The Bough of Nonsense
AN IDYLL Back from the Somme two Fusiliers Limped painfully home; the elder said, S. “Robert, I’ve lived three thousand years This Summer, and I’m nine parts dead.” R. “But if that’s truly so,”
Not to sleep
Not to sleep all the night long, for pure joy, Counting no sheep and careless of chimes Welcoming the dawn confabulation Of birch, her children, who discuss idly Fanciful details of the promised coming
A Child's Nightmare
Through long nursery nights he stood By my bed unwearying, Loomed gigantic, formless, queer, Purring in my haunted ear That same hideous nightmare thing, Talking, as he lapped my blood, In a voice cruel
1915
I’ve watched the Seasons passing slow, so slow, In the fields between La Bassйe and Bethune; Primroses and the first warm day of Spring, Red poppy floods of June, August, and yellowing Autumn, so
The Troll's Nosegay
A simple nosegay! Was that much to ask? (Winter still nagged, with scarce a bud yet showing.) He loved her ill, if he resigned the task. ‘Somewhere,’ she cried, ‘there must be blossom blowing.’
On Giving
Those who dare give nothing Are left with less than nothing; Dear heart, you give me everything, Which leaves you more than everything- Though those who dare give nothing Might judge it left you
Dead Cow Farm
An ancient saga tells us how In the beginning the First Cow (For nothing living yet had birth But Elemental Cow on earth) Began to lick cold stones and mud: Under her warm tongue
Mermaid, Dragon, Fiend
In my childhood rumors ran Of a world beyond our door- Terrors to the life of man That the highroad held in store. Of mermaids’ doleful game In deep water I heard tell, Of
The Last Post
The bugler sent a call of high romance – “Lights out! Lights out!” to the deserted square. On the thin brazen notes he threw a prayer, “God, if it’s this for me next time
The Next War
You young friskies who today Jump and fight in Father’s hay With bows and arrows and wooden spears, Playing at Royal Welch Fusiliers, Happy though these hours you spend, Have they warned you how
Jonah
A purple whale Proudly sweeps his tail Towards Nineveh; Glassy green Surges between A mile of roaring sea. “O town of gold, Of splendour multifold, Lucre and lust, Leviathan’s eye Can surely spy Thy
The Frog and the Golden Ball
She let her golden ball fall down the well And begged a cold frog to retrieve it; For which she kissed his ugly, gaping mouth – Indeed, he could scarce believe it. And seeing
Symptoms of Love
Love is universal migraine, A bright stain on the vision Blotting out reason. Symptoms of true love Are leanness, jealousy, Laggard dawns; Are omens and nightmares – Listening for a knock, Waiting for a
A Boy in Church
“Gabble-gabble,… brethren,… gabble-gabble!” My window frames forest and heather. I hardly hear the tuneful babble, Not knowing nor much caring whether The text is praise or exhortation, Prayer or thanksgiving, or damnation. Outside it
Welsh Incident
‘But that was nothing to what things came out From the sea-caves of Criccieth yonder.’ ‘What were they? Mermaids? dragons? ghosts?’ ‘Nothing at all of any things like that.’ ‘What were they, then?’ ‘All