Read Ebook: Eyes of Youth A Book of Verse by Padraic Colum Shane Leslie Viola Meynell Ruth Lindsay Hugh Austin Judith Lytton Olivia Meynell Maurice Healy Monica Saleeby & Francis Meynell. With four early poems by Francis Thompson & a foreword by Gilbert K. Chesterton by Various

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Ebook has 138 lines and 9526 words, and 3 pages

From the thickets dim of the hidden way Where the debts of Hell accrue, The Lion leapeth upon his prey: But the Lamb--He leapeth too. Ah! loose the leash of the sins that damn, Mark Devil and God as goals, In the panting love of a famished Lamb, Gone mad with the need of souls.

The Lion, he strayeth near and far; What heights hath he left untrod? He crawleth nigh to the purest star, On the trail of the saints of God. And throughout the darkness of things unclean, In the depths where the sin-ghouls brood, There prowleth ever with yearning mien-- A lamb as white as Blood!

HUGH AUSTIN

Night. O Thou God! who rulest Heaven and earth, The terraced atmospheres, the bounded seas; Who knowest equally both death and birth, Frail human men, strong divine mysteries, Whose unencumbered thought sways all the spheres, In all their turning, snake-like, perfect ways; Now that the season of my labour nears, Grant me an insight to Thy larger days!

To Thee all things create and unborn yield, Being of Thee, the secret of their souls-- The traversed elements, the azure field Whereo'er eternal each huge star-world rolls. There is no tiny insect but does know Itself within Thy Presence visual: From us too swiftly years and seasons go, To Thee all change is a thing gradual.

E'en as at nightfall, when the lights come in, The moth attracted woos and meets her death, So do I seek Thy light to wander in, Though fearfully and with half-bated breath. So do I seek all knowledge of Thy stars, Which move in and without my vision's reach; Maybe yet burning with internal wars, Or shaking as this world with human speech.

Stars which perhaps ten thousand years ago Waned and grew cold at Thy almighty word Waft their light hitherward. I do not know-- Thy recreating voice I have not heard. Maybe, e'en at this hour Thine accents shake Some chaos into order, into life; Perchance some great creation now doth break Into new form beneath Thy wisdom's knife.

Ah, Lord! The night appals me. Give me strength Within myself to search this planet's dome: O Supreme Architect, give me at length Some clearer knowledge of Thy spaceless home! My spirit seethes within me; in the sky Thy constellations shine; for me begin My labours until night-time passes by-- And before dawn I must or fail or win.

Cirqued with dim stars and delicate moonflowers, Silent she moves among the silent hours-- Watching the spheres that glow with golden heat Under her feet.

Then, when the sunrise tints the east with light, She fades to westward, with the dreamy night And all her starry train--in faint disguise Of twilight skies.

Such things have been, Yvonne; but you and I, Can we touch lips again across the years? Re-order what is past? Forget--or try Not to remember what through mists of tears Is still too memorable? Dare we two Start both our lives again, as we were young And happy, in such love as falls to few? Nay, for our violins are all unstrung.

Yet it is well that memory should hold Some few pale rose-leaves plucked in bygone days, That still are sweet, despite those pains untold Which throng the marges of life's winding ways. Yea, these will stay when nearer things are gone; I shall keep mine. Will you keep yours, Yvonne?

A long, low wail of harps across the snow, Falling and rising with the whistling wind; A shifting glare of lights that come and go, As if men searched for what they could not find. And then the music thrilled out loud and well Over the waste and barren dunes of sand-- Solemn and stately as a passing bell Heard dimly in some weary twilight land.

Then slipped the moon behind a dusky cloud, And each bright star its silver visage hid; Mystery 'gan the darkness to enshroud; Across the sky a blood-red message slid.

Sudden the ship blazed up, the dark was light; Lo! Scald is dead! his pyre was lit to-night.

JUDITH LYTTON

Oh, Love, what fate is ours? No summer morning Shall give us joy, no sunrise bring relief; No end--no end is there unto our sorrow, No measure to our grief.

You looked at me, and all your living beauty Swept to my heart in flame a moment's space, A sudden mist of tears in darkness veiling The glory of your face.

You spoke: I seemed to hear the wild doves cooing-- The rain upon the hills, sweet falling rain; And all my soul was filled with joy and anguish, In ecstasy of pain.

I saw as in a mist celestial visions Beyond the bitter seas whence hope has fled, Heard the wind blow among the trees in summer, But knew not what you said.

It matters not what words the lips have spoken When heart shall speak to heart, for love can hear Unspoken words, and see as in reflection His own thoughts mirrored there.

You came to me, the sun arose in splendour; I saw the roses spread their petals sweet, And thought that all the world must see in wonder The wings upon our feet.

You touched me, and a wave of passionate longing Flooded my soul until it swooned away, And knew no more the sunlight from the shadow-- If it were night or day.

We wandered in the shadow of the woodland, Mute while we looked into each other's eyes, And saw as in still pools of darkened water The wonder of the skies.

