p. ixPREFACE
All Stevensonians owe a debt of gratitude to the Bibliophile Society of Boston for having discovered the following poems and given them light in a privately printed edition, thus making them known, in fact, to the world at large. Otherwise they would have remained scattered and hidden indefinitely in the hands of various collectors. They will be found extraordinarily interesting in their self-revelation, and some, indeed, are so intimate and personal that one understands why Stevenson withheld them from all eyes save his own. The love-poems in particular, though they are of very unequal merit, possess in common a really affecting sincerity. That Stevenson should have preserved these poems through all the vicissitudes of his wandering life shows how dearly he must have valued them; and shows, too, I think, beyond any contradiction, that he meant they should be ultimately published.
LLOYD OSBOURNE.
p. xiCONTENTS
PAGE
PRAYER
1
LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ
2
THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE
2
MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACKBIRD SINGS
3
I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR
4
ST. MARTIN’S SUMMER
6
DEDICATION
7
THE OLD CHIMÆRAS, OLD RECEIPTS
8
PRELUDE
10
THE VANQUISHED KNIGHT
11
TO THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS
11
THE RELIC TAKEN, WHAT AVAILS THE SHRINE?
13
ABOUT THE SHELTERED GARDEN GROUND
14
AFTER READING “ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA”
15
I KNOW NOT HOW, BUT AS I COUNT
15
SPRING SONG
16
THE SUMMER SUN SHONE ROUND ME
16
YOU LOOKED SO TEMPTING IN THE PEW
17
LOVE’S VICISSITUDES
18
DUDDINGSTONE
18
STOUT MARCHES LEAD TO CERTAIN ENDS
20
AWAY WITH FUNERAL MUSIC
20
TO SYDNEY
21
HAD I THE POWER THAT HAVE THE WILL
23
O DULL COLD NORTHERN SKY
24
APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT OF A YEAR LATER
25
TO MARCUS
26
TO OTTILIE
27
THIS GLOOMY NORTHERN DAY
28
THE WIND IS WITHOUT THERE AND HOWLS IN THE TREES
29
A VALENTINE’S SONG
31
HAIL! CHILDISH SLAVES OF SOCIAL RULES
34
SWALLOWS TRAVEL TO AND FRO
36
p. xiiTO MESDAMES ZASSETSKY AND GARSCHINE
37
TO MADAME GARSCHINE
39
MUSIC AT THE VILLA MARINA
39
FEAR NOT, DEAR FRIEND, BUT FREELY LIVE YOUR DAYS
40
LET LOVE GO, IF GO SHE WILL
41
I DO NOT FEAR TO OWN ME KIN
42
I AM LIKE ONE THAT FOR LONG DAYS HAD SATE
44
VOLUNTARY
45
ON NOW, ALTHOUGH THE YEAR BE DONE
47
IN THE GREEN AND GALLANT SPRING
47
DEATH, TO THE DEAD FOR EVERMORE
48
TO CHARLES BAXTER
49
I WHO ALL THE WINTER THROUGH
52
LOVE, WHAT IS LOVE?
53
SOON OUR FRIENDS PERISH
53
AS ONE WHO HAVING WANDERED ALL NIGHT LONG
53
STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF MEN
55
THE WIND BLEW SHRILL AND SMART
56
MAN SAILS THE DEEP AWHILE
57
THE COCK’S CLEAR VOICE INTO THE CLEARER AIR
58
NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS
59
WHAT MAN MAY LEARN, WHAT MAN MAY DO
60
SMALL IS THE TRUST WHEN LOVE IS GREEN
61
KNOW YOU THE RIVER NEAR TO GREZ
62
IT’S FORTH ACROSS THE ROARING FOAM
63
AN ENGLISH BREEZE
65
AS IN THEIR FLIGHT THE BIRDS OF SONG
66
THE PIPER
67
TO MRS. MACMARLAND
58
TO MISS CORNISH
69
TALES OF ARABIA
71
BEHOLD, AS GOBLINS DARK OF MIEN
72
STILL I LOVE TO RHYME
73
LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE
74
FLOWER GOD, GOD OF THE SPRING
75
COME, MY BELOVED, HEAR FROM ME
76
SINCE YEARS AGO FOR EVERMORE
77
ENVOY FOR “A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES”
78
FOR RICHMOND’S GARDEN WALL
80
p. xiiiHAIL, GUEST, AND ENTER FREELY!
