The Great Mirror of Same-Sex Love - Poetry - 55. ...in one Ione corner...

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Fabian S. Woodley –

A Selections of War Poems from A Crown of Friendship

 

 

from Into Action

 

Trust the comrade whom thou lovest

To the care of God above,

Till the Hour of Battle prove thee

Worthy of his splendid love:

But, if Death's dread voice thou hearest

Midst the shouts of Victory,

Die triumphant, knowing surely

God hath greater need of thee. [i]

 

 

Quis ut Deus?

 

(From the trenches near Loos.)

 

This morning as I walked the winding road,

Through villages shell-shattered and forlorn,

I marked how every dwelling had its scar.

Nor was there one but was by Battle torn:

Long since the inhabitants had fled away –

Only the birds were there that summer morn.

 

And suddenly I spied at the cross-ways

A crownèd Christ upon a cross of pain,

Whose eyes, unfathomable utterly,

Looked ever out across the shell-scarred plain;

Behind Him rose the shadow of His House,

Which men in substance built – and broke again.

 

Even thus, through every hamlet that I passed

It was the same – Christ reigned triumphantly,

And men of Hate no weapon could devise,

To break His Cross, or mar His Effigy:

But of His goodness He permits them stay

To be our Help and Strength eternally. [ii]

 

Dean Cornwall Battlefield Crucifixion, 1915

 

 

To A. K. M.

 

“He was a verray parfit gentil knight”

 

O Love, since Thou from chaos did’st create

The world, the elemental atoms mate

In happy concord, glad complexity,

Lo! all things share in Thine eternity;

By Thee they live, Thine all-pervading breath

Their life sustains – what should they know of Death?

The silken rose her fragrant censer shakes

O’er paths untrod and lonely woodland brakes

With joyful heart to see her incense rise,

By gentle winds upborne through starry skies

To the very gates of Heaven for Thy delight.

Who has not trod a lonely shore by night,

And heard the restless heart-beat of the sea

Yearning for unity eterne with Thee?

Who has not seen the sun, Thine ardent lover,

‘Ere his triumphant march is wholly over,

Blush fiery-red as slowly down the West

He sinks to sleep upon Thy loving breast?

 

Who has not heard a nightingale in June

Charm with soft, fluted song the listening moon,

Trilling in tones half plaintive and half gay

Some olden tale of hearts beneath Thy sway?

Though all things pass away, yet nothing dies;

The gold that now the sunset glorifies

May change, dissolved to particles of light,

Making more glad tomorrow’s morning bright;

Or sleep, and wake at some appointed hour

To gild the pollen of a lily flower,

But never, never die.

O King of Melody,

Whose mind resolves into one perfect harmony

Each human heart’s vague, indecisive chord,

Thou omnipresent, all-compassionate Lord,

To whom the voice of man is dearer far

Than song of seraphim or morning star,

Forgive me! who with stumbling, fettered tongue

Presume to raise my paean of praise among

Immortal voices, who have strung for Thee

Melodious pearls of song and poesy.

 

I sing of him whose happy presence crowned

My manhood’s prime with joy, whose spirit fast bound

To mine in bonds of mutual love, shone clear

As crystal, bright as virgin gold. So near

He seemed to heaven. His voice, quiet as a sea,

When moony wavelets lap caressingly

Some plashy shore beneath the summer night,

Rang oftentimes with laughter, clear and light

As waters tumbling o’er some dizzy height.

Dim twilight dreamed within his violet eyes –

Visions half-fledged and fleet-winged phantasies

Flashed in those dusky pools, as sun-starts play

O’er streams slow gliding on an April day.

As rarest perfumes dwell in frailest flowers,

So was his mind – endowed with airy powers,

Thoughts broad and sunny, loath to be confined

By cramping trammels of the flesh – enshrined

In a lithe body, slender, beautiful.

O Death! surely one pang, swift, pitiful,

Pierced even Thine iron heart that one so fair

Should tread the dreadful halls of darkness, where

No gentle lilies blow, nor roses bloom,

Even before happy Fate had in her loom

Spun the rich dawning of his manhood’s year!

 

Our former lives he loved to hear retold

Our friendship’s happy dawn in days of old –

The golden age of Hellas, when he was

Fair-haired Autolycus – l Cleinias,

His lover-host; the sumptuous banquet spread

Where purple-robed guests, violet-garlanded

In his high honour, sunny music made

Till all the listening marble colonnade

Rang with his praises, while the sky’s blue pall

Beamed like a benediction over all.

