and given of their own praise
To the earth that bare them and the day that bred,