It's all I have to bring today - This, and my heart beside - This, and my heart, and all the fields - And all the meadows wide - Be sure you count - sh'd I forget Some one the sum could tell - This, and my heart, and all the Bees Which in the Clover dwell.
England'S on the anvil--hear the hammers ring-- Clanging from the Severn to the Tyne! Never was a blacksmith like our Norman King-- England's being hammered, hammered, hammered into line!
England's on the anvil! Heavy are the blows! (But the work will be a marvel when it's done. ) Little bits of Kingdoms cannot stand against their foes. England's being hammered hammered, hammered into one!
There shall be one people--it shall serve one Lord-- (Neither Priest nor Baron shall escape! ) It shall have one speech and law, soul and strength and sword. England's being hammered, hammered, hammered into shape!
A Rose, in tatters on the garden path, Cried out to God and murmured 'gainst His Wrath, Because a sudden wind at twilight's hush Had snapped her stem alone of all the bush. And God, Who hears both sun-dried dust and sun, Had pity, whispering to that luckless one, "Sister, in that thou sayest We did not well -- What voices heardst thou when thy petals fell? " And the Rose answered, "In that evil hour A voice said, 'Father, wherefore falls the flower? For lo, the very gossamers are still. ' And a voice answered, 'Son, by Allah's will! '"
Then softly as a rain-mist on the sward, Came to the Rose the Answer of the Lord: "Sister, before We smote the Dark in twain, Ere yet the stars saw one another plain, Time, Tide, and Space, We bound unto the task That thou shouldst fall, and such an one should ask. " Whereat the withered flower, all content, Died as they die whose days are innocent; While he who questioned why the flower fell Caught hold of God and saved his soul from Hell.
Heh! Walk her round. Heave, ah, heave her short again! Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl. Loose all sail, and brace your yards aback and full -- Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all! Well, ah, fare you well; we can stay no more with you, my love -- Down, set down your liquor and your girl from off your knee; For the wind has come to say: "You must take me while you may, If you'd go to Mother Carey (Walk her down to Mother Carey!), Oh, we're bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!"
Heh! Walk her round. Break, ah, break it out o' that! Break our starboard-bower out, apeak, awash, and clear! Port -- port she casts, with the harbour-mud beneath her foot, And that's the last o' bottom we shall see this year! Well, ah, fare you well, for we've got to take her out again -- Take her out in ballast, riding light and cargo-free. And it's time to clear and quit When the hawser grips the bitt, So we'll pay you with the foresheet and a promise from the sea!
Heh! Tally on. Aft and walk away with her! Handsome to the cathead, now; O tally on the fall! Stop, seize and fish, and easy on the davit-guy. Up, well up the fluke of her, and inboard haul! Well, ah, fare you well, for the Channel wind's took hold of us, Choking down our voices as we snatch the gaskets free. And it's blowing up for night, And she's dropping light on light, And she's snorting under bonnets for a breath of open sea,
Wheel, full and by; but she'll smell her road alone to-night. Sick she is and harbour-sick -- Oh, sick to clear the land! Roll down to Brest with the old Red Ensign over us -- Carry on and thrash her out with all she'll stand! Well, ah, fare you well, and it's Ushant slams the door on us, Whirling like a windmill through the dirty scud to lee: Till the last, last flicker goes From the tumbling water-rows, And we're off to Mother Carey (Walk her down to Mother Carey!), Oh, we're bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!
Twas not while England's sword unsheathed Put half a world to flight, Nor while their new-built cities breathed Secure behind her might; Not while she poured from Pole to Line Treasure and ships and men-- These worshippers at Freedoms shrine They did not quit her then!
Not till their foes were driven forth By England o'er the main-- Not till the Frenchman from the North Had gone with shattered Spain; Not till the clean-swept oceans showed No hostile flag unrolled, Did they remember that they owed To Freedom--and were bold!
After
The snow lies thick on Valley Forge, The ice on the Delaware, But the poor dead soldiers of King George They neither know nor care.
Not though the earliest primrose break On the sunny side of the lane, And scuffling rookeries awake Their England's spring again.
They will not stir when the drifts are gone, Or the ice melts out of the bay: And the men that served with Washington Lie all as still as they.
They will not stir though the mayflower blows In the moist dark woods of pine, And every rock-strewn pasture shows Mullein and columbine.
Each for his land, in a fair fight, Encountered strove, and died, And the kindly earth that knows no spite Covers them side by side.
She is too busy to think of war; She has all the world to make gay; And, behold, the yearly flowers are Where they were in our fathers'day!
Golden-rod by the pasture-wall When the columbine is dead, And sumach leaves that turn, in fall, Bright as the blood they shed.
If the Led Striker call it a strike, Or the papers call it a war, They know not much what I am like, Nor what he is, My Avatar.
Through many roads, by me possessed, He shambles forth in cosmic guise; He is the Jester and the Jest, And he the Text himself applies.
The Celt is in his heart and hand, The Gaul is in his brain and nerve; Where, cosmopolitanly planned, He guards the Redskin's dry reserve
His easy unswept hearth he lends From Labrador to Guadeloupe; Till, elbowed out by sloven friends, He camps, at sufferance, on the stoop.
Calm-eyed he scoffs at Sword and Crown, Or, panic-blinded, stabs and slays: Blatant he bids the world bow down, Or cringing begs a crust of praise;
Or, sombre-drunk, at mine and mart, He dubs his dreary brethren Kings. His hands are black with blood -- his heart Leaps, as a babe's, at little things.
But, through the shift of mood and mood, Mine ancient humour saves him whole -- The cynic devil in his blood That bids him mock his hurrying soul;
That bids him flout the Law he makes, That bids him make the Law he flouts, Till, dazed by many doubts, he wakes The drumming guns that -- have no doubts;
That checks him foolish-hot and fond, That chuckles through his deepest ire, That gilds the slough of his despond But dims the goal of his desire;
Inopportune, shrill-accented, The acrid Asiatic mirth That leaves him, careless 'mid his dead, The scandal of the elder earth.
How shall he clear himself, how reach Your bar or weighed defence prefer -- A brother hedged with alien speech
Which knowledge vexes him a space; But, while Reproof around him rings, He turns a keen untroubled face Home, to the instant need of things.
Enslaved, illogical, elate, He greets the embarrassed Gods, nor fears To shake the iron hand of Fate Or match with Destiny for beers.
Lo, imperturbable he rules, Unkempt, desreputable, vast -- And, in the teeth of all the schools, I -- I shall save him at the last!
Whether to wend through straight streets strictly, Trimly by towns perfectly paved; Or after office, as fitteth thy fancy, Faring with friends far among fields; There is none other equal in action, Sith she is silent, nimble, unnoisome, Lordly of leather, gaudily gilded, Burgeoning brightly in a brass bonnet, Certain to steer well between wains.
It did not surprise me - So I said - or thought - She will stir her pinions And the nest forgot, Traverse broader forests - Build in gayer boughs, Breathe in Ear more modern God's old fashioned vows -
This was but a Birdling - What and if it be One within my bosom Had departed me?
This was but a story - What and if indeed There were just such coffin In the heart - instead.