_'TWIXT EARTH AND STARS._ 'TWIXT EARTH AND STARS [Illustration] POEMS BY MARGUERITE RADCLYFFE-HALL JOHN AND EDWARD BUMPUS LTD. 350 OXFORD STREET, LONDON, W. MCMVI DEDICATED TO MY INSPIRATION I know that through the waves of air, Some part of all I feel for you, Must surely travel swift and true, Towards the heart for which I care So dumbly, and before it lay The words my lips shall never say. IN A GARDEN In the garden a thousand roses, A vine of jessamine flower, Sweetpeas in coquettish poses, Sweetbrier with its fragrant dower. There are hollyhocks tall and slender, And marigolds gay and fair, And sunflowers in glowing splendour, Geraniums rich and rare; And the wee, white, innocent daisy, Half hidden amid the lawn; A bee grown drowsy and lazy— On honey he's drunk since dawn— Is reposing with wings extended On some soft, passionate rose, Aglow with a blush more splendid Than ever a fair cheek knows. While a thrush, in the ivy swinging That clusters over the gate, Athrob with the spring is singing, And ardently calls his mate. For the spirit of all sweet odours The soul of a June unborn Has hallowed my humble garden, And whispered to me since dawn. And the flowers in a prayer of rapture, Bent low to that spell divine, Are wafting their sweetest incense In clouds, at his sunlit shrine. IF YOU WERE A ROSE AND I WERE THE SUN (_Song_) If you were a Rose and I were the Sun What then, little girl, what then? I'd kiss you awake when day had begun, My sweet little girl, what then? I'd waken you out of your valley of dreams And open your heart with my passionate beams, 'Till you lifted your face to my ruddiest gleams, My own little girl, yes then. If you were the Earth and I were the Dew, What then, little girl, what then? Why surely the thing all lovers would do, My sweet little girl, what then? I'd steal through the twilight, o'er valley and lea, And flood you with kisses, both tender and free 'Till the soul in you throbbed with the love that's in me, My own little girl, yes then. But I am a man and you are a maid, What then, little girl, what then? You're cold in your pride, and I am afraid, My sweet little girl, what then? If you cannot love me and I cannot die There's nothing in life but the ghost of a sigh, And the day growing dark 'neath a colourless sky; My own little girl, yes then. DRIFTING It is sweet to lie in a boat, And drift with the languid stream, With body and soul afloat The lake of a perfect dream. It is sweet in the afternoon, With just the breath of a breeze, If the time be the month of June And the birds sing low in the trees.