 Introductory note of a spring harvest. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Spring Harvest by Jeffrey Bates Smith, late Lieutenant and the Lancashire Fusiliers. To his mother, Jeffrey Bates Smith, born October 18, 1894, entered Corpus Christi College, Oxford, as Exhibitioner, October 1913. Received commission, January 1915. Died of wounds at Worlencourt, France, December 3, 1916. The poems of this book were written at very various times. One, Wind Over the Sea, I believe even as early as 1910. But the order in which they are here given is not chronological beyond the fact that the third part contains only poems written after the outbreak of the war. Of these some were written in England, at Oxford in particular, some in Wales, and very many during a year in France, from November 1915 to December 1916, which was broken by one leaf in the middle of May. The burial of Sophocles, which is here placed at the end, was begun before the war, and continued at odd times and in various circumstances afterwards. The final version was sent me from the trenches. Beyond these few facts, no prelude and no envoy is needed, other than those here printed as their author left them. J. R. R. T. 1918. If there be one among the muses nine, love's not so much completion as the will, and lest the austere saint than the fond sinner, love's scanty ruins garlanded with years better than lofty palaces entire. To her I dedicate this spoilage sheath of rhyme that scarcely came to harvesting. There is a window here in Madeleine. Composite me thinks of fragments that Stark Mars has scattered, even so my verses be. Composite of memories and half uttered dreams, welded together sans due ordnance, which might have been far other, but that Mars scattered and harried them with his ruthless flail. Section 1 of a Spring Harvest This is a LibreVolks recording, or LibreVolks recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibreVolks.org. Recording by Elaine Conway, England. A Spring Harvest by G. B. Smith. Part 1, Glastonbury Thither through moaning woods came bed of ear, at gloomy breaking of winter's day, weary and travel-stained, and sick at heart, with a great wound gotten, in that last fray, ear he stood by, and watched the king depart. Down the long silent reaches of the mere, and all the earth was sad, and skies were drear, and the wind cried, and chased the relicked leaves, like ships that the storm tossed ocean, batters and heaves, and they fly before the gale, and the mariners fear. So he found at last an hermitage, hard by a little hill, and sheltering trees, that bent gaunt branches in the winter's breeze, and he drew rain, and lent, and struck the door. Then presently came forth an hermit sage, and helped him to dismount with laborsaw, straight went they in, but bed of ear being lame, stumbled against the open door, and swooned, and would have fallen, but the hermit caught, and laid him gently down, then hurrying brought, from a great chest of cordial, and came that he might drink, and so beheld his wound. Long time lay bed of ear, betwixt life and death, like a torn traveller, on a stormy height, twixt one wind and another, till his breath came easier, and he prospered, then did sleep, bathed him in soothing waters, soft and deep, and left him whole, at breaking of the light, so he beheld the old man, and desired that he would tell of whom he was, and went, where at once more the ancient eyes were fired. I, I was Arthur's bishop, at his court, and in his church I ministered, and since when at the last the whole was overthrown, with wrath and ill-designings, straight I sought, a place where I might die, to feeble-grown, to endure a new beginning to my years, when once the past was lost, and wound in tears, hither I came, where in the dawns of time dim peoples that the very stones forgot, lived, loved, and fought, and wove the riddling rhyme. On a lake island, mystically set, they passed, and after ages manifold, came wandering Saint Joseph, even he that tended God's frail body, and enrolled in linen clothes of spice, fragrancy, he brought the vessel, vanished now from earth, that wrought destruction to the table-round, since many didn't, themselves above their worth, and sought in vain, and perished ear they found. Then bed of ear, alas the king, I saw the unstayed, overwhelming tide of war, and when the opposite standards were unfurled, of Arthur and of Mordred, his base son, ear yet the noise of battle was begun, I heard the heralds crying to the world, ye that have sought out hallowed harmonies, where never wind blows, save the gentle south, ye that have trafficked on the sounding seas, and fear nor cheerless rains, nor scorching drath, ye that have pow'd the rich, for ripened crops of word and measure, till the rhyme, grown proud, did straight contend the leaping mountain tops, and lose itself in air and driven cloud, ye that have lived a dangerous life of war, whose speech has been bold words, and heady boasts, gather for strife, and death are known before, come gather all unto the fronting hosts. I saw the last dim battle in the mist, there where a dreary waste of barren sand doth mark the ultimate leagues of this fair land, scarce we beheld the foe we struck, or wist which party had advantage, like thin wraiths, fit to throng leath banks the warriors, struck and arcane, or fell unseen and wept, and alien hopes, lives, peoples, alien faiths, were all confounded on those desolate chores, and ever the mist sieved, and the waves kept a hollow tranting, as they mourned the end, of all mankind, at a created time. How many fell therein of foe or friend, I know not, save that when the darkness came, and the mist cleared, I found at last the king. His armour and visage fell'd with blood and slime, and fading in his eyes, the ancient flame, I saw him make on mordred with his spear, and crying, Tide me death, betide me life, he shall not live that wrought the accursed thing, but a dread ending to the outworn strife. I saw them fall together, and drawn near, knew that the king was wounded unto death. Then as he drew, with growing pain in his breath, I looked, and saw a long black bard, that stole across the waters, liking a wandering soul, return it from the woeful realm, to view the ancient haunts well loved, that once it knew, and when it touched the shadows, I did bear, the dying Arthur, as he bade, and there I placed him, mid dark forms, I could not tell whose they might be, and wept, and breath'd farewell. Then spake the Aromite, beyond yonder there stands a chapel, ancient and weather-worn, and there did worship in the days of yore, the sons of kings. The night ere you came hither, I was awakened by the sound of feet, and I looked forth, and saw a body-born, by valed figures straight, as they knew wither, in that chapel-gateway, I went down, and found that they had to dig to gray, most wheat for one of saintly birth, for king, by birth, they seemed some score, by blown candles light, I saw that each with tears bedued his gown. Ears sank the course into the waiting earth, then prayed, and so went out into the night. Thereon the twain arose, and went straight away, toward the old dim chapel, and beheld the stone