 | Poems |  |
116
HOPELESS REGRET.
There is a glory in the western sky,
A wild autumnal glory—overhead
Clouds, dark as night, are scudding stormily:
While all around a heavier pall is spread,
Woven of solid mists without a rift,
That hang all motionless, or densely drift.
A wild autumnal glory—overhead
Clouds, dark as night, are scudding stormily:
While all around a heavier pall is spread,
Woven of solid mists without a rift,
That hang all motionless, or densely drift.
But see! between the darkness and the rim
Of the horizon—beautiful to view,
There floats—how clear, where all beside is dim!—
A narrow strait of pallid evening blue,
That steals along the west in varying shape
Of inlet deep, or dark and frowning cape.
Of the horizon—beautiful to view,
There floats—how clear, where all beside is dim!—
A narrow strait of pallid evening blue,
That steals along the west in varying shape
Of inlet deep, or dark and frowning cape.
And now the shores of yonder sullen land,
Yon continent of clouds, grow strangely bright,
Until, as sped from some mysterious hand,
There fall aslant long rays of dusky light,
Darts from some hidden quiver: Who hath hurled
Those lightning arrows on the darkened world?
Yon continent of clouds, grow strangely bright,
Until, as sped from some mysterious hand,
There fall aslant long rays of dusky light,
Darts from some hidden quiver: Who hath hurled
Those lightning arrows on the darkened world?
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And where they fall the blue that is below
Changes its pallor for the ruddy sheen
Of autumn gold, and 'mid the deepening glow
At last the sun, that long has moved unseen,
Bursts in a blaze of splendour from yon rack
Of gathered clouds, tempestuously black.
Changes its pallor for the ruddy sheen
Of autumn gold, and 'mid the deepening glow
At last the sun, that long has moved unseen,
Bursts in a blaze of splendour from yon rack
Of gathered clouds, tempestuously black.
And in a moment the enchanted west,
Bathed in a mist of golden loveliness,
Trembles and pants with wild divine unrest,
Half troubled, as though yearning to express
Some momentary glimpse of mystic light,
Some dream of glory past conception bright.
Bathed in a mist of golden loveliness,
Trembles and pants with wild divine unrest,
Half troubled, as though yearning to express
Some momentary glimpse of mystic light,
Some dream of glory past conception bright.
Then the gold deepens into stormy red,
And in the east a fierce and ruddy glare
From the horizon to the sky o'erhead
Lights up the clouds: for all things seem to share,
How dark soe'er, in the tempestuous joy
That only its own ardour will destroy.
And in the east a fierce and ruddy glare
From the horizon to the sky o'erhead
Lights up the clouds: for all things seem to share,
How dark soe'er, in the tempestuous joy
That only its own ardour will destroy.
Ah! now 'tis loveliest—and I will keep
Its image in my heart for evermore:
I care not now if mists autumnal creep
Along the vale, or clouds begin to pour
A grey and blinding rain: I will resign
Yon light to death: its loveliness is mine.
Its image in my heart for evermore:
I care not now if mists autumnal creep
Along the vale, or clouds begin to pour
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Yon light to death: its loveliness is mine.
Yet even while I gaze, a haze of tears,
Rising unbidden, gathers to my eyes,
For other sunsets in the distant years
Come back to me, and other stormy skies:
And there is something that I seem to miss—
Some subtle grace in those—ah! not in this.
Rising unbidden, gathers to my eyes,
For other sunsets in the distant years
Come back to me, and other stormy skies:
And there is something that I seem to miss—
Some subtle grace in those—ah! not in this.
A free unconscious joy that was content
To breathe and be, unvexed by questioning,
Careless to ask what its own presence meant,
Or whence the beatings of its airy wing
That panted and exulted, as the breeze,
Buoyant and fresh, bounds through the bending trees
To breathe and be, unvexed by questioning,
Careless to ask what its own presence meant,
Or whence the beatings of its airy wing
That panted and exulted, as the breeze,
Buoyant and fresh, bounds through the bending trees
On April mornings—this has passed away:
I love not beauty less: my heart is stirred
As strongly and as sweetly: each new day
Some light is visible—some music heard:
But there's a thorn deep hidden in the flower,
And half a sadness in my sunniest hour.
I love not beauty less: my heart is stirred
As strongly and as sweetly: each new day
Some light is visible—some music heard:
But there's a thorn deep hidden in the flower,
And half a sadness in my sunniest hour.
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And there are dagger-blades to pierce my breast,
E'en in the very bosom of my bliss;
Cruel as those that killed while they caressed,
Lurking beneath the Virgin's loveliness.
My joy itself is torture; while I feel
Its clasping arms, they harden into steel.
E'en in the very bosom of my bliss;
Cruel as those that killed while they caressed,
Lurking beneath the Virgin's loveliness.
My joy itself is torture; while I feel
Its clasping arms, they harden into steel.
For my delight awakes at once a train
Of wondering thoughts I know not how to quell,
And baffling doubts, and questions asked in vain;
For what are joy and beauty? Is it well
That I should drink of them? Are they the whole
Of life? Are they my being's highest goal?
Of wondering thoughts I know not how to quell,
And baffling doubts, and questions asked in vain;
For what are joy and beauty? Is it well
That I should drink of them? Are they the whole
Of life? Are they my being's highest goal?
