Pelagea

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                Pelagea</title>
                <author>A.E. Coppard</author>
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                <publisher>University of Nebraska&#8211;Lincoln</publisher>
                <distributor>
                    <name>Center for Alex Telesca's Fame</name>
                    <address>
                        <addrLine>306 Andrews</addrLine>
                        <addrLine>University of Nebraska&#8211;Lincoln</addrLine>
                        <addrLine>Lincoln, NE 68588-4100</addrLine>
                        <addrLine>alextelesca@outlook.com</addrLine>
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                <date>2019</date>
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                    <p>Copyright &#169; 2019 by Alex Telesca</p>
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                    <!-- Insert title and date again here -->
                    <title level="a">The Best Poems of 1924</title>
                    <editor>L.A.G. Strong</editor>
                    <!-- Make an author or illustrator line for each one mentioned in the piece. -->
                    <author>A.E. Coppard</author>
                    <date when="190406">January 1924</date>
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                    <publisher>Small, Maynard &#38; Company Publishers</publisher>
                    <pubPlace>Boston</pubPlace>
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                Transcribed and encoded a poem</change>


            
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            <pb/> 
            <head>Pelagea</head> 
            <lg type="stanza">
<l>It is late, but the carpenter is knocking:</l>
<l>The floors, sweet shaven pine, are laid;</l>
<l>The rafters pinned, the roof's great beam of teak</l>
<l>That will last an age and nourish history</l>
<l>Is hidden, and the straw's tight trusses</l>
<l>Thatched over cedar scantlings:</l>
<l>Mallet and saw and plane, bright nails, sweet</l>
<l>wood,</l>
<l>For Pelagea's house, fair nook of sleep</l>
<l>Where he and she no balm will ever find.</l>
            </lg>
            
            <lg type="stanza">
<l>The village dreams by the unseen idling river;</l>
<l>Night in her grove of stars</l>
<l>Turns, and her soft tears fall;</l>
<l>Thin billows through the thickets glide</l>
<l>Intoning litanies of leaves,</l>
<l>And like a moth the air is wandering.</l>
<l>But still he stays, this carpenter,</l>
<l>Building their fine new house</l>
<l>Though he is old, and full of sweat and spittle,</l>
<l>And coughs like a hoosey ewe.</l>
           </lg>


           <lg type="stanza">
<l>I do not speak to him nor he to me,</l>
<l>I bear him quiet company, we do not speak.</l>
<l>A cat in the gloom is mewing;</l>
<l>Draughts in the doorway blow,</l>
<l>And the flame at the candlewick pulls</l>
<l>Like a frightened horse at its tether.</l>
<l>The thoughts in my mind wash round him wave</l>
<l>on wave,</l>
<l>For he is dying and he soon will die -</l>
<l>What is to come delays not.</l>
<l>Pelagen, his wife, will weep for him</l>
<l>Prim tears, dutiful tears,</l>
<l>But there are others she will weep anon</l>
<l>Turning to me.</l>
<l>Whether she turn to me or turn away</l>
<l>Pelagea's tears will fall-</l>
<l>The drops that hang upon the rose</l>
<l>Are frail as trembling love-</l>
<l>For those dark fancies dwell in her</l>
<l>Which silent thought illumines into fears.</l>
           </lg>


            <lg type="stanza">
<l>But my love loves me though she does not like my</l>
<l>behavior: </l>
<l>She does not laugh when I laugh at her</l>
<l>Though I do not laugh maliciously;</l>
<l>And when I walk beside her, pleasantly thinking,</l>
<l>Pelagea's heart is full of those dark fancies -</l>
<l>Fears of love, and love of what she fears.</l>
<l>But what is to come comes ever;</l>
<l>Indolently the moon</l>
<l>Rises, but must rise;</l>
<l>The moon invites the earth, the earth the sun,</l>
<l>Tides must flow, and the great sea must sing.</l>
           </lg>


 <lg type="stanza">
<l>The cat mews in the darkness, mews and mews.</l>
<l>At the lane's end,</l>
<l>Above their old house with its one red blind</l>
<l>Where Pelagea blows a dying fire,</l>
<l>There are stars, living sapphires, breathing gems.</l>
<l>The old thatched house is like a hassock-</l>
<l>Time itself has kneeled upon it-</l>
<l>But the cot of doves in the yard</l>
<l>And the two white hives</l>
<l>In moonlight make it beautiful;</l>
<l>Not less by day are these things beautiful,</l>
<l>But their small beauty my love never sees:</l>
<l>One mind has a thousand eyes,</l>
<l>The tail of the peacock sees nothing.</l>
           </lg>


<lg type="stanza">
<l>And this is true:</l>
<l>Beauty but seldom waits,</l>
<l>Stays neither here nor there nor anywhere.</l>
<l>But dwells in the teeming past,</l>
<l>Or roves beyond us in the ages hence;</l>
<l>So all our clutching fingers grasp at what is sped,</l>
<l>And what is past dreams on</l>
<l>That we may re-enact it and believe</l>
<l>In what is yet to come.</l>
           </lg>