beneath whose length the body lay. Kneeling, they closed his gown at all, and spelled, Graven in golden character, Arcturus Rex Quandamcu Futurus. Quote better fear, thank God this voice remaineth unto us. Now I do mind me of a prophecy, spoken long since in some emblazoned year, how Arthur should escape mortality, and lie beneath the hills in Cavendeepe, or on some shore where fairies cease to break. Around him all his warriors shall sleep, who at a great bell sounding shall awake. What time the old enemy spreads death and harm, thorough his ancient realm, and the lost woes, go over her, his own victorious arm, shall rid the stricken land of hate and foes, so leave with them each head in oriol'd, with the awakening spring's young sunlight gold. Then on an evening, hurrying footsteps rang, without the door, and straight twas open flung, they saw who stood therein, and each one knew, the face unspared by years and strife and shame. Pale as the moon is pale on winter nights, the deep eyes dreaming like September haze, or lit with lust of battle, eyes that few had looked on and forgot. In such wise came Lancelot, the hero of immortal fights. Lancelot, the golden night of golden days, whence comes thou, Lancelot, even from the queen, the queen that was, whom now a convent shed in prisons, and a dark and tristful veil, enwraps those brows, that in old days were seen most brusseante, proud of all, that ever made the traitor honest, and the valorous frail. Yet ever more abou'd her form there clings, and ever more shall cling the ancient grace, like evening sunlight lingering on the mea, until the end of all created things, there shall be some one fan, shall strive to trace the immortal loveliness of Guinevere. Shall I not mind me of old ecstasies, in Camelot, beneath the ancient walls, in shady paths, and marble terraces, rose fragrant where eternal sunlight falls, but ah, the last long kiss is tain and given, and to the last look in those enfathomed eyes, the passionate last embrace is coldly riven, and all is grief beneath the pitiless skies. Gods of the burnt-out half, the wandered wind, gods of pale dawns that vanished long ago, gods of the barren tree, the withered leaf, the faded flower, and the un-garner chief, gods half-forgot in the wild 80s flow, yours, yours am I, that all for naught have sinned. Spring summer passed away, and autumn rain swelled the lean brooks, until the gallead year shot forth its icy hand, and grasped again, again the hanging clouds were struck and felled by winds of winter, until skies were clear, and there was frost o' nights, and all the world lay glistening to the newly risen sun, till came that season, were in solemn days, to celebrate the reign on earth begun, of the most blessed child, when as always were bound, and all the fields were white with snow, then in the chapel at high noon, they three offered their quiet horizons, and so came forth and looked upon the purity, and when he saw the fields all stainless white, Lancelot groaned in spirit and spake, her soul and no wise joys to a sinner's sight, this dear land with the snow lies untrod, even so once before the eyes of God, my soul lay all unspotted, now no more. Carriage my son, and patience, both the sage, no sin there is that shall not lose its stain, to the great love of God, and his dear son, repent and be forgiven, know that none shall sue before his throne, and sue in vain, nor shall one be blotted from the page, if he that bears it turn to prayer and tears, then Lancelot, though through the tale of years, that still are left before the land for earth, receive my body, I should strive a main, to slay myself, and gain regenerate birth, alas it were all profitless and vain, verily when I came unto this place, I railed on God, that I had lost my soul, and nothing gained, until a heavenly grace enrapt me, like some sick man made half whole, and now my grief is only for old sin, but ah, what boots it, lo, this barren tree, he touched a shrub that grew beside the door, this tree me thinks shall bird, and blossom before, I pass the gates divine, and to enter into the fair country I must never see. But even as he spoke the hand of God, worked on the somber branches, and straight away, there were all green with sap, and bird, and leaf. As at the very bidding of the spring, burst forth, and soon each tender branch was gay, with flowers that nodded in the winter's breeze, so blossomed in old time the prophet's rod, and Lancelot stood, and saw the wondrous thing, then softly spake the hermit, now his grief reproved, and sorrow cast out with a lease, for God beholds the living, not the dead, and he that took the semblance of a child, loves he, but penance, and the drooping head, has he not sung for joy, has he not smiled, so they grew old together, and the years pressed no more to their lips, the cup of tears, they had drained all, maybe, and ever less, seemed all things mortal, as in quietness, they pondered the eternal mysteries, the noblest heritage of all man-born, such as are rich upon the face of dawn, or in the glamour of a moonlit night, or in the autumn-swallows' southern flight, or in the breaking of the restless seas, or dreamed rich, hallowed dreams of oryate days, while yet the king was young, and sunlight fell, on a bar and roof of ancient Camelot, of triumph clarion, and thanksgiving bell, when all was sung, and laughter, and high praise, even when as yet the accursed thing was not, then would loom out from the chill mists of time, the faces and the forms remembered still, the king and Guinevere, and Galahad, that rode upon a pealous quest, and died, Kay, swift, and tasty, as a flame of fire, and gentle-purseful, whom to give made glad, Merlin, contriver of the riddling grime, and Guine, silent harbinger of ill, so as the day draws ever toward the dark, ever toward peace the great wind-sounding breath, and ever toward the furthest shore the bark, they drew to the dark, silent realm of death, far, far away from their old palace halls, where once they lived a splendid life, and vain, that now are scattered stones and crumbled walls, in some soft veil, by the echoing mane, beneath the springing grass, and very deep, they three do lie, where never mornings rise, to ope the portals of their daisid eyes, nor ever mortal four-step breaks their sleep, and near beside lies Arthur, even he that was king once, and yet again shall be. End of Section 1. Section 2 of A Spring Harvest This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Larry Wilson. A Spring Harvest by G. B. Smith, Part 1, Legend. Gray ancient abbeys you may see them yet, in that high plain above the western sea. A broken arch or two, a few worn stones piled one upon another, and for paving uneven fragments with tall grass between. Grass that is always green winter and summer, the grass that grows on long forgotten graves. It was a springtime morning long ago, a morning of blue skies and whitest clouds, and singing birds and singing streams and woods, that shone like silver, yet untouched with green. The brethren of an abbey of the plain, whereof what now is ruined yet was whole, were laboring as holy brethren must, quietly, and in peace, and elder ones