Part 1

This etext was prepared by Les Bowler.

NEW POEMS

BY FRANCIS THOMPSON.

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BURNS AND OATES 26 ORCHARD STREET, LONDON, W. 1907

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Third English Edition

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CONTENTS

PAGE Dedication vii SIGHT AND INSIGHT The Mistress of Vision 3 Contemplation 14 ‘By Reason of Thy Law’ 18 The Dread of Height 21 Orient Ode 26 New Year’s Chimes 36 From the Night of Forebeing 40 Any Saint 58 Assumpta Maria 67 The After Woman 74 Grace of the Way 77 Retrospect 80 A NARROW VESSEL A Girl’s Sin—in her Eyes 85 A Girl’s Sin—in his Eyes 91 Love Declared 94 The Way of a Maid 96 Beginning of the End 98 Penelope 100 The End of it 102 Epilogue 103 MISCELLANEOUS ODES Ode to the Setting Sun 107 A Captain of Song 123 Against Urania 126 An Anthem of Earth 129 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS ‘Ex Ore Infantium’ 151 A Question 154 Field-flower 157 The Cloud’s Swan-Song 159 To the Sinking Sun 166 Grief’s Harmonics 169 Memorat Memoria 171 July Fugitive 173 To a Snow-flake 177 Nocturn 179 A May Burden 181 A Dead Astronomer 183 ‘Chose Vue’ 184 ‘Whereto art thou come’ 185 Heaven and Hell 186 To a Child 187 Hermes 188 House of Bondage 189 The Heart 191 A Sunset 193 Heard on the Mountain 197 ULTIMA Love’s Almsman Plaineth his 207 Fare A Holocaust 209 Beneath a Photograph 211 After her Going 212 My Lady the Tyranness 214 Unto this Last 218 Ultimum 221 Envoy 224

DEDICATION

TO COVENTRY PATMORE

LO, my book thinks to look Time’s leaguer down, Under the banner of your spread renown! Or if these levies of impuissant rhyme Fall to the overthrow of assaulting Time, Yet this one page shall fend oblivious shame, Armed with your crested and prevailing Name.

Note.—This dedication was written while the dear friend and great Poet to whom it was addressed yet lived. It is left as he saw it—the last verses of mine that were ever to pass under his eyes.

F. T.

SIGHT AND INSIGHT

‘Wisdom is easily seen by them that love her, and is found by them that seek her. To think therefore upon her is perfect understanding.’

WISDOM, vi.

THE MISTRESS OF VISION.

SECRET was the garden; Set i’ the pathless awe Where no star its breath can draw. Life, that is its warden, Sits behind the fosse of death. Mine eyes saw not, and I saw.

It was a mazeful wonder; Thrice three times it was enwalled With an emerald— Sealèd so asunder. All its birds in middle air hung a-dream, their music thralled.

III

The Lady of fair weeping, At the garden’s core, Sang a song of sweet and sore And the after-sleeping; In the land of Luthany, and the tracts of Elenore.

With sweet-panged singing, Sang she through a dream-night’s day; That the bowers might stay, Birds bate their winging, Nor the wall of emerald float in wreathèd haze away.

The lily kept its gleaming, In her tears (divine conservers!) Washèd with sad art; And the flowers of dreaming Palèd not their fervours, For her blood flowed through their nervures; And the roses were most red, for she dipt them in her heart.

There was never moon, Save the white sufficing woman: Light most heavenly-human— Like the unseen form of sound, Sensed invisibly in tune,— With a sun-derivèd stole Did inaureole All her lovely body round; Lovelily her lucid body with that light was interstrewn.

VII

The sun which lit that garden wholly, Low and vibrant visible, Tempered glory woke; And it seemèd solely Like a silver thurible Solemnly swung, slowly, Fuming clouds of golden fire, for a cloud of incense-smoke.