Textarchiv - John Davidson
https://www.textarchiv.com/john-davidson
Scottish poet. Born on 11 April 1858 in Barrhead, United Kingdom. Died 23 March 1909 in Penzance, United Kingdom.
deImagination
https://www.textarchiv.com/john-davidson/imagination
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>There is a dish to hold the sea,<br />
A brazier to contain the sun,<br />
A compass for the galaxy,<br />
A voice to wake the dead and done!</p>
<p>That minister of ministers,<br />
Imagination, gathers up<br />
The undiscovered Universe,<br />
Like jewels in a jasper cup.</p>
<p>Its flame can mingle north and south;<br />
Its accent with the thunder strive;<br />
The ruddy sentence of its mouth<br />
Can make the ancient dead alive.</p>
<p>The mart of power, the fount of will,<br />
The form and mould of every star,<br />
The source and bound of good and ill,<br />
The key of all the things that are,</p>
<p>Imagination, new and strange<br />
In every age, can turn the year;<br />
Can shift the poles and lightly change<br />
The mood of men, the world's career.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/john-davidson" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">John Davidson</a></div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/john-davidson/imagination" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="Imagination" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Mon, 16 Jan 2017 21:42:10 +0000mrbot5922 at https://www.textarchiv.comA Ballad of Hell
https://www.textarchiv.com/john-davidson/a-ballad-of-hell
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>'A letter from my love to-day!<br />
Oh, unexpected, dear appeal!'<br />
She struck a happy tear away,<br />
And broke the crimson seal.</p>
<p>'My love, there is no help on earth,<br />
No help in heaven; the dead-man's bell<br />
Must toll our wedding; our first hearth<br />
Must be the well-paved floor of hell.'</p>
<p>The colour died from out her face,<br />
Her eyes like ghostly candles shone;<br />
She cast dread looks about the place,<br />
Then clenched her teeth and read right on.</p>
<p>'I may not pass the prison door;<br />
Here must I rot from day to day,<br />
Unless I wed whom I abhor,<br />
My cousin, Blanche of Valencay.</p>
<p>'At midnight with my dagger keen,<br />
I'll take my life; it must be so.<br />
Meet me in hell to-night, my queen,<br />
For weal and woe.'</p>
<p>She laughed although her face was wan,<br />
She girded on her golden belt,<br />
She took her jewelled ivory fan,<br />
And at her glowing missal knelt.</p>
<p>Then rose, 'And am I mad?' she said:<br />
She broke her fan, her belt untied;<br />
With leather girt herself instead,<br />
And stuck a dagger at her side.</p>
<p>She waited, shuddering in her room,<br />
Till sleep had fallen on all the house.<br />
She never flinched; she faced her doom:<br />
They two must sin to keep their vows.</p>
<p>Then out into the night she went,<br />
And, stooping, crept by hedge and tree;<br />
Her rose-bush flung a snare of scent,<br />
And caught a happy memory.</p>
<p>She fell, and lay a minute's space;<br />
She tore the sward in her distress;<br />
The dewy grass refreshed her face;<br />
She rose and ran with lifted dress.</p>
<p>She started like a morn-caught ghost<br />
Once when the moon came out and stood<br />
To watch; the naked road she crossed,<br />
And dived into the murmuring wood.</p>
<p>The branches snatched her streaming cloak;<br />
A live thing shrieked; she made no stay!<br />
She hurried to the trysting-oak—<br />
Right well she knew the way.</p>
<p>Without a pause she bared her breast,<br />
And drove her dagger home and fell,<br />
And lay like one that takes her rest,<br />
And died and wakened up in hell.</p>
<p>She bathed her spirit in the flame,<br />
And near the centre took her post;<br />
From all sides to her ears there came<br />
The dreary anguish of the lost.</p>
<p>The devil started at her side,<br />
Comely, and tall, and black as jet.<br />
'I am young Malespina's bride;<br />
Has he come hither yet?'</p>
<p>'My poppet, welcome to your bed.'<br />
'Is Malespina here?'<br />
'Not he! To-morrow he must wed<br />
His cousin Blanche, my dear!'</p>
<p>'You lie, he died with me to-night.'<br />
'Not he! it was a plot' ... 'You lie.'<br />
'My dear, I never lie outright.'<br />
'We died at midnight, he and I.'</p>
<p>The devil went. Without a groan<br />
She, gathered up in one fierce prayer,<br />
Took root in hell's midst all alone,<br />
And waited for him there.</p>
<p>She dared to make herself at home<br />
Amidst the wail, the uneasy stir.<br />
The blood-stained flame that filled the dome,<br />
Scentless and silent, shrouded her.</p>
<p>How long she stayed I cannot tell;<br />
But when she felt his perfidy,<br />
She marched across the floor of hell;<br />
And all the damned stood up to see.</p>
<p>The devil stopped her at the brink:<br />
She shook him off; she cried, 'Away!'<br />
'My dear, you have gone mad, I think.'<br />
'I was betrayed: I will not stay.'</p>
<p>Across the weltering deep she ran;<br />
A stranger thing was never seen:<br />
The damned stood silent to a man;<br />
They saw the great gulf set between.</p>
<p>To her it seemed a meadow fair;<br />
And flowers sprang up about her feet<br />
She entered heaven; she climbed the stair<br />
And knelt down at the mercy-seat.</p>
<p>Seraphs and saints with one great voice<br />
Welcomed that soul that knew not fear.<br />
Amazed to find it could rejoice,<br />
Hell raised a hoarse, half-human cheer.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/john-davidson" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">John Davidson</a></div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/john-davidson/a-ballad-of-hell" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="A Ballad of Hell" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Mon, 16 Jan 2017 21:42:10 +0000mrbot5921 at https://www.textarchiv.comA Northern Suburb
https://www.textarchiv.com/john-davidson/a-northern-suburb
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>Nature selects the longest way,<br />
And winds about in tortuous grooves;<br />
A thousand years the oaks decay;<br />
The wrinkled glacier hardly moves.</p>
<p>But here the whetted fangs of change<br />
Daily devour the old demesne –<br />
The busy farm, the quiet grange,<br />
The wayside inn, the village green.</p>
<p>In gaudy yellow brick and red,<br />
With rooting pipes, like creepers rank,<br />
The shoddy terraces o'erspread<br />
Meadow, and garth, and daisied bank.</p>
<p>With shelves for rooms the houses crowd,<br />
Like draughty cupboards in a row –<br />
Ice-chests when wintry winds are loud,<br />
Ovens when summer breezes blow.</p>
<p>Roused by the fee'd policeman's knock,<br />
And sad that day should come again,<br />
Under the stars the workmen flock<br />
In haste to reach the workmen's train.</p>
<p>For here dwell those who must fulfil<br />
Dull tasks in uncongenial spheres,<br />
Who toil through dread of coming ill,<br />
And not with hope of happier years –</p>
<p>The lowly folk who scarcely dare<br />
Conceive themselves perhaps misplaced,<br />
Whose prize for unremitting care<br />
Is only not to be disgraced</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/john-davidson" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">John Davidson</a></div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/john-davidson/a-northern-suburb" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="A Northern Suburb" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Mon, 16 Jan 2017 21:42:10 +0000mrbot5920 at https://www.textarchiv.com