paced in the cloister, and some older still, too old to work or dream, sat in the sunlight, the sunlight which they soon should see no more. And there came from the wood upon the hill, one clothed in the seer habit of a monk, that passed in at the portal of the abbey, brighter his face than is the face of spring, and joy was in his tread, as in his soul. And some that paced the cloister paused to glance at him, and one that went upon an air and stayed, and some that labored left their work and came gathering round him, and he spake and said, Very fair the golden morning, as in yonder wood I strayed, and I heard diviner music than the greatest harpers made, for a sweet bird sang before me songs of laughter and of tears, all that I have loved and longed for, as I measured out my years. Song of blessed shores and golden were the old, dim heroes be, distant aisles of sunset glory set beyond the western sea. Sing of Christ and merry mother, harkening unto angel seven, playing on their golden harp strings in the far courts of high heaven. So they stood by and listened to his speech, rhythmic for that great joy was in his soul, but while they wondered whence he was and who, he cast his eyes around and shattering cried. Who are ye that I thought to be my brothers? Strangers and sons of strangers, where are they I left behind me but an hour ago? Then was there whispering among the throng, and wonder not a little, and some scorn. Till he that spake with anguish in his eyes cried, take me to a cell that I may pray. To has done, and in the golden afternoon a brother entered and found none within, only a seer monks' habit and much dust as of a body crumbled in the grave. And while they wondered what these things might be, at last spake forth the oldest of them all, burdened with hundred winters in his soul. I can remember when my years were young, hearing the old monks say, one went from here when spring was on the earth as it is now, some five score years ago, and was not seen again though search was made in all the land. And some believed this was the same, and all forgot in a sin night's silent toil, save one that saw and seen understood. And for the greater glory of high God wrote down the story in a mighty book, and limbed the old saint harkening to the bird with bright hues, and you still may read and see. End of section two. Section three of A Spring Harvest. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Larry Wilson. A Spring Harvest by G. B. Smith. Part two, first poems. Rhyme. O scholar gray with quiet eyes, reading the character pages, bright with one tall candle's flickering light, and a turret chamber under the skies. O scholar, learned in grammar, have you seen the manifold things I see? Have you seen the forms of Traced Towers, whence clamorous voices challenge the hours? Gaunt tree branches pitchy black against the long wind driven rack of scurrying, shattering clouds that race ever across the pale moon's face. Have you heard the tramp of hurrying feet there beneath in the shadowy street? Have you heard sharp cries and seen the flame of silvery still in a perilous game? A perilous game for men to play hid from the searching eyes of day. Have you heard the great awakening breath like trump that summons the saints from death, of the wild majestical wind which blows loud and splendid that each man knows far, oh far away in the sea, breaking murmurings dark and free? All these things I hear and see, I, a scholar of grammar, all are written in the ancient books, clear exactly, and he that looks, finds the night in the changing sea, the years gone by, and the years to be. He that searches with tireless eyes in trust chamber under the skies, passion and joy, and sorrow and laughter, life and death, and the things hereafter. End of Section 3 A voice there is, cries through your every word, of him, that after greatest glory came, down the gray road to darkness and to tears. A voice like far seas and still valleys heard, crying of love and death and hope and fame, that changed not with the changing of the years. End of Section 4 Recording by Chris Pyle Section 5 Of A Spring Harvest This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Chris Pyle A Spring Harvest By G. B. Smith, Part 2 To the Durer Drawing of Antwerp Harbour Recording by G. B. Smith Figured by Durer's magic hand was thou, that lightning-like traced on the lucid page, rough careless lines with wizardry so sage, that yet the whole was fair, I know not how, ships of gaunt massed and stark sea smitten prow, idle yet soon again to sweep the main in the swift service of old merchants' gain. Where are ye now, alas? Where are ye now? Gone are ye all and vanished very long, sunk with great glory in the storied wars, or conquered by the leaping breakers wild. And yet we love your image, like some song that tells of ancient days and high, because old Durer looked upon you once and smiled. End of Section 5 Recording by Chris Pyle Section 6 Of A Spring Harvest This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Chris Pyle A Spring Harvest by G. B. Smith Part 2 Pure Virginia York River Returns Like smoke that vanishes on the morning breeze are past the first beginnings of the world, when time was even as a bud still curled and scarce the limits set of lands and seas. Like smoke, like smoke the composite auguries of Hebrew and of Helene are all furled, fulfilled or else forgot and idly hurled this way or that way as the great winds please. I, unlike smoke of the delicious herb, brought by strange ways the curious mind may guess, from where the parrot and the leopard be, my thoughts that should be strong the years to curb go up and vanish into nothingness, on a blue cloud of exquisite fragrancy. End of Section 6 Recording by Chris Pyle Section 7 Of A Spring Harvest This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. A Spring Harvest by G. B. Smith Part 2 A Preface for a Tale I Have Never Told Herein is not of windy citadels where proud kings dwell that with an iron hand deal war or justice hear no history of valiant ships upon the wine dark seas passing strange lands and threading channels straight between embalmed islands hear no song that men shall sing and battle and remember when they are old and gray beside the fire only a story gathered from the hills and the wind crying of forgotten days a story that shall whisper all things change for friends do grow indifferent and loves die like a dream at morning bitterness is the sure heritage of all men born and he alone sees truly who looks out from some huge airy peak considering not fast walled cities or the works of men but turns his gaze onto the mountaintops and the unfathomable blue of heaven that only change not with the changing years a tale that shot itself with ancient shun and wrapped its cloak and wondered from the west and of section seven section eight of a spring harvest this livery box recording is in the public domain recording by bruska chuck a spring harvest by gb smith part two a sonnet there is a wind that takes the heart of a man a fresh wind in the latter days of spring when hate and war and every evil thing that the wide arches of high heaven span seems dust and less to be