DOI issue:
Nr. 2
DOI article:Massingham, Harold J.; Cannan, Gilbert; Squire, J. C.: Poems
DOI Page / Citation link: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.29342#0086
Poems
THE LAKE
am a lake, altered by every wind.
The mild South breathes upon
me, and I spread
A dance of merry ripples in the sun.
The West comes stormily and I
am troubled,
My waves conflict and black depths show between
them.
Under the East wind bitter I grow and chill,
Slate - coloured, desolate, hopeless. But when
blows
A steady wind from the North my motion ceases;
I am frozen smooth and hard; my conquered
surface
Returns the skies’ cold light without a comment.
I make no sound, nor can I: nor can I show
What depth I have, if any depth, below.
J. C. SQUIRE
PARADISE LOST
What hues the sunlight had, how rich the shadows
were,
The blue and tangled shadows dropped from the
crusted branches
Of the warped apple-trees upon the orchard grass.
How heavenly pure the blue of two smooth eggs
that lay
Light on the rounded mud that lined the thrush’s
nest:
And what a deep delight the spots that speckled
them.
And that small tinkling stream that ran from
hedge to hedge,
Shadowed over by the trees and glinting in the
sunbeams:
How clear the water was, how flat the beds of sand
With travelling bubbles mirrored, each one a
golden world
To my enchanted eyes. Then earth was new to me.
But now I walk that earth as it were a lumber-
room,
And sometimes live a week seeing nothing but
mere herbs,
Mere stones, mere passing birds; nor look at any-
thing
Long enough to feel its conscious calm assault,
The strength of it, the word, the royal heart of it.
Childhood will not return, but have I not the
will
To strain my turbid mind, that soils all outer
things,
And, open again to all the miracles of light,
To see the world with the eyes of a blind man
gaining sight?
J. C. SQUIRE
“ SWEET DAY, SO FAIR, SO CALM, SO
BRIGHT.”
“The distant trees like little towns,
The sea as thousand rivers wide,
Clouds voyaging a bluer sea,
And bound to an unfathomed main
And lands more rich than Taprobane—
Beaumont and Fletcher by my side.
“Ultimate day! in which these trees
Grow steeples of Jerusalem,
In which the spirit-stretching sea
Washes the shores of Avilon,
To whose last rest these clouds have gone
And stuck their anchors in its beam.
“Earth’s day! I pluck your flying skirts,
Though swift the shadow-hounds pursue;
Oh, stay and light this ancient page
And keep the huntsman night at bay;
That I may feign the immortal day
With peace, this folio and you.”
HAROLD MASSINGHAM
ROM the cold earth
snowdrops peep
And from its enchanted
sleep
Love in me is softly
waking
Softly, softly waking.
Larks go soaring to the skies
And bid the laggard Spring arise.
Love in me is faintly springing,
Faintly, faintly springing.
O my love be patient still,
With the dancing daffodil,
Love, I am surely coming,
Surely, surely coming
GILBERT CANNAN
26
THE LAKE
am a lake, altered by every wind.
The mild South breathes upon
me, and I spread
A dance of merry ripples in the sun.
The West comes stormily and I
am troubled,
My waves conflict and black depths show between
them.
Under the East wind bitter I grow and chill,
Slate - coloured, desolate, hopeless. But when
blows
A steady wind from the North my motion ceases;
I am frozen smooth and hard; my conquered
surface
Returns the skies’ cold light without a comment.
I make no sound, nor can I: nor can I show
What depth I have, if any depth, below.
J. C. SQUIRE
PARADISE LOST
What hues the sunlight had, how rich the shadows
were,
The blue and tangled shadows dropped from the
crusted branches
Of the warped apple-trees upon the orchard grass.
How heavenly pure the blue of two smooth eggs
that lay
Light on the rounded mud that lined the thrush’s
nest:
And what a deep delight the spots that speckled
them.
And that small tinkling stream that ran from
hedge to hedge,
Shadowed over by the trees and glinting in the
sunbeams:
How clear the water was, how flat the beds of sand
With travelling bubbles mirrored, each one a
golden world
To my enchanted eyes. Then earth was new to me.
But now I walk that earth as it were a lumber-
room,
And sometimes live a week seeing nothing but
mere herbs,
Mere stones, mere passing birds; nor look at any-
thing
Long enough to feel its conscious calm assault,
The strength of it, the word, the royal heart of it.
Childhood will not return, but have I not the
will
To strain my turbid mind, that soils all outer
things,
And, open again to all the miracles of light,
To see the world with the eyes of a blind man
gaining sight?
J. C. SQUIRE
“ SWEET DAY, SO FAIR, SO CALM, SO
BRIGHT.”
“The distant trees like little towns,
The sea as thousand rivers wide,
Clouds voyaging a bluer sea,
And bound to an unfathomed main
And lands more rich than Taprobane—
Beaumont and Fletcher by my side.
“Ultimate day! in which these trees
Grow steeples of Jerusalem,
In which the spirit-stretching sea
Washes the shores of Avilon,
To whose last rest these clouds have gone
And stuck their anchors in its beam.
“Earth’s day! I pluck your flying skirts,
Though swift the shadow-hounds pursue;
Oh, stay and light this ancient page
And keep the huntsman night at bay;
That I may feign the immortal day
With peace, this folio and you.”
HAROLD MASSINGHAM
ROM the cold earth
snowdrops peep
And from its enchanted
sleep
Love in me is softly
waking
Softly, softly waking.
Larks go soaring to the skies
And bid the laggard Spring arise.
Love in me is faintly springing,
Faintly, faintly springing.
O my love be patient still,
With the dancing daffodil,
Love, I am surely coming,
Surely, surely coming
GILBERT CANNAN
26