The Double Fortress
Time, wouldst thou hurt us? Never shall we grow old.
Break as thou wilt these bodies of blind clay,
Thou canst not touch us here, in our stronghold,
Where two, made one, laugh all thy powers away.
Though ramparts crumble and rusty gates grow thin,
And our brave fortress dwine to a hollow shell,
Thou shalt hear heavenly laughter, far within,
Where, young as Love, two hidden lovers dwell.
We shall go clambering up our twisted stairs
To watch the moon through rifts in our grey towers.
Thou shalt hear whispers, kisses, and sweet prayers
Creeping through all our creviced walls like flowers.
Wouldst wreck us, Time? When thy dull leaguer brings
The last wall down, look heavenward. We have wings.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Moon is Up
The moon is up, the stars are bright.
the wind is fresh and free!
We're out to seek the gold tonight
across the silver sea!
The world is growing grey and old:
break out the sails again!
We're out to see a Realm of Gold
beyond the Spanish Main.
We're sick of all the cringing knees,
the courtly smiles and lies
God, let Thy singing channel breeze
lighten our hearts and eyes!
Let love no more be bought and sold
for earthly loss or gain;
We're out to seek an Age of Gold
beyond the Spanish Main.
Beyond the light of far Cathay,
beyond all mortal dreams,
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poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Inn of Apollo
Have you supped at the Inn of Apollo,
While the last light fades from the West?
Has the Lord of the Sun, at the world's end,
Poured you his ripest and best?
O, there's wine in that Inn of Apollo;
Wine, mellow and deep as the sunset,
With mirth in it, singing as loud
As the skylark sings in a high wind,
High over a crisp white cloud.
Have you laughed in that Inn of Apollo?
Was the whole world molten in music
At once, by the heat of that wine?
Did the stars and the tides and your own heart
Dance with the heavenly Nine?
For they dance in that Inn of Apollo.
Was their poetry croaked by the sages,
Or born in a whisper of wings?
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poem by Alfred Noyes
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On A Mountain Top
On this high altar, fringed with ferns
That darken against the sky,
The dawn in lonely beauty burns
And all our evils die.
The struggling sea that roared below
Is quieter than the dew,
Quieter than the clouds that flow
Across the stainless blue.
On this bare crest, the angels kneel
And breathe the sweets that rise
From flowers too little to reveal
Their beauty to our eyes.
I have seen Edens on the earth
With queenly blooms arrayed;
But here the fairest come to birth,
The smallest flowers He made.
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poem by Alfred Noyes
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Touchstone On A Bus
Last night I rode with Touchstone on a bus
From Ludgate Hill to World's End. It was he!
Despite the broadcloth and the bowler hat,
I knew him, Touchstone, the wild flower of folly,
The whetstone of his age, the scourge of kings,
The madcap morning star of elfin-land,
Who used to wrap his legs around his neck
For warmth on winter nights. He had slipped back,
To see what men were doing in a world
That should be wiser. He had watched a play,
Read several books, heard men discourse of art
And life; and he sat bubbling like a spring
In Arden. Never did blackbird, drenched with may,
Chuckle as Touchstone chuckled on that ride.
_Lord, what a world! Lord, what a mad, mad world!_
Then, to the jolt and jingle of the engine,
He burst into this bunch of madcap rhymes:--
poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Big Black Trawler
THE very best ship that ever I knew
-Ah-way O, to me O-
Was a big black trawler with a deep-sea crew-
Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.
There was one old devil with a broken nose
-Ah-way O, to me O-
He was four score years, as I suppose-
But sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.
We was wrecked last March, in a Polar storm
-Ah-way O, to me O-
And we asked the old cripple if his feet was warm-
Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.
And the old, old devil (he was ninety at the most)
-Ah-way O, to me O-
Roars, ' Ay, warm as a lickle piece of toast '-
So sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.
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poem by Alfred Noyes
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Memories Of The Pacific Coast
I know a land, I, too,
Where warm keen incense on the sea-wind blows,
And all the winter long the skies are blue,
And the brown deserts blossom with the rose.
Deserts of all delight,
Cactus and palm and earth of thirsty gold,
Dark purple blooms round eaves of sun-washed white,
And that Hesperian fruit men sought of old.
O, to be wandering there,
Under the palm-trees, on that sunset shore,
Where the waves break in song, and the bright air
Is crystal clean; and peace is ours, once more.
There Beauty dwells,
Beauty, re-born in whiteness from the foam;
And Youth returns with all its magic spells,
And the heart finds its long-forgotten home,--
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poem by Alfred Noyes
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Song
I came to the door of the House of Love
And knocked as the starry night went by;
And my true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said
"It is I."
And Love looked down from a lattice above
Where the roses were dry as the lips of the dead:
"There is not room in the House of Love
For you both," he said.
I plucked a leaf from the porch and crept
Away through a desert of scoffs and scorns
To a lonely place where I prayed and wept
And wove me a crown of thorns.
I came once more to the House of Love
And knocked, ah, softly and wistfully,
And my true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said
"None now but thee."
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poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Humming Birds
Green wing and ruby throat,
What shining spell, what exquisite sorcery,
Lured you to float
And fight with bees round this one flowering tree?
Petulant imps of light,
What whisper or gleam or elfin-wild perfumes
Thrilled through the night
And drew you to this hive of rosy bloom?
One tree, and one alone,
Of all that load this magic air with spice,
Claims for its own
Your brave migration out of Paradise;
Claims you, and guides you, too,
Three thousand miles across the summer's waste
Of blooms ye knew
Less finely fit for your ethereal taste.
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poem by Alfred Noyes
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Compensations
Not with a flash that rends the blue
Shall fall the avenging sword.
Gently as the evening dew
Descends the mighty Lord.
His dreadful balances are made
To move with moon and tide;
Yet shall not mercy be afraid
Nor justice be denied.
The dreams that seemed to waste away,
The kindliness forgot,
Were singing in your heart today
Although you knew them not.
The sun shall not forget his road,
Nor the high stars their rhyme,
The traveller with the heavier load
Has one less hill to climb.
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poem by Alfred Noyes
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