accounted than the omen touches of a passing wing when destiny that calls himself a king goes all forgotten for the song of pan for why because the twittering of birds is the best music that was ever sung because the voice of trees finds better words than ever poet from his heart strings rung because all wisdom and all grammary are written fields oh very plain to see end of section eight section nine of a spring harvest this livery box recording is in the public domain recording by bruska chuck a spring harvest by gb smith part two it was all in the black country it was all in the black country what time the sweet of the year should be i saw a tree all gaunt and gray as mindful of a winter's day and that a lonely bird did sit upon the topmost branch of it who to my thought did sweeter sing than any minstrel of a king end of section nine section ten of a spring harvest this livery box recording is in the public domain recording by bruska chuck a spring harvest by gb smith part two to a pianist when others fingers touch the keys then most doleful trinities chase about the air and run like pandemonium begun rhythm strained and false accord in a ceaseless stream are poured then sighs are heard and men depart to seek the sage physician's art or silence and a little ease when others fingers touch the keys when your fingers touch the keys hark soft sounds of summer seas in a melody most fair whisper through the pleasant air or a winding mountain stream glitters to the pale moonbeam or a breeze doth stir the tops of springtime larches in a cups or the winds are loosed and hurled about the wonder stricken world with immortal harmonies when your fingers touch the keys end of section ten section eleven of a spring harvest this livery box recording is in the public domain recording by bruska chuck a spring harvest by gb smith part two a fragment and some came down in a great wind and a gray scurrying skies to wear the long wave beaten shore forever shrieks and cries oh fling aside your toil your care when one cries of the sea and the great waves that foam and toss and the white clouds that flee let us forget our weariness forget that we have sinned so we but sail what matters it if death ride on the wind storm from the sky storm from the sea beat on them as they stood and a great longing sprang in them to cross the roaring flood end of section 11 section 12 of a spring harvest this is a livery box recording all livery box recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit liverybox.org recording by bruska chuck a spring harvest by gb smith part two sea poppies twix lonely lands and desert beach where no wind blows and no waves breach a sunken precinct here we keep with woven wiles of endless sleep our twisted stems of seerhued green our palette blooms what sun has seen and he that tastes our magic breath shall sleep that sleep whose name is death wild clouds are scurrying overhead the wild wind's voice is loud and dread sounding the knell of the dying day yet here is silence and bloom all way and a great longing seizes me to burst my bondage and be free to look on winds and water's strife and breathe in my nostrils the breath of life give me not dim and slumberous ease but sounding storm and laboring seas not peaceful and untroubled years but toil and warfare and passion and tears and i would fall in valorous fight and lie on lofty far seen height yet how to burst these prison bands forged by unseen spirit hands oh seek not to burst our prison bands forged by unseen spirit hands clashing battle and laboring sea these be for others not for thee the lover of storm and passion and war breaks our charm circle never more end of section 12 section 13 of a spring harvest this liberal box recording is in the public domain recording by larry wilson oh sing me a song of the wild west wind oh sing me a song of the wild west wind and his great sea herring flail of hearty mariners copper skinned that fly with a bursting sail they see the clouds of crisp white that shadow the distant hills and filled are they with strange delight as shaking away old ills oh give me a boat that is sure and stark and swift as a slinger stone with a sail of canvas bronze dark and i will go out alone nor fear nor sorrow my soul shall keep when around me lies the sea and i will return with the night and sleep in the winds while harmony end of section 13 section 14 of a spring harvest this is a liberal box recording or liberal box recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit liberal box dot org recording by elaine conway england a spring harvest by g b smith part two are a parameters written on commemoration sunday corpus christie collard oxford we praise who praise the immortal dead who strove beneath unheeding skies for truth that raised the drooping head for light that gladdened weary eyes the martyrs cross the warrior's sword how should they be of lesser worth than some unprofitable hoard in ancient minds below the earth the song that one alone has sung the great uncompromising page of east but glittering baubles flung about the world from age to age but ruined columns wondrous tall built in old time with labors all the mighty deeds done once for all the voice heard once and heard no more rather they shine as death a star about the close of winter's day that cheers the traveller afar and draws him on and points the way we praise we praise the immortal dead do they not verily wait till we of the spoiled years unharvested be also of their company end of section 14 section 15 of a spring harvest this livervox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part two the old kings far away from sunny rills far away from golden broom far away from any town with their merchants travel down in a hollow of the hills in impenetrable gloom sit the old forgotten kings unto whom no poet sings unto whom none makes bequest unto whom no kingdoms rest only wayward shreds of dreams and the sound of ancient streams and the shock of ancient strife on the further shore of life when our days are done shall we enter their pale company end of section 15 section 16 of a spring harvest this is a livery box recording all livery box recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit liverybox.org recording by bruska chuck a spring harvest by gb smith part two oh there be kings whose treasuries oh there be kings whose treasuries are rich with pearls and gold and silks and bales of cramassie and spices manifold gardens they have with marble stairs and streams than life more fair with roses set and lavender that do enchant the air oh there be many ships that sail the seaways wide and blue and there be master mariners to sail them straight and true and there be many women fair who watch out anxiously and are enamored of the day their dear ones come from sea but riches i can find the now all in a barren land where somber lakes shine wondrously with rocks on either hand and i can find the now of love up there alone alone with none beside me save the wind nor speech except his moan for they're far up among the hills the great storms come and go in a most proud processional of cloud and rain and snow their light and darkness only are a changing benison