See, now, Dame Propaganda lifts her gamp And shelters under it each scribbling scamp. Hola, Sir Hall! Hail Beith! Hail Buchan bland! See, Dame Corelli takes Hugh Walpole’s hand; And Dora and Censora hover nigh, To tempt Sassoon and Read. They cannot buy; So Bennett weeps, and Beaver heaves a sigh. Now comes a rabble foul—avert the eyes— Of arm-chair “patriots” and Lloyd-Georgian spies. Hurl them from off Parnassus, with a shout— Even from the Press Club let them be kicked out! Chase them from London’s pubs, and bid them go Across the foam, to lunch with Clemenceau! Chase them with odorous eggs and hunks of cheese! Be quiet, Muse, I will not sing of these. Of all the Georgian and Edwardian potes, Of all the Mile End Yidds in velvet coats, Of all the sets, the circles and the cliques Who boost each other’s works in their critiques, Of all on whom E. M. has ever smiled; Of all whom Galloway has ever kyled; Of “marvellous boys,” and of youth’s soulful loom— Sing Boom! Sing Boom! Sing Boom! _Part III_ _Moritura_ Leave the radiant sun, Of drowsy rest the giver; Leave the song of the birds and leave The sob of the river. Break loose from his passionate arms, And awake from thy dream of bliss: King Death hath marked thy charms And fain would kiss. 1902. _The Voices_ “Oh, hear them in the Valley— The wailing voices cry! They count the yearly tally Of lost girls that must die. Cold fingers in the gloaming, Will grope one night for me; I daren’t go heather-roaming, For fear the ghosts will see. “And now the rain is falling, They’ll cry the whole long night, I tremble at their calling— O take and hold me tight! Each of those warning spirits Was once a girl, betrayed; O wayward love, be true to me Who am no more a maid.” 1909. _Cuckfield Park_ The deer stand outlined on a sky That glows to red and pales to green: The restless pine-trees shake and sigh, And troubled spirits move, unseen. A brooding quiet holds the night. It is the hour of dreams, of fears, When day’s defiant dying light Fades, with a sombre hint of tears. We hardly speak, we hardly dare, Our steps are noiseless on the grass, And shadows haunt your eyes and hair. Does love pass as these moments pass? 1910. “_Now slants the moonlight ..._” Now slants the moonlight through the trees And bathes the pathway through the wood: The large leaves wrangle in the breeze And sigh, as if they understood. Dear Heart, it is so still and warm, —A lovelier night there has not been— But lonely I have left the farm, And lonely I have crossed the green. 1910. “_Sang a Maid at Peep of Day_” Sang a maid at peep of day To the blackbird in the yew— “My true heart has flown away, Seeking other heart as true.”