80
LO, NOW, MY GUEST
81
SO LIVE, SO LOVE, SO USE THAT FRAGILE HOUR
81
AD SE IPSUM
82
BEFORE THIS LITTLE GIFT WAS COME
82
GO, LITTLE BOOK—THE ANCIENT PHRASE
83
MY LOVE WAS WARM
84
DEDICATORY POEM FOR “UNDERWOODS”
85
FAREWELL
86
THE FAR-FARERS
87
COME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE SONGS FOR YOU
87
HOME FROM THE DAISIED MEADOWS
88
EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO
88
FAIR ISLE AT SEA
89
LOUD AND LOW IN THE CHIMNEY
89
I LOVE TO BE WARM BY THE RED FIRESIDE
90
AT LAST SHE COMES
90
MINE EYES WERE SWIFT TO KNOW THEE
90
FIXED IS THE DOOM
91
MEN ARE HEAVEN’S PIERS
92
THE ANGLER ROSE, HE TOOK HIS ROD
93
SPRING CAROL
94
TO WHAT SHALL I COMPARE HER
95
WHEN THE SUN COMES AFTER RAIN
96
LATE, O MILLER
97
TO FRIENDS AT HOME
97
I, WHOM APOLLO SOMETIME VISITED
98
TEMPEST TOSSED AND SORE AFFLICTED
98
VARIANT FORM OF THE PRECEDING POEM
99
I NOW, O FRIEND, WHOM NOISELESSLY THE SNOWS
100
SINCE THOU HAST GIVEN ME THIS GOOD HOPE, O GOD
103
GOD GAVE TO ME A CHILD IN PART
104
OVER THE LAND IS APRIL
105
LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I START
106
COMIC, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE CITY
106
IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE
107
NE SIT ANCILLÆ TIBI AMOR PUDOR
107
TO ALL THAT LOVE THE FAR AND BLUE
108
THOU STRAINEST THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN FERN
110
p. xivTO ROSABELLE
111
NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER’S EYE
112
THE BOUR-TREE DEN
114
SONNETS
118
FRAGMENTS
123
AIR OF DIABELLI’S
128
EPITAPHIUM EROTII
132
DE M. ANTONIO
133
AD MAGISTRUM LUDI
133
AD NEPOTEM
134
IN CHARIDEMUM
135
DE LIGURRA
135
IN LUPUM
136
AD QUINTILIANUM
137
DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS
137
AD MARTIALEM
139
IN MAXIMUM
139
AD OLUM
140
DE CŒNATIONE MICÆ
140
DE EROTIO PUELLA
141
AD PISCATOREM
141
p. 1PRAYER
I ask good things that I detest, With speeches fair; Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast, But hear my prayer.
I say ill things I would not say— Things unaware: Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day, And not my prayer.
My heart is evil in Thy sight: My good thoughts flee: O Lord, I cannot wish aright— Wish Thou for me.
O bend my words and acts to Thee, However ill, That I, whate’er I say or be, May serve Thee still.
p. 2O let my thoughts abide in Thee Lest I should fall: Show me Thyself in all I see, Thou Lord of all.
LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ
Lo! in thine honest eyes I read The auspicious beacon that shall lead, After long sailing in deep seas, To quiet havens in June ease.
Thy voice sings like an inland bird First by the seaworn sailor heard; And like road sheltered from life’s sea Thine honest heart is unto me.
THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE
Though deep indifference should drowse The sluggish life beneath my brows, And all the external things I see Grow snow-showers in the street to me, Yet inmost in my stormy sense Thy looks shall be an influence.
p. 3Though other loves may come and go And long years sever us below, Shall the thin ice that grows above Freeze the deep centre-well of love? No, still below light amours, thou Shalt rule me as thou rul’st me now.