of the old gods who wrought the world and shaped the moon and sun end of section 16 section 17 of a spring harvest this libervox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part two a study in chamber hung with white lit by the dawning light upon a slender bed she lies as she were dead most carbon ivory fair and palely gold her hair low the sun's yellow ray that with the rise of day through quartered casement came to wake her life's pale flame and of section 17 section 18 of a spring harvest this libervox recording is in the public domain recording by bruska chuck a spring harvest by gb smith part two the aromite when the world is still in the hush of dawn and yet fast sleeping or hate and scorn from my gray lodging under the hill i do go out and wonder at will of nights when the ribbon clouds are hurled and strife and rancor possess the world i sit alone with thoughts that are chill in my gray lodging under the hill end of section 18 section 19 of a spring harvest this libervox recording is in the public domain recording by bruska chuck a spring harvest by gb smith part two the house of eld now the old winds are wild about the house and the old ghosts cry to me from the air of a far isle set in the western sea and of the evening sunlight lingering there ah i am bound here bound and fettered the dark house crumbles and the woods decay i was too faint of life that bound me here away old long loved ghosts away away end of section 19 section 20 of a spring harvest this libervox recording is in the public domain recording by bruska chuck a spring harvest by gb smith part two the southwest wind the southwest wind has blown his fill and vanished with departing day the air is warm and very still and soft as silks of far cathay this is a night when spirits stray their one limbs bear them where they will they wring their palate hands all way seeing the lights upon the hill end of section 20 section 21 of a spring harvest this is a libervox recording all libervox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libervox.org recording by bruska chuck a spring harvest by gb smith part two schumann erstes verloost oh dreary fall the leaves the withered leaves among the trees complains the breeze that still bereaves all silent lies the mirror the silver mirror in saddest wise reflecting skies for lorn and sear would autumn had not claimed its own and would the swallows had not flown skies overcast leaves falling fast and she has passed and left the woodland strone the woodland strone the silver mirror the dying year and me alone skies overcast leaves falling fast does she that past dream of the woodland strone the woodland strone the silver mirror the dying year and me alone end of section 21 section 22 of a spring harvest this libervox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part two dark bows against a golden sky dark bows against a golden sky and crying of the winter wind and sweet it is for hope is high and sad it is for we have sinned perfect is nature's every part in sunny rest or windy strife but never yet the perfect heart and never yet the perfect life dark bows against a golden sky and crying of the winter wind and in the cold earth we must lie what matter then if we have sinned for evermore and evermore shall the great river onward roll and ever winding streams and poor shall lose them in the mighty hole end of section 22 section 23 of a spring harvest this libervox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part two wind of the darkness wind of the darkness breathing round us wind from the never resting sea low you have loosed the cords that bound us low you have set our spirits free free to take wings like the seabird lonely beating heartily up the wind fixed are his eyes on the waters only never a glance for the land behind wind of the darkness breathing round us wind from the never resting sea was it the old god's voice that found us here where the bars of prison be from the far isle that neither knoweth change of season nor times and crease where is plenty and no man so with calling to strife that shall end in peace end of section 23 section 24 of a spring harvest this libervox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part two creator spiritus the wind that scatters dying leaves and whirls them from the autumn tree is grateful to the ship that cleaves with stately prowl the scurrying sea heedless about the world we play like children in a garden clothes a post turn bars the outward way and what's beyond it no man knows for careless days a life at will a little laughter and some tears these are sufficiency to fill the early vain untroubled years till at last the wind up heaves his unimagined strength and we are scattered far like autumn leaves or proudly sail like ships at sea end of section 24 section 25 of a spring harvest this libervox recording is in the public domain recording by larry wilson wind over the sea only a gray sea and a long gray shore and the gray heavens booting over them twilight of hopes and purposes forgot twilight of ceaseless eld and when was youth is it not lonely here beyond the years out in the gathering darkness crashes of wind from the ocean rushing with tongue long pace over the plain of the waters driving the clouds and the breakers before it in sudden commotion who are these on the wind riders and riderless horse riders the great ones that have been and are and those to come shall be these are the children of might life's champions and history's forces might I but grasp at a bridle and fear not to be trodden under swing myself into a saddle and ride on greatly exulting on down the long straight road of the wind a galloping thunder only a gray sea and a long gray shore and the gray heavens booting over them twilight of hopes and purposes forgot twilight of ceaseless eld and when was youth is it not lonely here beyond the years into section 25 a spring harvest section 26 this libra vox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part two songs on the downs one this is the road the romans made this track half lost in the green hills or fading in a forest glade midviolets and daffodils the years have fallen like dead leaves unwept uncounted and unstayed such as the autumn tempest thieves since first this road the romans made two a miser lives within this house his patron saints the gnawing mouse and there's no peace upon his brows a many ancient trees and thin do fold the place their shade within and moan as for remembered sin end of section 26 section 27 of a spring harvest this is a libra vox recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libra vox.org a spring harvest by jb smith part three we who have bowed ourselves to time we who have bowed ourselves to time now arm an uneventful rhyme with panoply of flowers through the long summer hours but now our fierce and warlike muse doth soft companionship refuse and we must mount and ride upon a steed untried we who have led by gradual ways our placid life to sterner days and for old quiet things have set the strife of kings who battled have with bloody hands through evil times in barren lands to whom the voice of gun speaks and no longer stuns calm though with death