The War Widow

I.

Black-veiled, black-gowned, she rides in bus and train,
    With eyes that fill too listlessly for tears.
Her waxen hands clasp and unclasp again.
    Good News, they cry. She neither sees nor hears.

Good News, perhaps, may crown some far-off king.
    Good News may peal the glory of the state--
Good News may cause the courts of heaven to ring.
    She sees a hand waved at a garden gate.

For her dull ears are tuned to other themes;
    And her dim eyes can never see aright.
She glides--a ghost--through all her April dreams,
    To meet his eyes at dawn, his lips at night.

Wraiths of a truth that others never knew;
And yet--for her--the only truth that's true.


II.

Good News! Good News! There is no way but this.
    Out of the night a star begins to rise.
I know not where my soul's deep Master is;
    Nor can I hear those angels in the skies;

Nor follow him, as childhood used of old,
    By radiant seas, in those time-hallowed tales.
Only, at times, implacable and cold,
    From this blind gloom, stand out the iron nails.

Yet, at this world's heart stands the Eternal Cross,
    The ultimate frame of moon and star and sun,
Where Love with out-stretched arms, in utter loss,
    Points East and West and makes the whole world one.

Good News! Good News! There is no hope, no way,
No truth, no life, but leads through Christmas Day.

Alfred Noyes

Alfred Noyes was an English poet, short-story writer, and playwright, best known for his ballads, particularly "The Highwayman" (1906). Born on September 16, 1880, in Wolverhampton, he published his first collection of poems, "The Loom of Years," in 1902. His narrative poetry and works often evoked strong imagery and emotion. Noyes also lectured in various universities across the United States. He passed away on June 25, 1958.

Alfred Noyes

Fashions

Alfred Noyes, Simple Poetry

On A Mountain Top

Alfred Noyes, Simple Poetry

The Night Of The Lion

Alfred Noyes, Simple Poetry

The Phantom Fleet

Alfred Noyes, Simple Poetry

English

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Wireless

Now to those who search the deep,
    Gleam of Hope and Kindly Light,
Once, before you turn to sleep,
    Breathe a message through the night.
Never doubt that they'll receive it.
Send it, once, and you'll believe it.

Wrecks that burn against the stars,
    Decks where death is wallowing green,
Snare the breath among their spars,
    Hear the flickering threads between,
Quick, through all the storms that blind them,
Quick with words that rush to find them.

Think you these aërial wires
    Whisper more than spirits may?
Think you that our strong desires
    Touch no distance when we pray?
Think you that no wings are flying
'Twixt the living and the dying?

Inland, here, upon your knees,
    You shall breathe from ur...

Alfred Noyes

Victory

(Written after the British Service at Trinity Church, New York)


I.

Before those golden altar-lights we stood,
    Each one of us remembering his own dead.
A more than earthly beauty seemed to brood
    On that hushed throng, and bless each bending head.

Beautiful on that gold, the deep-sea blue
    Of those young seamen, ranked on either side,
Blent with the khaki, while the silence grew
    Deep, as for wings--Oh, deep as England's pride.

Beautiful on that gold, two banners rose--
    Two flags that told how Freedom's realm was made,
One fair with stars of hope, and one that shows
    The glorious cross of England's long crusade;

Two flags, now joined, till that high will be done
Which sent them forth to make the whole world one...

Alfred Noyes

The Wife

"Tell Annie I'll be home in time
To help her with her Christmas-tree."
That's what he wrote, and hark! the chime
Of Christmas bells, and where is he?
And how the house is dark and sad,
And Annie's sobbing on my knee!

The page beside the candle-flame
With cruel type was overfilled;
I read and read until a name
Leapt at me and my heart was stilled:
My eye crept up the column - up
Unto its hateful heading: Killed.

And there was Annie on the stair:
"And will he not be long?" she said.
Her eyes were bright and in her hair
She'd twined a bit of riband red;
And every step was daddy's sure,
Till tired out she went to bed.

And there alone I sat so still,
With staring eyes that did not see;
The room was desolate and chill,

Robert William Service

Copernicus

The neighbours gossiped idly at the door.
Copernicus lay dying overhead.
His little throng of friends, with startled eyes,
Whispered together, in that dark house of dreams,
From which by one dim crevice in the wall
He used to watch the stars.
        "His book has come
From Nuremberg at last; but who would dare
To let him see it now?"--
                            "They have altered it!
Though Rome approved in full, this preface, look,
Declares that his discoveries are a dream!"--
"He has asked a thousand times if it has come;
Could we tear out those pages?"--
                    "He'd suspect."--
"What shall be done, then?"--
            "Hold it back awhile.
That was the priest's voice in the room above.
He may forget it. Those last sacraments

Alfred Noyes

On The Western Front

(1916)


I.

I found a dreadful acre of the dead,
    Marked with the only sign on earth that saves.
The wings of death were hurrying overhead,
    The loose earth shook on those unquiet graves;

For the deep gun-pits, with quick stabs of flame,
    Made their own thunders of the sunlit air;
Yet, as I read the crosses, name by name,
    Mort pour la France, it seemed that peace was there;
Sunlight and peace, a peace too deep for thought,
    The peace of tides that underlie our strife,
The peace with which the moving heavens are fraught,
    The peace that is our everlasting life.

The loose earth shook. The very hills were stirred.
The silence of the dead was all I heard.


II.

We, who lie here, have...

Alfred Noyes

Compensations

Not with a flash that rends the blue
    Shall fall the avenging sword.
Gently as the evening dew
    Descends the mighty Lord.

His dreadful balances are made
    To move with moon and tide;
Yet shall not mercy be afraid
    Nor justice be denied.

The dreams that seemed to waste away,
    The kindliness forgot,
Were singing in your heart today
    Although you knew them not.

The sun shall not forget his road,
    Nor the high stars their rhyme,
The traveller with the heavier load
    Has one less hill to climb.

And, though a darker shadow fall
    On every struggling age,
How shall it be if, after all,
    He share our pilgrimage?

The end we mourn is not the end.
    The dust has nimble wings.
But tru...

Alfred Noyes