Year following year shall only set Fresh gems upon thy coronet; And Time, grown lover, shall delight To beautify thee in my sight; And thou shalt ever rule in me Crowned with the light of memory.
MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACK-BIRD SINGS
My heart, when first the blackbird sings, My heart drinks in the song: Cool pleasure fills my bosom through And spreads each nerve along.
My bosom eddies quietly, My heart is stirred and cool As when a wind-moved briar sweeps A stone into a pool
p. 4But unto thee, when thee I meet, My pulses thicken fast, As when the maddened lake grows black And ruffles in the blast.
I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR
I.
I dreamed of forest alleys fair And fields of gray-flowered grass, Where by the yellow summer moon My Jenny seemed to pass.
I dreamed the yellow summer moon, Behind a cedar wood, Lay white on fields of rippling grass Where I and Jenny stood.
I dreamed—but fallen through my dream, In a rainy land I lie Where wan wet morning crowns the hills Of grim reality.
II.
I am as one that keeps awake All night in the month of June, That lies awake in bed to watch The trees and great white moon.
p. 5For memories of love are more Than the white moon there above, And dearer than quiet moonshine Are the thoughts of her I love.
III.
Last night I lingered long without My last of loves to see. Alas! the moon-white window-panes Stared blindly back on me.
To-day I hold her very hand, Her very waist embrace— Like clouds across a pool, I read Her thoughts upon her face.
And yet, as now, through her clear eyes I seek the inner shrine— I stoop to read her virgin heart In doubt if it be mine—
O looking long and fondly thus, What vision should I see? No vision, but my own white face That grins and mimics me.
p. 6IV.
Once more upon the same old seat In the same sunshiny weather, The elm-trees’ shadows at their feet And foliage move together.
The shadows shift upon the grass, The dial point creeps on; The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass, As then they passed and shone.
But now deep sleep is on my heart, Deep sleep and perfect rest. Hope’s flutterings now disturb no more The quiet of my breast.
ST. MARTIN’S SUMMER
As swallows turning backward When half-way o’er the sea, At one word’s trumpet summons They came again to me— The hopes I had forgotten Came back again to me.
p. 7I know not which to credit, O lady of my heart! Your eyes that bade me linger, Your words that bade us part— I know not which to credit, My reason or my heart.
But be my hopes rewarded, Or be they but in vain, I have dreamed a golden vision, I have gathered in the grain— I have dreamed a golden vision, I have not lived in vain.
DEDICATION
My first gift and my last, to you I dedicate this fascicle of songs— The only wealth I have: Just as they are, to you.
I speak the truth in soberness, and say I had rather bring a light to your clear eyes, Had rather hear you praise This bosomful of songs
p. 8Than that the whole, hard world with one consent, In one continuous chorus of applause Poured forth for me and mine The homage of ripe praise.
I write the finis here against my love, This is my love’s last epitaph and tomb. Here the road forks, and I Go my way, far from yours.
THE OLD CHIMÆRAS, OLD RECEIPTS
The old Chimæras, old receipts For making “happy land,” The old political beliefs Swam close before my hand.
The grand old communistic myths In a middle state of grace, Quite dead, but not yet gone to Hell, And walking for a space,
Quite dead, and looking it, and yet All eagerness to show The Social-Contract forgeries By Chatterton—Rousseau—
p. 9A hundred such as these I tried, And hundreds after that, I fitted Social Theories As one would fit a hat!
Full many a marsh-fire lured me on, I reached at many a star, I reached and grasped them and behold— The stump of a cigar!
All through the sultry sweltering day The sweat ran down my brow, The still plains heard my distant strokes That have been silenced now.
This way and that, now up, now down, I hailed full many a blow. Alas! beneath my weary arm The thicket seemed to grow.
I take the lesson, wipe my brow And throw my axe aside, And, sorely wearied, I go home In the tranquil eventide.
And soon the rising moon, that lights The eve of my defeat, Shall see me sitting as of yore By my old master’s feet.
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