These poems should not be considered separately, as so many single pieces. They are intended as an essential story, or history, or confession, unfolding one from the other in organic development, the whole revealing the intrinsic experience of a man during the crisis of manhood, when he marries and comes into himself. The period covered is, roughly, the sixth lustre of a man's life

Argument

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After much struggling and loss in love and in the world of man, the protagonist throws in his lot with a woman who is already married. Together they go into another country, she perforce leaving her children behind. The conflict of love and hate goes on between the man and the woman, and between these two and the world around them, till it reaches some sort of conclusion, they transcend into some condition of blessedness

MOONRISE AND who has seen the moon, who has not seen Her rise from out the chamber of the deep, Flushed and grand and naked, as from the chamber Of finished bridegroom, seen her rise and throw Confession of delight upon the wave, Littering the waves with her own superscription Of bliss, till all her lambent beauty shakes towards us Spread out and known at last, and we are sure That beauty is a thing beyond the grave, That perfect, bright experience never falls To nothingness, and time will dim the moon Sooner than our full consummation here In this odd life will tarnish or pass away.

Elegy

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The sun immense and rosy

Must have sunk and become extinct

The night you closed your eyes for ever against me.

Grey days, and wan, dree dawnings

Since then, with fritter of flowers—

Day wearies me with its ostentation and fawnings.

Still, you left me the nights,

The great dark glittery window,

The bubble hemming this empty existence with

lights.

Still in the vast hollow

Like a breath in a bubble spinning

Brushing the stars, goes my soul, that skims the

bounds like a swallow!

I can look through

The film of the bubble night, to where you are.

Through the film I can almost touch you.

EASTWOOD

Nonentity

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The stars that open and shut

Fall on my shallow breast

Like stars on a pool.

The soft wind, blowing cool

Laps little crest after crest

Of ripples across my breast.

And dark grass under my feet

Seems to dabble in me

Like grass in a brook.

Oh, and it is sweet

To be all these things, not to be

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