encompassed that watch the hours go overhead knowing too well we must with all men come to dust crave our masters clemency silence a little space that we upon their ear may force tales of our trodden course end of section 27 section 28 of a spring harvest this is a libra vox recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libra vox.org a spring harvest by jb smith part three anglia valida in scenic duty on the declaration of war not like to those who find untrodden ways but down the weary paths we know though every change of sky and change of days silent processional we go not unto us the soft unlabored breath of children's hopes and children's fears we are not sworn to battle to the death with all the wrongs of all the years we are old we are old and worn and schooled with ills maybe our road is almost done maybe we are drawn near unto the hills where rest is in the setting sun but yet a pride as ours that will not brook the taunts of fools to saucy ground he that is rash to prove it let him look he kindle not a fire unknown since first we flung our gauntlet to the skies and dared the high gods will to bend a fire that still may burn deceit and lies burn and consume them to the end end of section 28 section 29 of a spring harvest this is a libri vox recording while libri vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libri vox.org a spring harvest by jb smith part three dark is the world our fathers left us dark is the world our fathers left us we're early rarely the lone years flow almost the gloom has of hope bereft us far as the high god song and low somber the crests of a mountains lonely leafless wind ridden mown the trees down in the valleys is twilight only twilight over the murmuring seas time was when earth was always golden time was when skies were always clear spirits and souls of the heroes olden faint our cries from the darkness here tear ye the veil of time asunder tear the veil tis the god's command here we the sun's stricken breakers thunder over the shores where the heroes stand dark is the world our fathers left us heavily greatly the long years flow almost the gloom has of hope bereft us far as the high god song and low end of section 29 section 30 of a spring harvest this libri vox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by jb smith part three awakening gold crusted towers against the valet skies seer branches of the winter trees beneath and a low song and heavy lidded eyes is there not else in the world beside is not time still and ended in this hour up and away the belted squadrons ride into section 30 section 31 of a spring harvest this is a libri vox recording while libri vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libri vox org a spring harvest by jb smith part three avay at ke valley in oxford evermore the same unto the utter most verge of time the gravedest chokes the sons of men and silence wait upon the rhyme at evening now the sky set forth last glories of the dying year the wind gives chase to relict leaves and we we may not linger here a little while and we are gone god knows if it be ours to see again the earliest horror frost white on the long lawns of trinity and merton of the many courts and doorways good to wander through gable inspire shall glitter white or tawny gold against the blue and still the winter sun shall smile at noonday or at sunset hour on maudlin girt with ancient trees beneath her bright immortal tower though nevermore we tread the ways that our returning feet have known past orial and christ church gate unto those dearer walls our own oxford is evermore the same unto the utter most verge of time the gravedest choked the sons of men and silence wait upon the rhyme end of section 31 section 32 of a spring harvest this is a libri vox recording a libri vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox.org a spring harvest by jb smith part three oh one came down from seven hills and cross its seven streams all in his hands were time and grass and in his eyes were dreams he passed it by a seven fields with early dues all gray and entered into the stricken town about the break of day oh you old men that stand and talk about the marketplace there's much trouble in your eyes and anguish in your face a woman in a silent room within a silent house there is no pleasure in your voice or peace upon your brows oh how should such as we rejoice who weep that others die who quake and curse ourselves and watch the vengeful hours go by oh better far to fly the grief that wounds and never kills or better yet to fly the town and seek the seven hills i will go pray the seven gods who keep the seven hills that they do grant your city peace an easement of her ills they rather pray the seven gods to launch the latest pain for there be many things to do ere we see peace again then i'll praise the seven gods with hymns enchanting seven such as shall split the mountaintops and shrivel up blue heaven that there be men who mock at threats and wag their heads at strife love home above their own hearts blood and honor more than life end of section 32 section 33 of a spring harvest this librivox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by jb smith part three sonnet to the british navy lest force aspire to brand an alien name upon the immortal empire of the free lest fire and sword and slaughter strive to tame this isle was near so tamed and there shall be you guard the ocean barrier undismayed mist hidden perils for a brave man's fears an iron craft that many smiths have made with peaceful labor in the old dead years in a small vessel of one smith ill wrought i must soon venture on another deep and dare with little hope and little thought of praise and honor and untroubled sleep so as each sails upon his perilous sea i pray high god he strengthen you and me end of section 33 section 34 of a spring harvest this librivox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by jb smith part three the last meeting we who are young and have caught the splendor of life hunting it down the forested ways of the world do we not wear our hearts like a banner unfurled crowned with a chaplet of love shot with the sandals of strife now not a luster of pain nor an ocean of tears nor pangs of death nor any other thing that the old tristful gods on our heads may bring can rob us of this one hour in the midst of the years end of section 34 section 35 of a spring harvest this librivox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by jb smith part three in the new age and the old like the small source of a smooth flowing river like the pale dawn of a wonderful day comes the new age from high god the good giver comes with the shouts of the children at play as an old leaf whirls faster and faster from the seer branch that once gave it fair birth into the arms of the devil its master be the old age swept away from the earth end of section 35 section 36 of a spring harvest this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox.org a spring harvest by jb smith part three to the cultured sons of culture god-given first offspring of heaven athletic and tanned well-built and not nervous with your golf and your tweeds and your noble additions quiet lives