 

A thousand years our bodies lay at rest

While we, Love’s servitors, at His behest

Through the Third Heaven ranged, oft journeying far

In the train of that bright sun-caressing star

Hespherus-Phosphor; or, on festal days

Bestrewed with roses white the starry ways

Whereby celestial choirs processional

With many a song and hymn antiphonal

Ascend the Primal Heaven Crystalline

Where all in one grand symphony combine.

 

 •          •          •          •          •          •          •          •

 

Thus through the centuries, oft-born again –

Each life a link in Love’s eternal chain –

We knew, at length, this England, this dear land

Of blossomy lanes, royal hills, and dappled strand

Swept by the ever-singing seas. In her

All former ages, all brave thoughts that stir

To knightly deeds, all strivings of the soul,

All noble aspirations, blend and blur,

Commingled in one fiery, passionate whole.

 

In Somerset I know a little glade –

A murmurous place for poets and lovers made,

Where summer voices sing the whole day long,

And skiey bluebells ring their evensong;

Here, couched in mossy grass, have I oft read

Some antique legend of the mighty dead,

With Coeur de Lion trod the Holy Land,

Nor ever dreamt that we also should stand

To man the battle line, and hear the ring

Of steel and guns of England thundering.

 

I was not with him when at dawn he led

His men, with courage flaming high, and head

Uplifted, proud to meet Death face to face;

Nor marked how instantly that cold embrace

Chilled the white ardour of his furious rush

Against o’erwhelming odds; nor heard the hush

Most bitter-eloquent that followed his last shout

Of Victory; nor saw his eyes go out –

But I remember how, alone, I stood

At that same hour’ within a shattered wood –

A charnel-house so swept by War’s wild rage

It seemed that nothing ever could assuage

Its woe, or cheer its countenance forlorn –

Not even the glad laughter of that sunny morn.

And suddenly, as when on breathless days

Skies darken, and through all the oppressive ways

Steals a chill breath, so did a wind sweep through

The chambers of my spirit, and I knew

That Kenneth, my beloved, was fallen on sleep.

 

  •          •          •          •          •          •          •          •

 

O Love! strong comforter of those who needs must weep,

Even in the darkest hour, for that firm faith

Which soars triumphant through the gates of Death

I thank Thee – most of all for that quiet voice

Which in my heart unceasing cries “Rejoice!

He whom thou lovest is safe in Paradise.”

All lovely things his presence tell – his eyes

Smile out from every dewy violet;

And in each little wave which burns, at set

Of sun, like a soft golden fame I see

His crisp, bright hair; there is no melody

But brings the echo of his voice, no rare

Unhoped for joy wherein he does not share;

I feel his arms around me everywhere.

 

There was a time when earth and sky and sea

Bore witness of their own reality;

But now in all things natural I find

Expression of the one Eternal Mind.

Love only is – and we, who day by day

Like blind men walk Life’s labyrinthine way,

May hear His voice in every rushing wind,

His laughter in deep booming seas, and find

A glory in the meekest flower that blows

No less divine than that which crowns the rose.

All Life is Love – I am content to pray,

To work, to hope, to welcome each new day,

Blessing, and blessed, and at the last to be

Lulled in the arms of Love’s immensity

Till My Belovèd’s kiss awakens me. [iii]

 

 

Aftermath

 

God! this is Death in Life – to wake at morn

Heart-sick with memories; till the sun set

To watch the long day wane, with soul forlorn

For ever striving to forget – forget!

Gone is the old content; from field and flower

The glory fled; Pleasure turned Bitterness;

Desire grown dim ere ever the longed-for hour

Might in oblivion steep the heart’s distress.

 

Could I but hear once more the bugle sound,

Into belovèd eyes look once again,

Clasp the strong hands of fighting men – my men,

In one united comradeship firm bound –

From the dead ashes of My Self would soar

A Phoenix-soul in love with Life once more! [iv]

 

 

My Garden

 

Once, in my little garden

Grew all lovely flowers –

Golden-hearted lilies swaying

Through long sunny hours.

 

Roses white as moonlight,

Pure and passionless,

Blooming, dying on the bosom

Of their own loveliness.

 

Carnations red as rich old wine,

Violets, a great store

Of Boy’s-love, Heartsease, Eglantine,

And thousand blossoms more.

 

 •          •          •          •          •          •

 

Now, desolate lies my garden

As the blank skies above –

Youth and Happiness are fled

And I am sick of Love.

 

Only, in one lone corner

I tend my Poppies yet,

Lest, happily, their presence

May help me to forget. [v]

 

 

 

 

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