The Fugitive

    Flying his hair and his eyes averse,
    Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.
    How could our song his charms rehearse?
    Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.

    High on a down we found him last,
    Shy as a hare, he fled as fast;
    How could we clasp him or ever he passed?
    Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.

    How could we cling to his limbs that shone,
    Ravish his cheeks' red gonfalon,
    Or the wild-skin cloak that he had on?
    Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.

    For the wind of his feet still straightly shaping,
    He loosed at our breasts from his eyes escaping
    One crooked swift glance like a javelin leaping.
    Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.

    And his feet passed over the sunset land
    From the place forlorn where a forlorn band
    Watching him flying we still did stand.
    Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.

    Vanishing now who would not stay
    To the blue hills on the verge of day.
    O soft! soft!    Music play,
            Fading away,
            (Fleet are his feet
            And his heart apart)
            Fading away.

John Collings Squire, Sir

John Collings Squire, also known as Sir John Squire, was an influential British poet, writer, historian, and influential literary editor of the early 20th century. He is best known for his role as editor of the London Mercury, a powerful literary journal of the time. Squire was a leading figure in the Georgian poetry movement, which sought to return English poetry to its traditional form and diction.

John Collings Squire, Sir

Airship Over Suburb

John Collings Squire, Sir, Simple Poetry

Echoes

John Collings Squire, Sir, Simple Poetry

To Theodore De Banville, 1842 - (Twelve Translations From Charles Baudelaire)

John Collings Squire, Sir, Simple Poetry

Epilogue

John Collings Squire, Sir, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Harlequin

    Moonlit woodland, veils of green,
    Caves of empty dark between;
    Veils of green from rounded arms
    Drooping, that the moonlight charms.
    Tranced the trees, grass beneath
    Silent....
            Like a stealthy breath,
    Mask and wand and silver skin,
    Sudden enters Harlequin.

    Hist!    Hist!    Watch him go,
    Leaping limb and pointing toe,
    Slender arms that float and flow,
    Curving wand above, below;
    Flying, gliding, changing feet;
    Onset fading in retreat.
    Not a shadow of sound there is
    But his motion's gentle hiss,
    Till one fluent arm and hand
    Suddenly circles, and the wand
    Taps a bough far overhead,
    "Crack," and then all noise is dead.
    For he halts, and a ...

John Collings Squire, Sir

Song

    Eyes like flowers and falling hair
    Seldom seen, nor ever long,
    Then I did not know you were
    Destined subject for a song:
    Sharing your unconsciousness
    Of your double loveliness,
    Unaware how fair you were,
    Peaceful eyes and shadowy hair.

    Only, now your beauty falls
    Sweetly on some other place,
    Lonely reverie recalls
    More than anything your face;
    Any idle hour may find
    Stealing on my captured mind,
    Faintly merging from the air,
    Eyes like flowers and falling hair.

John Collings Squire, Sir

Echoes

    There is a far unfading city
    Where bright immortal people are;
    Remote from hollow shame and pity,
    Their portals frame no guiding star
    But blightless pleasure's moteless rays
    That follow their footsteps as they dance
    Long lutanied measures through a maze
    Of flower-like song and dalliance.

    There always glows the vernal sun,
    There happy birds for ever sing,
    There faint perfumed breezes run
    Through branches of eternal spring;
    There faces browned and fruit and milk
    And blue-winged words and rose-bloomed kisses
    In galleys gowned with gold and silk
    Shake on a lake of dainty blisses.

    Coyness is not, nor bear they thought,
    Save of a shining gracious flow;
    All natural joys ...

John Collings Squire, Sir

The Fugitives

    O fugitive fragrances
    That tremble heavenward
    Unceasing, or if ye linger,
    Halt but as memories
    On the verge of forgetfulness,
    Why must ye pass so fleetly
    On wings that are less than wind,
    To a death unknowable?
    Soon ye are gone, and the air
    Forgets your faint unrest
    In the garden's breathlessness,
    Where fall the snows of silence.

Clark Ashton Smith

The Fugitive

In the hush of early even
The clouds came flocking over,
Till the last wind fell from heaven
And no bird cried.

Darkly the clouds were flocking,
Shadows moved and deepened,
Then paused; the poplar's rocking
Ceased; the light hung still

Like a painted thing, and deadly.
Then from the cloud's side flickered
Sharp lightning, thrusting madly
At the cowering fields.

Thrice the fierce cloud lighten'd,
Down the hill slow thunder trembled;
Day in her cave grew frightened,
Crept away, and died.

John Frederick Freeman

An Impression Received From A Symphony

    There was a day, when I, if that was I,
    Surrendered lay beneath a burning sky,
    Where overhead the azure ached with heat,
    And many red fierce poppies splashed the wheat;
    Motion was dead, and silence was complete,
    And stains of red fierce poppies splashed the wheat,

    And as I lay upon a scent-warm bank,
    I fell away, slipped back from earth, and sank,
    I lost the place of sky and field and tree,
    One covering face obscured the world for me,
    And for an hour I knew eternity,
    For one fixed face suspended Time for me.

    O had those eyes in that extreme of bliss
    Shed one more wise and culminating kiss,
    My end had come, nor had I lived to quail,
    Frightened and dumb as things must do that fail,
    A...

John Collings Squire, Sir