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The Three Hills And other Poems   By: (1821-1867)

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First Page:

THE THREE HILLS

AND OTHER POEMS

BY

J.C. SQUIRE

LONDON: HOWARD LATIMER LTD.

GREAT QUEEN STREET, KINGSWAY

MCMXIII

TO

FRANCIS BURROWS

CONTENTS

ANTINOMIES ON A RAILWAY STATION THE THREE HILLS A CHANT ARTEMIS ALTERA STARLIGHT FLORIAN 'S SONG DIALOGUE CREPUSCULAR AT NIGHT FOR MUSIC THE ROOF TREETOPS IN THE PARK SONG TOWN A MEMORIAL FRIENDSHIP'S GARLAND I II III LINES ON THE EARTHLY PARADISE ECHOES THE FUGITIVE IN THE ORCHARD IN A CHAIR A DAY THE MIND OF MAN A REASONABLE PROTESTATION EPILOGUE

TWELVE TRANSLATIONS FROM C. BAUDELAIRE

TOUT ENTIÈRE THE ALCHEMY OF GRIEF SPLEEN A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA THE CRACKED BELL THE OFFENDED MOON TO THEODORE BANVILLE, 1842 MUSIC THE CATS THE SADNESS OF THE MOON MOESTA ET ERRABUNDA THE OWLS

Many of the above poems have appeared in the "British Review," the "Eye Witness," the "New Witness," the "Oxford and Cambridge Review," the "New Statesman," and the "New Age," to the Editors of which thanks are due for permission to reprint. Three of the short poems and most of the translations are extracted from an earlier volume.

ANTINOMIES ON A RAILWAY STATION

As I stand waiting in the rain For the foggy hoot of the London train, Gazing at silent wall and lamp And post and rail and platform damp, What is this power that comes to my sight That I see a night without the night, That I see them clear, yet look them through, The silvery things and the darkly blue, That the solid wall seems soft as death, A wavering and unanchored wraith, And rails that shine and stones that stream Unsubstantial as a dream? What sudden door has opened so, What hand has passed, that I should know This moving vision not of trance That melts the globe of circumstance, This sight that marks not least or most And makes a stone a passing ghost?

Is it that a year ago I stood upon this self same spot; Is it that since a year ago The place and I have altered not; Is it that I half forgot, A year ago, and all despised For a space the things that I had prized: The race of life, the glittering show? Is it that now a year has passed Of vain pursuit of glittering things, Of fruitless searching, shouting, running, And greedy lies and candour cunning, Here as I stand the year above Sudden the heats and the strivings fail And fall away, a fluctuant veil, And the fixed familiar stones restore The old appearance buried core, The moveless and essential me, The eternal personality Alone enduring first and last?

No, this I have known in other ways, In other places, other days. Not only here, on this one peak, Do fixity and beauty speak Of the delusiveness of change, Of the transparency of form, The bootless stress of minds that range, The awful calm behind the storm. In many places, many days, The invaded soul receives the rays Of countries she was nurtured in, Speaks in her silent language strange To that beyond which is her kin. Even in peopled streets at times A metaphysic arm is thrust Through the partitioning fabric thin, And tears away the darkening pall Cast by the bright phenomenal, And clears the obscured spirit's mirror From shadows of deceptive error, And shows the bells and all their ringing, And all the crowds and all their singing, Carillons that are nothing's chimes And dust that is not even dust.... But rarely hold I converse thus Where shapes are bright and clamorous, More often comes the word divine In places motionless and far; Beneath the white peculiar shine Of sunless summer afternoons; At eventide on pale lagoons Where hangs reflected one pale star; Or deep in the green solitudes Of still erect entrancèd woods... Continue reading book >>




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