<lg type="stanza">
<l>My love loves me, but she does not like my</l>
<l>behaviour;</l>
<l>And I do not like Pelagea's homely sense,</l>
<l>Her virtues, or her fears,</l>
<l>I laugh at them though I do not laugh maliciously;</l>
<l>But her voice</l>
<l>Falls on my heart like a gliding cataract;</l>
<l>Under her hair's winnow of darkness</l>
<l>Her eyes are living sapphires, breathing gems,</l>
<l>Fair as love winging to sweet love</l>
<l>The golden trembling arrow.</l>
           </lg>


<lg type="stanza">
<l>Tonight I sat beside her at the hearth;</l>
<l>The bellows poured the quenched ash into flames,</l>
<l>And Pelagea turned on me</l>
<l>Her unforgetting eyes:</l>
<l>“Love blows upon us like the inspiring air</l>
<l>From out this bag of wind. I am a dust</l>
<l>Breathed into fury,</l>
<l>And you the empty thing that gushes.</l>
<l>Would I had never known you," said my love.</l>
           </lg>


<lg type="stanza">
<l>Let not, my soul, our love so meanly range;</l>
<l>Without love there is nothing,</l>
<l>'Tis a bond more powerful than behaviour,</l>
<l>Or vague honour tempting time,</l>
<l>Or those dark fancies that our silent thoughts</l>
<l>illumine;</l>
<l>Indolently the moon</l>
<l>Rises, but must rise,</l>
<l>And tides flow, and the great sea sing.</l>
           </lg>


<lg type="stanza">
<l>And still, so late, the carpenter is knocking,</l>
<l>So late, so late,</l>
<l>And the cat in the darkness mews and mews and</l>
<l>mews.</l>
           </lg>


            <byline>A.E. Coppard</byline> 
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Pelagea A.E. Coppard 2019 University of Nebraska–Lincoln Center for Alex Telesca's Fame
306 Andrews University of Nebraska–Lincoln Lincoln, NE 68588-4100 alextelesca@outlook.com
2019

Copyright © 2019 by Alex Telesca

 The Best Poems of 1924 L.A.G. Strong A.E. Coppard January 1924 Small, Maynard & Company Publishers Boston

Alex Telesca Transcribed and encoded a poem Pelagea It is late, but the carpenter is knocking: The floors, sweet shaven pine, are laid; The rafters pinned, the roof's great beam of teak That will last an age and nourish history Is hidden, and the straw's tight trusses 5 Thatched over cedar scantlings: Mallet and saw and plane, bright nails, sweet wood, For Pelagea's house, fair nook of sleep Where he and she no balm will ever find. 10 The village dreams by the unseen idling river; Night in her grove of stars Turns, and her soft tears fall; Thin billows through the thickets glide Intoning litanies of leaves, 5 And like a moth the air is wandering. But still he stays, this carpenter, Building their fine new house Though he is old, and full of sweat and spittle, And coughs like a hoosey ewe. 10 I do not speak to him nor he to me, I bear him quiet company, we do not speak. A cat in the gloom is mewing; Draughts in the doorway blow, And the flame at the candlewick pulls 5 Like a frightened horse at its tether. The thoughts in my mind wash round him wave on wave, For he is dying and he soon will die - What is to come delays not. 10 Pelagen, his wife, will weep for him Prim tears, dutiful tears, But there are others she will weep anon Turning to me. Whether she turn to me or turn away 15 Pelagea's tears will fall- The drops that hang upon the rose Are frail as trembling love- For those dark fancies dwell in her Which silent thought illumines into fears. 20 But my love loves me though she does not like my behavior: She does not laugh when I laugh at her Though I do not laugh maliciously; And when I walk beside her, pleasantly thinking, 5 Pelagea's heart is full of those dark fancies - Fears of love, and love of what she fears. But what is to come comes ever; Indolently the moon Rises, but must rise; 10 The moon invites the earth, the earth the sun, Tides must flow, and the great sea must sing. The cat mews in the darkness, mews and mews. At the lane's end, Above their old house with its one red blind Where Pelagea blows a dying fire, There are stars, living sapphires, breathing gems. 5 The old thatched house is like a hassock- Time itself has kneeled upon it- But the cot of doves in the yard And the two white hives In moonlight make it beautiful; 10 Not less by day are these things beautiful, But their small beauty my love never sees: One mind has a thousand eyes, The tail of the peacock sees nothing. And this is true: Beauty but seldom waits, Stays neither here nor there nor anywhere. But dwells in the teeming past, Or roves beyond us in the ages hence; 5 So all our clutching fingers grasp at what is sped, And what is past dreams on That we may re-enact it and believe In what is yet to come. My love loves me, but she does not like my behaviour; And I do not like Pelagea's homely sense, Her virtues, or her fears, I laugh at them though I do not laugh maliciously; 5 But her voice Falls on my heart like a gliding cataract; Under her hair's winnow of darkness Her eyes are living sapphires, breathing gems, Fair as love winging to sweet love 10 The golden trembling arrow. Tonight I sat beside her at the hearth; The bellows poured the quenched ash into flames, And Pelagea turned on me Her unforgetting eyes: “Love blows upon us like the inspiring air 5 From out this bag of wind. I am a dust Breathed into fury, And you the empty thing that gushes. Would I had never known you," said my love. Let not, my soul, our love so meanly range; Without love there is nothing, 'Tis a bond more powerful than behaviour, Or vague honour tempting time, Or those dark fancies that our silent thoughts 5 illumine; Indolently the moon Rises, but must rise, And tides flow, and the great sea sing. And still, so late, the carpenter is knocking, So late, so late, And the cat in the darkness mews and mews and mews. A.E. Coppard

