Schoolgirls Hastening
Fear it has faded and the night:
The bells all peal the hour of nine:
The schoolgirls hastening through the light
Touch the unknowable Divine.
What leavening in my heart would bide!
Full dreams a thousand deep are there:
All luminants succumb beside
The unbound melody of hair.
Joy the long timorous takes the flute:
Valiant with colour songs are born:
Love the impatient absolute
Lives as a Saviour in the morn
Get thou behind me Shadow-Death!
Oh ye Eternities delay!
Morning is with me and the breath
Of schoolgirls hastening down the way.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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In the Dim Counties
In the dim counties
we take the long calm
Lilting no haziness,
sequel or psalm.
The little street wenches,
The holy and clean,
Live as good neighbours live
under the green.
Malice of sunbeam or
menace of moon
Piping shall leave us
no taste of a tune.
In the dim counties
the eyelids are dumb,
To the lean citizens
Love cannot come.
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poem by John Shaw Neilson
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The Green Singer
ALL singers have shadows
That follow like fears,
But I know a singer
Who never saw tears;
A gay love—a green love—
Delightsome—divine:
The Spring is that singer—
An old love of mine!
All players have shadows,
And into the play
Old sorrows will saunter—
Old sorrows will stay.
But here is a player
Whose speech is divine:
The Spring is that player—
An old love of mine!
All singers grow heavy:
Their hours as they run
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poem by John Shaw Neilson
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Song for a Singer
When you go underground with all your airs,
Your kindly lies and your ridiculous prayers,
You shall not ever fear to face again
The strong man's rage, the woman wild with pain
Nor song nor sigh will beat upon your brain.
The world will mourn you neither less nor more
Than all the pawns who played the game before;
The lover-lad will kiss his love anew
The water-birds will have their dance to do,
And the rude Spring will gallop over you.
The men who make will match the men who mar,
The eye unsatisfied will seek a star;
Your visitor the worm will speak you fair,
The bride will tremble and the child will stare,
And the red Summer will ride everywhere.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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To A Blue Flower
I would be dismal with all the fine pearls of the crown of a king;
But I can talk plainly to you, you little blue flower of the Spring!
Here in the heart of September the world that I walk in is full
Of the hot happy sound of the shearing, the rude heavy scent of the wool.
Soon would I tire of all riches or honours or power that they fling;
But you are my own, of my own folk, you little blue flower of the Spring!
I was around by the cherries to-day; all the cherries are pale:
The world is a woman in velvet: the air is the colour of ale.
I would be dismal with all the fine pearls of the crown of a king;
But I can give love-talk to you, you little blue flower of the Spring!
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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The Crane is My Neighbour
The bird is my neighbour, a whimsical fellow and dim;
There is in the lake a nobility falling on him.
The bird is a noble, he turns to the sky for a theme,
And the ripples are thoughts coming out to the edge of a dream.
The bird is both ancient and excellent, sober and wise,
But he never could spend all the love that is sent for his eyes.
He bleats no instruction, he is not an arrogant drummer;
His gown is simplicity - blue as the smoke of the summer.
How patient he is as he puts out his wings for the blue!
His eyes are as old as the twilight, and calm as the dew.
The bird is my neighbour, he leaves not a claim for a sigh,
He moves as the guest of the sunlight - he roams in the sky.
The bird is a noble, he turns to the sky for a theme,
And the ripples are thoughts coming out to the edge of a dream.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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O Heart of Spring
O HEART of Spring!
Spirit of light and love and joyous day,
So soon to faint beneath the fiery Summer:
Still smiles the Earth, eager for thee alway:
Welcome art thou, soever short thy stay,
Thou bold, thou blithe newcomer!
Whither, O whither this thy journeying,
O heart of Spring?
O heart of Spring!
After the stormy days of Winter’s reign,
When the keen winds their last lament are sighing,
The Sun shall raise thee up to life again:
In thy dim death thou shalt not suffer pain:
Surely thou dost not fear this quiet dying?
Whither, O whither this thy journeying,
O heart of Spring?
O heart of Spring!
Youth’s emblem, ancient and unchanging light,
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poem by John Shaw Neilson
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You and Yellow Air
YOU, AND YELLOW AIR by John Shaw Neilson
I dream of an old kissing-time
And the flowered follies there;
In the dim place of cherry-trees,
Of you, and yellow air.
It was an age of babbling,
When the players would play
Mad with the wine and miracles
Of a charmed holiday.
Bewildered was the warm earth
With whistling and sighs,
And a young foal spoke all his heart
With diamonds for eyes.
You were of Love's own colour
In eyes and heart and hair;
In the dim place of cherry-trees
Ridden by yellow air.
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poem by John Shaw Neilson
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The Poor Can Feed the Birds
Ragged, unheeded, stooping, meanly shod,
The poor pass to the pond: not far away
The spires go up to God.
Shyly they come from the unpainted lane;
Coats have they made of old unhappiness
That keeps in every pain.
The rich have fear, perchance their God is dim;
’Tis with the hope of stored-up happiness
They build the spires to Him.
The rich go out in clattering pomp and dare
In the most holy places to insult
The deep Benevolence there.
But ’tis the poor who make the loving words.
Slowly they stoop; it is a Sacrament:
The poor can feed the birds.
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poem by John Shaw Neilson
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The Orange Tree
The young girl stood beside me.
I Saw not what her young eyes could see:
- A light, she said, not of the sky
Lives somewhere in the Orange Tree.
- Is it, I said, of east or west?
The heartbeat of a luminous boy
Who with his faltering flute confessed
Only the edges of his joy?
Was he, I said, borne to the blue
In a mad escapade of Spring
Ere he could make a fond adieu
To his love in the blossoming?
- Listen! the young girl said. There calls
No voice, no music beats on me;
But it is almost sound: it falls
This evening on the Orange Tree.
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poem by John Shaw Neilson
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