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Are we to keep Christ writhing on the cross！
Dear Friends
Dear friends； reproach me not for what I do；
Nor counsel me； nor pity me； nor say
That I am wearing half my life away
For bubble…work that only fools pursue。
And if my bubbles be too small for you；
Blow bigger then your own： the games we play
To fill the frittered minutes of a day；
Good glasses are to read the spirit through。
And whoso reads may get him some shrewd skill；
And some unprofitable scorn resign；
To praise the very thing that he deplores；
So； friends （dear friends）； remember； if you will；
The shame I win for singing is all mine；
The gold I miss for dreaming is all yours。
The Story of the Ashes and the Flame
No matter why； nor whence； nor when she came；
There was her place。 No matter what men said；
No matter what she was； living or dead；
Faithful or not； he loved her all the same。
The story was as old as human shame；
But ever since that lonely night she fled；
With books to blind him； he had only read
The story of the ashes and the flame。
There she was always coming pretty soon
To fool him back； with penitent scared eyes
That had in them the laughter of the moon
For baffled lovers； and to make him think
Before she gave him time enough to wink
Sin's kisses were the keys to Paradise。
For Some Poems by Matthew Arnold
Sweeping the chords of Hellas with firm hand；
He wakes lost echoes from song's classic shore；
And brings their crystal cadence back once more
To touch the clouds and sorrows of a land
Where God's truth； cramped and fettered with a band
Of iron creeds； he cheers with golden lore
Of heroes and the men that long before
Wrought the romance of ages yet unscanned。
Still does a cry through sad Valhalla go
For Balder； pierced with Lok's unhappy spray
For Balder； all but spared by Frea's charms；
And still does art's imperial vista show；
On the hushed sands of Oxus； far away；
Young Sohrab dying in his father's arms。
Amaryllis
Once； when I wandered in the woods alone；
An old man tottered up to me and said；
〃Come； friend； and see the grave that I have made
For Amaryllis。〃 There was in the tone
Of his complaint such quaver and such moan
That I took pity on him and obeyed；
And long stood looking where his hands had laid
An ancient woman； shrunk to skin and bone。
Far out beyond the forest I could hear
The calling of loud progress； and the bold
Incessant scream of commerce ringing clear；
But though the trumpets of the world were glad；
It made me lonely and it made me sad
To think that Amaryllis had grown old。
Kosmos
Ah； shuddering men that falter and shrink so
To look on death； what were the days we live；
Where life is half a struggle to forgive；
But for the love that finds us when we go？
Is God a jester？ Does he laugh and throw
Poor branded wretches here to sweat and strive
For some vague end that never shall arrive？
And is He not yet weary of the show？
Think of it； all ye millions that have planned；
And only planned； the largess of hard youth！
Think of it； all ye builders on the sand；
Whose works are down！ Is love so small； forsooth？
Be brave！ To…morrow you will understand
The doubt； the pain； the triumph； and the Truth！
Zola
Because he puts the compromising chart
Of hell before your eyes； you are afraid；
Because he counts the price that you have paid
For innocence； and counts it from the start；
You loathe him。 But he sees the human heart
Of God meanwhile； and in God's hand has weighed
Your squeamish and emasculate crusade
Against the grim dominion of his art。
Never until we conquer the uncouth
Connivings of our shamed indifference
（We call it Christian faith！） are we to scan
The racked and shrieking hideousness of Truth
To find； in hate's polluted self…defence
Throbbing； the pulse； the divine heart of man。
The Pity of the Leaves
Vengeful across the cold November moors；
Loud with ancestral shame there came the bleak
Sad wind that shrieked； and answered with a shriek；
Reverberant through lonely corridors。
The old man heard it； and he heard； perforce；
Words out of lips that were no more to speak
Words of the past that shook the old man's cheek
Like dead； remembered footsteps on old floors。
And then there were the leaves that plagued him so！
The brown； thin leaves that on the stones outside
Skipped with a freezing whisper。 Now and then
They stopped； and stayed there just to let him know
How dead they were； but if the old man cried；
They fluttered off like withered souls of men。
Aaron Stark
Withal a meagre man was Aaron Stark；
Cursed and unkempt； shrewd； shrivelled； and morose。
A miser was he； with a miser's nose；
And eyes like little dollars in the dark。
His thin； pinched mouth was nothing but a mark；
And when he spoke there came like sullen blows
Through scattered fangs a few snarled words and close；
As if a cur were chary of its bark。
Glad for the murmur of his hard renown；
Year after year he shambled through the town；
A loveless exile moving with a staff；
And oftentimes there crept into his ears
A sound of alien pity； touched with tears；
And then （and only then） did Aaron laugh。
The Garden
There is a fenceless garden overgrown
With buds and blossoms and all sorts of leaves；
And once； among the roses and the sheaves；
The Gardener and I were there alone。
He led me to the plot where I had thrown
The fennel of my days on wasted ground；
And in that riot of sad weeds I found
The fruitage of a life that was my own。
My life！ Ah； yes； there was my life； indeed！
And there were all the lives of humankind；
And they were like a book that I could read；
Whose every leaf； miraculously signed；
Outrolled itself from Thought's eternal seed；
Love…rooted in God's garden of the mind。
Cliff Klingenhagen
Cliff Klingenhagen had me in to dine
With him one day； and after soup and meat；
And all the other things there were to eat；
Cliff took two glasses and filled one with wine
And one with wormwood。 Then； without a sign
For me to choose at all； he took the draught
Of bitterness himself； and lightly quaffed
It off； and said the other one was mine。
And when I asked him what the deuce he meant
By doing that； he only looked at me
And grinned； and said it was a way of his。
And though I know the fellow； I have spent
Long time a…wondering when I shall be
As happy as Cliff Klingenhagen is。
Charles Carville's Eyes
A melancholy face Charles Carville had；
But not so melancholy as it seemed；
When once you knew him； for his mouth redeemed
His insufficient eyes； forever sad：
In them there was no life…glimpse； good or bad；
Nor joy nor passion in them ever gleamed；
His mouth was all of him that ever beamed；
His eyes were sorry； but his mouth was glad。
He never was a fellow that said much；
And half of what he did say was not heard
By many of us： we were out of touch
With all his whims and all his theories
Till he was dead； so those blank eyes of his
Might speak them。 Then we heard them； every word。
The Dead Village
Here there is death。 But even here； they say；
Here where the dull sun shines this afternoon
As desolate as ever the dead moon
Did glimmer on dead Sardis； men were gay；
And there were little children here to play；
With small soft hands that once did keep in tune
The strings that stretch from heaven； till too soon
The change came； and the music passed away。
Now there is nothing but the ghosts of things；
No life； no love； no children； and no men；
And over the forgotten place there clings
The strange and unrememberable light
That is in dreams。 The music failed； and then
God frowned； and shut the village from His sight。
Boston
My northern pines are good enough for me；
But there's a town my memory uprears
A town that always like a friend appears；
And always in the sunrise by the sea。
And over it； somehow； there seems to be
A downward flash of something new and fierce；
That ever strives to clear； but never clears
The dimness of a charmed antiquity。
Two Sonnets
I
Just as I wonder at the twofold screen
Of twisted innocence that you would plait
For eyes that uncourageously await
The coming of a kingdom that has been；
So do I wonder what God's love can mean
To you that all so strangely estimate
The purpose and the consequent estate
Of one short shuddering step to the Unseen。
No； I have not your backward faith to shrink
Lone…faring from the doorway of