and few needs say a thousand a year for your earthly career who can't stand discontent and seditions may heaven preserve us from being like you what are we what am i poor creatures whose life is depressing and gray is a heartbreaking strife with death and with shame and your polite laughter till the world pass away and smoke and inflame and some of us die and some live on after to build it anew and a section 36 section 37 of a spring harvest this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox.org a spring harvest by jb smith part three afterwards afterwards when the old gods hate on the riven earth no more is poured when weapons of war are all outworn what shall become of the race of men one shall go forth in the likeness of a child under seer skies of a gray dawning one shall go forth in the likeness of a child in desolate places shall spring and blossom one shall go forth in the likeness of a child and men shall sing and greatly rejoice all men shall sing for the love that is in them and he shall behold it and sing also end of section 37 section 38 of a spring harvest this librivox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by jb smith part three dormant ready poetic oh much desired from far away and long i hold thee once again though undiminished treasury of small delights yet no wise vein the cat curled on the cozy hearth the thrushes in the garden trees the memories of younger years the quiet voices and the peace end of section 38 section 39 of a spring harvest this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox.org a spring harvest by jb smith part three memories shapes in the mist it is long since i saw you pale hands and faces and quiet eyes crowned with a garland the dead years wrought you out of remembrance that never dies one among you is tall and supple good to fight her to love beside only the stain of a deadly quarrel only that and the years divide one there is with a face as honest heart is true as the open sea one who never betrayed a comrade death stands now betwixt him and me when i loved with a passionate longing born of worship and fierce despair dream that heaven were only happy if at length i should find him there shapes in the mist you see me lonely lonely and sad in the dim firelight how far now to the last of all battles listen the guns are loud tonight whatever comes i will strike once surely once because of an ancient twist once for love of your dear dead faces ere i come unto you shapes and the mist end of section 39 section 40 of a spring harvest this librivox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by jb smith part three intersectional there is a place where voices of great guns do not come where rifle mine and mortar forevermore are dumb where there is only silence and peace eternal and rest sit somewhere in the quiet aisles beyond death story west oh god the god of battles to us who intercede give only strength to follow until there's no more need and grant us at that ending of the unkindly quest to come unto the quiet aisles beyond death story west end of section 40 section 41 of a spring harvest this librivox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part three april 1916 now spring is calm upon the hills in france and all the trees are delicately fair as heeding not the great gun's voice by chance brought down the valley on a wandering air now day by day upon the upland's bear do gentle toiling horses draw the plow and birds sing often in the orchards where spring wantons it with blossoms on her brow eye but there is no peace in england now a little isle amid unquiet seas though grizzly messengers knock on many doors though there be many storms among your trees and all your banners rent with ancient wars it's such a grace and majesty are yours there be still some whose glad hearts suffer at all hate can bring from her misgotten stores telling themselves so england self draw breath that's all the happiness on this side of death end of section 41 section 42 of a spring harvest this librivox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part three over the hills and hollows green over the hills and hollows green the spring tide air goes valiantly where many saintants singing larks and blessed primaveras be but bitterly the spring tide air over the desert towns doth blow about whose torn and shattered streets no more shall children's footsteps go end of section 42 section 43 of a spring harvest this librivox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part three sonnet tonight the world is but a prison house in kindly ways and all the springing grass are dungeon stones to him that may not pass among them save with anguish on his brows and any wretched husband man that plows the upland acres and his habits spare his king to those in palaces of glass who sit with grief and weariness for spouse oh god who made us first the world that we might happily live and praise its pleasantness and such wise as the angels never could wherefore our hearts fashion so wondrously all spoiled and changed by human bitterness to the likenesses of stone and wood end of section 43 section 44 of a spring harvest this librivox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part three along the fiends of war shall dance along the fiends of war shall dance upon the stricken fields of france and long and long their grisly cry shall echo up and smite the sky along and long the tears of god shall fall upon a barren sod save when of his great clemency he gives men's hearts in custody of grim old kindly death who knows the mold is better than the rose end of section 44 section 45 of a spring harvest this librivox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part three for rq g july 1916 oh god whose great inscrutable purposes seen only of the one all seeing i are as unchangeable as the azure sky and as fulfilled of infinite mysteries are like a fast locked castle without keys whereof the gates are very strong and high impenetrable and we poor fools die nor even know what thing beyond them is oh god by whom men's lives are multiplied are scattered broadcast in the world like grain and after long time reaped again and stored oh thou who only can speak glorified by man's own passion and the supreme pain accept this sacrifice of blood out poured end of section 45 section 46 of a spring harvest this librivox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part three sun and shadow and winds of spring sun and shadow and winds of spring love and laughter and hope and fame cloud and storm light over the hills tears and passion and sorted shame all all are but as quenched fire and vanished smoke to him that lies amid the silence of the trees under the silence of the skies end of section 46 section 47 of a spring harvest this is a librivox recording while librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox.org a spring harvest by gb smith part three let us tell quiet stories of kind eyes let us tell quiet stories of kind eyes and placid brows were peace and learning sate of mighty gardens under evening skies where four would walk of old with steps to date let's have no word of all the sweat and blood of all the noise and strife and dust