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TWENTY***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Susan Lucy, and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
TWENTY
BY
STELLA BENSON
Author of "This Is the End," "I Pose"
1918
PREFACE
Almost all the verses in this book have appeared before, the majority of them included in two books, _I Pose_ and _This is the End_. Messrs. Macmillan, who published these, have been kind in raising no objection to re-publication. I have also to thank the Editors of the _Athenaeum, Everyman_, and the _Pall Mall Gazette_ for allowing me to reprint verses.
The title of the book has no reference to the writer's age.
S.B.
CONTENTS PAGE
CHRISTMAS, 1917 1 THE SECRET DAY 3 SONG 6 THE ORCHARD 8 THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY 11 SONG 13 WORDS 15 REDNECK'S SONG 17 TO THE UNBORN 19 THE NEWER ZION 21 TWO WOMEN SING 26 THE WOMAN ALONE 28 THE INEVITABLE 30 THE DOG TUPMAN 32 SAINT BRIDE 34 THE SLAVE OF GOD 36 TRUE PROMISES 40 THE CORNISHMAN 43 FIVE SMOOTH STONES 45 NEW YEAR, 1918 51
CHRISTMAS, 1917
A key no thief can steal, no time can rust; A faery door, adventurous and golden; A palace, perfect to our eyes--Ah must Our eyes be holden?
Has the past died before this present sin? Has this most cruel age already stonèd To martyrdom that magic Day, within Those halls, enthronèd?
No. Through the dancing of the young spring rain, Through the faint summer, and the autumn's burning, Our still immortal Day has heard again Our steps returning.
THE SECRET DAY
My yesterday has gone, has gone and left me tired, And now to-morrow comes and beats upon the door; So I have built To-day, the day that I desired, Lest joy come not again, lest peace return no more, Lest comfort come no more.
So I have built To-day, a proud and perfect day, And I have built the towers of cliffs upon the sands; The foxgloves and the gorse I planted on my way; The thyme, the velvet thyme, grew up beneath my hands, Grew pink beneath my hands.
So I have built To-day, more precious than a dream; And I have painted peace upon the sky above; And I have made immense and misty seas, that seem More kind to me than life, more fair to me than love-- More beautiful than love.
And I have built a house--a house upon the brink Of high and twisted cliffs; the sea's low singing fills it; And there my Secret Friend abides, and there I think I'll hide my heart away before to-morrow kills it-- A cold to-morrow kills it.
Yes, I have built To-day, a wall against To-morrow, So let To-morrow knock--I shall not be afraid, For none shall give me death, and none shall give me sorrow, And none shall spoil this darling day that I have made. No storm shall stir my sea. No night but mine shall shade This day that I have made.
SONG
There is the track my feet have worn By which my fate may find me: From that dim place where I was born Those footprints run behind me. Uncertain was the trail I left, For--oh, the way was stormy; But now this splendid sea has cleft My journey from before me.
Three things the sea shall never end, Three things shall mock its power: My singing soul, my Secret Friend, And this, my perfect hour. And you shall seek me till you reach The tangled tide advancing, And you shall find upon the beach The traces of my dancing, And in the air the happy speech Of Secret Friends romancing.
THE ORCHARD
I will repent me of my ways; I will come here and bury Five thousand odd superfluous days Beneath a flow'ring cherry.
Between a pear and a cherry tree My temple I will enter-- My place, where even I may be The altar and the centre.
One altar to a thousand aisles, A hundred thousand arches ... The loud lamb-choir about me files, The bleating bishop marches,
The congregation kneels and nods, The bishop leads its praises, So I'll pray too, to their dim gods Whose feet are decked with daisies:
_Ah, let me not grow old. Ah, let Me not grow old, and falter In my delusion, or forget My heart was once an altar. Let me still think myself a star With these my rays about me; Pretend these green perspectives are All purposeless without me._
_Ah, bid the sun stand still. Ah, bid The coming night retire, And all the good I ever did Shall feed your altar fire; The hour shall stand and sing your praise, The minute shall adore you, And my ten thousand unborn days I'll sacrifice before you._
_Gods of great joy, and little grief, See--I will wear as token A pear leaf and a cherry leaf Until this pledge be broken_....
