James Stephens

The driver rubbed at his nettly chin With a huge, loose forefinger, crooked and black, And his wobbly, violet lips sucked in, And puffed out again and hung down slack : One fang shone through his lop-sided smile, In his little pouched eye flickered years of guile.

And the horse, poor beast, it was ribbed and forked, And its ears hung down, and its eyes were old, And its knees were knuckly, and as we talked It swung the stiff neck that could scarcely hold Its big, skinny head up — then I stepped in, And the driver climbed to his seat with a grin.

God help the horse and the driver too, And the people and beasts who have never a friend, For the driver easily might have been you, And the horse be me by a different end. And nobody knows how their days will cease And the poor, when they're old, have little of peace.

And then she saw me creeping, Saw and stood Transfixed upon the fringes of the wood, And straight went leaping.

Headlong down the pitch Of the curved hill, Over the ditch And through the skirt of bushes by the rill She pelted screaming,

Swerved from the water sideways with a twist Just as I clutched and missed. Flashed white beneath my hand and doubled back, Swift as a twisting hare upon her track, Hot for the hill again, But all in vain.

Her hair swung far behind, Straight as a stream balanced upon the wind, O, it was black, dipped In the dregs of midnight with a spark Caught from a star that smouldered in the dark.

It I gripped, Drew for a moment tight, Jerked with a victor's cry Down in the grasses high Her to the hot, brown earth and threatened— daft, And then she laughed.

And then I pressed the shell Close to my ear And listened well, And straightway like a bell Came low and clear The slow, sad murmur of far distant seas, Whipped by an icy breeze Upon a shore Wind-swept and desolate. It was a sunless strand that never bore The footprint of a man, Nor felt the weight Since time began Of any human quality or stir Save what the dreary winds and waves incur.

And in the hush of waters was the sound Of pebbles rolling round, For ever rolling with a hollow sound. And bubbling sea-weeds as the waters go Swish to and fro Their long, cold tentacles of slimy grey.

There was no day, Nor ever came a night Setting the stars alight To wonder at the moon : Was twilight only and the frightened croon, Smitten to whimpers, of the dreary wind And waves that journeyed blind —

And then I loosed my ear — O, it was sweet To hear a cart go jolting down the street.

Why should one live when living is a pain ? I have not seen a flower had any scent, Nor heard a bird sing once. The very rain Seems dirty, and the clouds, all soiled and rent, Toil sulkily across the black, old sky, And all the weary stars go moping by, They care not whither, sea, or mount, or plain, All's one — and what one gets is never gain.

The sun scowled yesterday a weary while. It used to beam. The moon last night was grim With cynic gaze and frosty, sullen smile. And once I loved to gaze while from the rim Of some great mountain she would look and gild The rustling cornfield. Now she is filled With bitterness and rancour sour as bile, And blasts the world's surface every mile.

There is no more sunlight : all the weary world Seems steeped in shadow, and for evermore The heavy clouds will press till I am hurled Back to the heart of things. O, it is sore And sad and sorry to be living : let me die And rest while all eternity lolls by, Where the fierce winds of God are closely furled Ten million miles away from this damned world.

Two narrow files of houses scowl, Blackened with grime, on either side Of the road, and through them prowl Strange men and women, shifty-eyed And slinking, and a drink-shop throws Its flare of yellow light adown The cracked pavement. The gutter flows A turbid, evil stream. A clown, Drink-sodden, lurches by and sings Obscenely. A woman trails behind With old, bad eyes ; her clothing clings Rain-soaked about her. No daring wind, Light-hearted, from a garden blows Its sweetness here from any rose.

The hill was low, but stretched away A straggling mile or so to where The sea was stamping, tossing spray Beyond its bulwarks black and bare : A sullen sea of gray.

Ah me, it was so desolate, And sadder for the sea-bird's cry Thrillingly thin. There seemed a weight Brooding, as if the leaden sky Hung heavier for hate.

The grasses jerked as they were stung By vicious winds. A daisy's head Crouched in a tuft till it was flung From its uneasy, troubled bed And tost the waves among.

A bent, old man was climbing slow With weary step and plodding pace That savage hill, and wild did blow A bitter wind in headlong race, Harsh from the sea below.

And all the woeful things he said — Ah me, the twitching of his lips — Of hungry children craving bread, And fortune's sideward slips, And how his wife was dead.

He held a rope, and as he trod, Pressing against the furious wind, He muttered low and sneered at God, And said He sure was deaf or blind, Or lazing on the sod.

And what was done I will not tell — There is a bent tree on the top Of that low hill, there you can see The sequel of this mystery . . . Beneath the moon ... I dared not stop My God — a demon up from hell Jab-jabbered as the old man fell.

A MAN was sitting underneath a tree Outside the village, and he asked me what Name was upon this place, and said that he Was never here before. He told a lot

Of stories to me too. His nose was flat. I asked him how it happened, and he said The first mate of the Mary Ann done that With a marling-spike one day, but he was dead,

And jolly good job too ; and he'd have gone A long way to have killed him, and he had A gold ring in one ear ; the other one " Was bit off by a crocodile, bedad."

That's what he said. He taught me how to chew. He was a real nice man. He liked me too.

What to do When you woo, Listen and I'll tell it you. Deep humility must teach That the star's beyond your reach, Yet must courage raise your heart To the conqueror's lofty part. Not too forward, shyly bold. Not too hot, but never cold. Fearing still to tread too near, Treading nigher, spite of fear. Laying all your logic down As you pick your manhood up, Disbelieving every frown, Intent always on the cup.

Hold her hand, Hold her gaze, Always stand In her ways ; Humbly kiss Her finger-tip ; She'll surrender You her lip.