and smoke we who have seen death surging like a flood wave upon wave that leaped and raced and broke well let's sit silently we three together around a wide hearth fire that's glowing red giving no thought to all the stormy weather that flies above the roof tree overhead and he the fourth that lies all silently in some far distant and untended grave under the shadow of a shattered tree shall leave the company of the hapless brave and draw nigh unto us for memory's sake because a look a word the deed a friend are bound with cords that never a man may break unto his heart forever until the end end of section 47 section 48 of his spring harvest this lebrivox recording is in the public domain the spring harvest by gb smith part three save that poetic fire save that poetic fire burns in the hidden heart save that the full voiced choir sings in a place apart man that's of woman born with all his imaginings were less than the dew of morn less than the least of things end of section 48 section 49 of a spring harvest this is a lebrivox recording all lebrivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit lebrivox.org recording by devora allen a spring harvest by gb smith part three the burial of suffocles the first verses gather great store of roses crimson red from ancient gardens under summer skies new opened buds and some that soon must shed their leaves to earth that all expectant lies some from the paths of poets wondering some from the places where young lovers meet some from the seats of dreamers pondering and all most richly red and honey sweet for in the splendor of the afternoon when sunshine lingers on the glittering town and glorifies the temple's wondrous hewn all said about it like a deathless crown we will go mingle with the solemn throng with neither eyes that weep nor hearts that bleed that to his grave with slow majestic song bears down the latest of the godlike seed many a singer lies on distant isle beneath the canopy of changing sky around them waves innumerable smile and or their head the restless seabirds cry but we will lay him far from sound of seas far from the jutting crags unhopeful gloom where their blows never wind save summer breeze and where the growing rose may clasp his tomb and thither in the splendid nights of spring when stars and legions over heaven are flung shall come the ancient gods all wondering why he sings not that had so richly sung their heracles with peaceful foot shall press the springing herbage and Hephaestus strong Hera and Aphrodite's loveliness and the great giver of the coric song and thither after weary pilgrimage from unknown lands beyond the hoary wave shall travelers through every coming age approach to pluck a blossom from his grave summon the flush of youth or in the prime whose life is still as heaped gold to spend and some who have drunk deep of grief and time and who yet linger half afraid the end the interlude it was upon a night of spring even the time when first do sing the new returning nightingales when as all hills and woods and dales are resonant with melody of songs that die not but shall be unto the latest hour of time beyond the life of word or rhyme when as all brooks more softly flow remembering lovers long ago that stood upon their banks and vowed and love was with them like a cloud there came one out of Athens town in a spun robe with sandals brown just when the white ship of the moon had first set sail and many a rune was written in the Argent stars his feet were set towards the hills because he knew that there the rills ran down like jewels and fairy cars galloped maybe among the dels and airy sprites woe fitful spells of gossamer and cold moonshine which do most mystically entwine and ever the hills called and a voice cried soon maybe comes thy choice twix mortal immortality such as shall never be again twix the most passionate pleasant pain and all the quiet barren joys that old men prayed about to boys he wondered many nights and days whose mourns were always crystal clear as lay the world and still amaze enchanted of the springing year and all the nights with wakeful eyes watched for another dawn to rise till at last the mountaintops received him which like giant props stand lest the all encircling sky fall down and men be crushed and die and so he reached a curved hill where on the horned moon did seem her richest radiance to spill in an inestimable stream like jewels rare of countless price or wizard magic turned to ice and as he reached the top most crest of it low the olympian majesties did sit in a most high and passionless conclave they ate ambrosia with their deathless lips and ever and anon the golden wave flowed of the drink divine which only strips this mortal frame of its mortality and there and there was Aphrodite she that is more lovely than the golden dawn and from a ripple of the sea was born and there was Hera the imperious queen and Diane's chastity that hunts unseen what time with spring the woodland bows are green and there was pan with mirth and pleasantness and eras's self that never knew distress save for the love of the fair cretin maid their hermes with the wings of speed arrayed and awful Zeus the king of gods and men and ever at his feet Apollo sang a measure of changing harmonies that rang from that high mountain over all the world and all the sails of fighting ships were furled and men drew breath and there was peace again but him that saw the sight like flame or depths of waters overcame he swooned nor heard how ceased the choir of strings upon Apollo's lyre nor saw he how the sweet god stood and smiled on him in kindly mood and stooped and kissed him as he lay then lightly rose and turned away to join the bright immortal throng and make for them another song the last verses oh ageless non-pareil of stars that shine as through a mist of cloud oh light beyond the prison bars remote unwavering and proud fortunate star in happy light ye benison the gloom of night all hail unfailing eye and hand all hail all hail unsilenced voice that maketh dead men understand the very dead engraves rejoice whose utterance writ in ancient books shall always live for him that looks many as leaves from autumn trees the years shall flutter from on high and with their multiple disease the souls of men shall fall and die yet while the empires turn to dust you shall live on because you must oh seven times happy he that dies after the splendid harvest tide when strong barns shield from winter skies the grain that's rightly stored inside their death shall scatter no more tears than or the falling of the years i happy seven times as he who enters not the silent doors before his time but tenderly death beckons unto him because there's rest within for weary feet now all the journey is complete end of section 49 section 50 of a spring harvest this libra vox recording is in the public domain a spring harvest by gb smith part three so we lay down the pen so we lay down the pen so we forbear the building of the rhyme and bid our hearts be steel for times and a time till ends the strife and then when the new age is verily begun god grant that we may do the things undone end of section 50 end of a spring harvest by jeffrey bach smith