Little winds in a hurry, Great winds over the sky, Clouds sleek or furry, Storms that rage and die, The whole cycle of weather From calm to hurricane Of four gales wroth together, Thunder, lightning, rain, The burning sun, snowing, Hailstones pattering down, Blue skies and red skies showing, Skies with a black frown, By these signs and wonders You may tell God's mood: He shines, rains, thunders, But all His works are good. JOLLY YELLOW MOON Oh, now has faded from the West A sunset red as wine, And beast and bird are hushed to rest When the jolly yellow moon doth shine. Come comrades, roam we round the mead Where couch the sleeping kine; The breath of night blows soft indeed, And the jolly yellow moon doth shine. And step we slowly, friend with friend, Let arm with arm entwine. And voice with voice together blend, For the jolly yellow moon doth shine. Whether we loudly sing or soft, The tune goes wondrous fine; Our chorus sure will float aloft Where the jolly yellow moon doth shine. YOUTH AND FOLLY ("_Life is a very awful thing! You young fellows are too busy being jolly to realize the folly of your lives._" --_A Charterhouse Sermon_) In Chapel often when I bawl The hymns, to show I'm musical, With bright eye and cheery voice Bidding Christian folk rejoice, Shame be it said, I've not a thought Of the One Being whom I ought To worship: with unwitting roar Other godheads I adore. I celebrate the Gods of Mirth And Love and Youth and Springing Earth, Bacchus, beautiful, divine, Gulping down his heady wine, Dear Pan piping in his hollow, Fiery-headed King Apollo And rugged Atlas all aloof Holding up the purple roof. I have often felt and sung, "It's a good thing to be young: Though the preacher says it's folly, Is it foolish to be jolly?" I have often prayed in fear, "Let me never grow austere; Let me never think, I pray, Too much about Judgment Day; Never, never feel in Spring, 'Life's a very awful thing!'" Then I realize and start And curse my arrogant young heart, Bind it over to confess Its horrible ungodliness, Set myself penances, and sigh That I was born in sin, and try To find the whole world vanity. GHOST MUSIC Gloomy and bare the organ-loft, Bent-backed and blind the organist. From rafters looming shadowy, From the pipes' tuneful company, Drifted together drowsily, Innumerable, formless, dim, The ghosts of long-dead melodies, Of anthems, stately, thunderous, Of Kyries shrill and tremulous: In melancholy drowsy-sweet They huddled there in harmony, Like bats at noontide rafter-hung. FREE VERSE