Between a pear and a cherry tree A cold hand touched my shoulder-- _Ah,
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Susan Lucy, and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
TWENTY
BY
STELLA BENSON
Author of "This Is the End," "I Pose"
1918
PREFACE
Almost all the verses in this book have appeared before, the majority of them included in two books, _I Pose_ and _This is the End_. Messrs. Macmillan, who published these, have been kind in raising no objection to re-publication. I have also to thank the Editors of the _Athenaeum, Everyman_, and the _Pall Mall Gazette_ for allowing me to reprint verses.
The title of the book has no reference to the writer's age.
S.B.
CONTENTS PAGE
CHRISTMAS, 1917 1 THE SECRET DAY 3 SONG 6 THE ORCHARD 8 THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY 11 SONG 13 WORDS 15 REDNECK'S SONG 17 TO THE UNBORN 19 THE NEWER ZION 21 TWO WOMEN SING 26 THE WOMAN ALONE 28 THE INEVITABLE 30 THE DOG TUPMAN 32 SAINT BRIDE 34 THE SLAVE OF GOD 36 TRUE PROMISES 40 THE CORNISHMAN 43 FIVE SMOOTH STONES 45 NEW YEAR, 1918 51
CHRISTMAS, 1917
A key no thief can steal, no time can rust; A faery door, adventurous and golden; A palace, perfect to our eyes--Ah must Our eyes be holden?
Has the past died before this present sin? Has this most cruel age already stonèd To martyrdom that magic Day, within Those halls, enthronèd?
No. Through the dancing of the young spring rain, Through the faint summer, and the autumn's burning, Our still immortal Day has heard again Our steps returning.
THE SECRET DAY
My yesterday has gone, has gone and left me tired, And now to-morrow comes and beats upon the door; So I have built To-day, the day that I desired, Lest joy come not again, lest peace return no more, Lest comfort come no more.
So I have built To-day, a proud and perfect day, And I have built the towers of cliffs upon the sands; The foxgloves and the gorse I planted on my way; The thyme, the velvet thyme, grew up beneath my hands, Grew pink beneath my hands.
So I have built To-day, more precious than a dream; And I have painted peace upon the sky above; And I have made immense and misty seas, that seem More kind to me than life, more fair to me than love-- More beautiful than love.
And I have built a house--a house upon the brink Of high and twisted cliffs; the sea's low singing fills it; And there my Secret Friend abides, and there I think I'll hide my heart away before to-morrow kills it-- A cold to-morrow kills it.
Yes, I have built To-day, a wall against To-morrow, So let To-morrow knock--I shall not be afraid, For none shall give me death, and none shall give me sorrow, And none shall spoil this darling day that I have made. No storm shall stir my sea. No night but mine shall shade This day that I have made.
SONG
There is the track my feet have worn By which my fate may find me: From that dim place where I was born Those footprints run behind me. Uncertain was the trail I left, For--oh, the way was stormy; But now this splendid sea has cleft My journey from before me.
Three things the sea shall never end, Three things shall mock its power: My singing soul, my Secret Friend, And this, my perfect hour. And you shall seek me till you reach The tangled tide advancing, And you shall find upon the beach The traces of my dancing, And in the air the happy speech Of Secret Friends romancing.
THE ORCHARD
I will repent me of my ways; I will come here and bury Five thousand odd superfluous days Beneath a flow'ring cherry.
Between a pear and a cherry tree My temple I will enter-- My place, where even I may be The altar and the centre.
One altar to a thousand aisles, A hundred thousand arches ... The loud lamb-choir about me files, The bleating bishop marches,
The congregation kneels and nods, The bishop leads its praises, So I'll pray too, to their dim gods Whose feet are decked with daisies:
_Ah, let me not grow old. Ah, let Me not grow old, and falter In my delusion, or forget My heart was once an altar. Let me still think myself a star With these my rays about me; Pretend these green perspectives are All purposeless without me._
_Ah, bid the sun stand still. Ah, bid The coming night retire, And all the good I ever did Shall feed your altar fire; The hour shall stand and sing your praise, The minute shall adore you, And my ten thousand unborn days I'll sacrifice before you._
_Gods of great joy, and little grief, See--I will wear as token A pear leaf and a cherry leaf Until this pledge be broken_....
Between a pear and a cherry tree A cold hand touched my shoulder-- _Ah,
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