No word we spoke. We knew that love had silenced All that we wished to speak yet left unsaid; The bees were humming in the wild-rose blossoms Which clustered overhead.

And all that summer day we were together, Alone with love, yet with a sword between-- The flaming sword that stands between us ever, And all that might have been.

Mist gathered white at evening in the valleys, And slowly grew the dusk from gold to grey, While rain-clouds gathered on the low horizon Dark at the close of day.

And softly rose a wind from out the darkness, With scent of flower and fern and herb and tree, And in its breath there came a sound of thunder, Storm-laden from the sea.

And thus we reached the wicket of the garden; The wood was full of sound, the sound of wings; The scent of lavender brought back remembrance Of long-forgotten things.

Though heaven and earth and sky should be forgotten, Yet of that hour my soul should bear the trace: For night fell fast, and in the deepening shadow You turned and kissed my face.

A stranger come I to the festival Thou holdest in the regions of romance, Where dragons lurk and elfin spirits dance, And pearls lie hid within each rose petal. What magic changes in life's crystal ball Shall thus transform earth's dullness at thy glance! Ride then the wind, a feather for thy lance, A pool thy sea, thy heaven a waterfall. So shall thy soul to fairy worlds belong, Where dust is gold and dew-drops turn to wine; Remember still the visions that are thine When sorrow shall disperse that phantom throng; And dream once more that thou hast found divine Love in a flower, and kingdoms in a song.

To look at thee, and see the sunlight move The shadow of the leaves upon thy face, Lighting the glory of thy youth and grace With golden rays wind-stirred from trees above; To listen to the rustling of the grove, The warblers in the reeds which interlace The waters of the pool, and dream a space, Forgetful of the hours ... this then is love! Thy passion and thy strength, thy gentleness, All these are mine. Who then shall dispossess My soul of paradise? In truth I learn More than the world can teach. Oblivion waits, And distance parts, and Death annihilates: But now thy love is all my love's concern.

OLIVIA MEYNELL

I sought Him in the trees, and Him I found In every colour, and in every sound.

I sought Him in the sky, and He was there, A living God, breathing the living air.

I sought Him in my soul--oh, passionate loss! All that I found was a forsaken Cross.

Whenas we wandered in the summer hours, My kind love crowned me with a crown of flowers.

Softly they touched my forehead and my hair; Gay, sunny, yellow, and sweet-breathed they were--

Soft flowers and tender hands, gay sun, soft skies; And sweeter, tenderer yet, his loving eyes.

Ah! but it should have been with thorns he crowned me, Who follow Christ, while cold skies blackened round me.

Dear love, I will accept from you cold frown, Sharp words, hard touch, as symbols of His crown.

MAURICE HEALY

"Lord, teach us how to pray," they said; And Jesus raised His weary head, Bowed by the sorrows of the way, And taught His children how to pray.

"Lord, teach me how to pray," I cried; And Jesus sent you to my side To make your own the soul I wear And mould it purer into prayer.

And since your love first lit the way I find that I have learned to pray; For, that my soul may benefit, I pray that you may pray for it.

Soured and dimmed and chilled with senility Hobbled the year to its uttermost day; I gave the best of a slender ability, Seeking to make a short afternoon gay. You were both claimed ere the sky was grey Over the tips of the western towers; Yet, as you went, you had time to say, "This is no stranger: we name him ours!"

Slaves and serfs have woes in abundancy-- Clashing of manacle, whistling of thong, Tales of terror and tears to redundancy; What is the score of my slavery's wrong? Surely where pleasures so freely throng Some sad fiend of unhappiness lowers; Or is the refrain of Good Fortune's song, "This is no stranger: we name him ours"?

When you enfranchised me into your mystery, Lovingly stealing the sorrows I had, Wisdom came with you; the old sad history Glowed; and I knew in my heart why the sad And outcast Lord grew suddenly glad As the children thronged to crown Him with flowers, When their cry was voiced by some tiny lad, "This is no Stranger: we name Him ours!"

So do I thank you; and if some day You in your gained Paradisal bowers Hear me knocking, be bold to pray, "This is no stranger: we claim him ours!"

Yet I build on Him Who saith, "Move the mountains with your faith"-- Doubt the lips that falter, wan, "The age of miracles is gone!" I have learned to read the grim Testimony unto Him Printed with starvation's hand On every hove! through the land; I have swung the crazy door To find huddled on a floor Rat-gnawed and riddled, with never a clout To keep the eager winter out, Some six or seven of our kind Shivering beneath the wind, Foodless, fireless, hungry-eyed, Crouched round one who just had died, Hopeless that the dawn would bring Friendly aid and comforting.

And after prayer for the parted soul, They have thanked the slender dole, And spoken of hope of days to come, And have forgotten their martyrdom. The anguished grief of motherhood Has firmly whispered "God is good And can in His Eternity Repay this present loss"; till I Have almost turned my head to see If Christ has not come in with me!

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