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Pelagea A.E. Coppard 2019 University of Nebraska–Lincoln Center for Alex Telesca's Fame
306 Andrews University of Nebraska–Lincoln Lincoln, NE 68588-4100 alextelesca@outlook.com
2019

Copyright © 2019 by Alex Telesca

 The Best Poems of 1924 L.A.G. Strong A.E. Coppard January 1924 Small, Maynard & Company Publishers Boston

Alex Telesca Transcribed and encoded a poem Pelagea It is late, but the carpenter is knocking: The floors, sweet shaven pine, are laid; The rafters pinned, the roof's great beam of teak That will last an age and nourish history Is hidden, and the straw's tight trusses Thatched over cedar scantlings: Mallet and saw and plane, bright nails, sweet wood, For Pelagea's house, fair nook of sleep Where he and she no balm will ever find. The village dreams by the unseen idling river; Night in her grove of stars Turns, and her soft tears fall; Thin billows through the thickets glide Intoning litanies of leaves, And like a moth the air is wandering. But still he stays, this carpenter, Building their fine new house Though he is old, and full of sweat and spittle, And coughs like a hoosey ewe. I do not speak to him nor he to me, I bear him quiet company, we do not speak. A cat in the gloom is mewing; Draughts in the doorway blow, And the flame at the candlewick pulls Like a frightened horse at its tether. The thoughts in my mind wash round him wave on wave, For he is dying and he soon will die - What is to come delays not. Pelagen, his wife, will weep for him Prim tears, dutiful tears, But there are others she will weep anon Turning to me. Whether she turn to me or turn away Pelagea's tears will fall- The drops that hang upon the rose Are frail as trembling love- For those dark fancies dwell in her Which silent thought illumines into fears. But my love loves me though she does not like my behavior: She does not laugh when I laugh at her Though I do not laugh maliciously; And when I walk beside her, pleasantly thinking, Pelagea's heart is full of those dark fancies - Fears of love, and love of what she fears. But what is to come comes ever; Indolently the moon Rises, but must rise; The moon invites the earth, the earth the sun, Tides must flow, and the great sea must sing. The cat mews in the darkness, mews and mews. At the lane's end, Above their old house with its one red blind Where Pelagea blows a dying fire, There are stars, living sapphires, breathing gems. The old thatched house is like a hassock- Time itself has kneeled upon it- But the cot of doves in the yard And the two white hives In moonlight make it beautiful; Not less by day are these things beautiful, But their small beauty my love never sees: One mind has a thousand eyes, The tail of the peacock sees nothing. And this is true: Beauty but seldom waits, Stays neither here nor there nor anywhere. But dwells in the teeming past, Or roves beyond us in the ages hence; So all our clutching fingers grasp at what is sped, And what is past dreams on That we may re-enact it and believe In what is yet to come. My love loves me, but she does not like my behaviour; And I do not like Pelagea's homely sense, Her virtues, or her fears, I laugh at them though I do not laugh maliciously; But her voice Falls on my heart like a gliding cataract; Under her hair's winnow of darkness Her eyes are living sapphires, breathing gems, Fair as love winging to sweet love The golden trembling arrow. Tonight I sat beside her at the hearth; The bellows poured the quenched ash into flames, And Pelagea turned on me Her unforgetting eyes: “Love blows upon us like the inspiring air From out this bag of wind. I am a dust Breathed into fury, And you the empty thing that gushes. Would I had never known you," said my love. Let not, my soul, our love so meanly range; Without love there is nothing, 'Tis a bond more powerful than behaviour, Or vague honour tempting time, Or those dark fancies that our silent thoughts illumine; Indolently the moon Rises, but must rise, And tides flow, and the great sea sing. And still, so late, the carpenter is knocking, So late, so late, And the cat in the darkness mews and mews and mews. A.E. Coppard