Whether I look into futurity,
Or scan the past, or sweep my eyes through space,
The ghost of all that I am meant to be,
The eternal self confronts me face to face,
A phantom form that haunts me night and day,
A tyrant ruling me with iron sway.
Or scan the past, or sweep my eyes through space,
The ghost of all that I am meant to be,
The eternal self confronts me face to face,
A phantom form that haunts me night and day,
A tyrant ruling me with iron sway.
Yet long ago each moment as it came
Could blot from sight the future and the past:
My life was troubled by no wider aim:
I held the momentary present fast:
And most of all, when beauty stirred my heart,
The whole was hidden in the transient part.
Could blot from sight the future and the past:
My life was troubled by no wider aim:
I held the momentary present fast:
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The whole was hidden in the transient part.
But now alas! those joys of gladdened sense,
Powerless to hide from view the things beyond,
Only reveal to me my impotence
To free myself: I feel the tightened bond:
I know my slavery: ah! bitter pain—
I hear the very clanking of my chain.
Powerless to hide from view the things beyond,
Only reveal to me my impotence
To free myself: I feel the tightened bond:
I know my slavery: ah! bitter pain—
I hear the very clanking of my chain.
Oh! free unconscious joy for ever lost;
Too late! Too late! I learn how fair thou wert:
What have I gained, for cruel is the cost?
Haply my lips have tasted to their hurt
The fruit of knowledge—the forbidden tree—
And Eden's bowers for aye are closed to me.
Too late! Too late! I learn how fair thou wert:
What have I gained, for cruel is the cost?
Haply my lips have tasted to their hurt
The fruit of knowledge—the forbidden tree—
And Eden's bowers for aye are closed to me.
The bowers of innocence, that once were mine:—
An angel guards them now with flaming sword:
I stand without, yet shall I dare repine?
The glory of the angel of the Lord
Had never blazed in Eden: surely pain
Is higher happiness, and loss is gain.
An angel guards them now with flaming sword:
I stand without, yet shall I dare repine?
The glory of the angel of the Lord
Had never blazed in Eden: surely pain
Is higher happiness, and loss is gain.
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Sweet are the valleys of our island home:
Sweet are the woodland flow'rs that bloom and fade,
And bloom again:—and it is sweet to roam
Through ferny dingle and through grassy glade:
And sweet to hear through tangled brakes the stream
Murmuring ceaselessly as in a dream.
Sweet are the woodland flow'rs that bloom and fade,
And bloom again:—and it is sweet to roam
Through ferny dingle and through grassy glade:
And sweet to hear through tangled brakes the stream
Murmuring ceaselessly as in a dream.
We cannot see afar: the gentle slopes
Limit our world, and branches break the light:
The range is narrow of our fears and hopes:
We do not ask what lies beyond our sight.
A thorn may tear us while we seek for flow'rs,
But little griefs and little joys are ours.
Limit our world, and branches break the light:
The range is narrow of our fears and hopes:
We do not ask what lies beyond our sight.
A thorn may tear us while we seek for flow'rs,
But little griefs and little joys are ours.
Yet are we calm and happy while we range
Our sheltered glen, unvexed by sun or storm:
For sweet variety and ceaseless change
Fill up the passing moments till they form
Hours, and the hours at last build up a day,
And months and years and ages glide away.
Our sheltered glen, unvexed by sun or storm:
For sweet variety and ceaseless change
Fill up the passing moments till they form
Hours, and the hours at last build up a day,
And months and years and ages glide away.
But some there are to whom a passing breeze,
That fanned the others in their noonday sleep,
And bent the flowers and rustled through the trees,
Carried a whisper from the distant deep:
They started at the voice unheard before,
And these have left the vale for evermore.
That fanned the others in their noonday sleep,
And bent the flowers and rustled through the trees,
Carried a whisper from the distant deep:
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And these have left the vale for evermore.
Or it may be that something lured their feet
To climb the slopes that seemed so green and low,
And as they climbed, they saw the heights retreat,
Crest beyond crest, till from some rocky brow
Far, far away, the grey expanse of sea
Broke on their sight, and billows rolling free.
To climb the slopes that seemed so green and low,
And as they climbed, they saw the heights retreat,
Crest beyond crest, till from some rocky brow
Far, far away, the grey expanse of sea
Broke on their sight, and billows rolling free.
And these have left the vale for evermore,
And left its rippling stream and sheltering wood,
And now they wander by the lonely shore,
And, face to face with Ocean's solitude,
They hear the voices that are never dumb,
And marvel what they say and whence they come.
And left its rippling stream and sheltering wood,
And now they wander by the lonely shore,
And, face to face with Ocean's solitude,
They hear the voices that are never dumb,
And marvel what they say and whence they come.
At times may be—ah! who shall say how oft
Wistful regret for all that is behind
Possesses them: The woodland still and soft,—
Its beauties ever varying, ever kind,—
The tangled undergrowth, so fair a thing
In dying autumn or in waking spring,—
Wistful regret for all that is behind
Possesses them: The woodland still and soft,—
Its beauties ever varying, ever kind,—
The tangled undergrowth, so fair a thing
In dying autumn or in waking spring,—
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Sweet interlacings on a breezy day
Of light and shade,—the sound in twilight hours
Of birds innumerable—clouds in May
Of bluebells fairiest of fairy flowers—
Come back to them, but they would fain forget,
Tortured by sweet, impossible regret.
Of light and shade,—the sound in twilight hours
Of birds innumerable—clouds in May
Of bluebells fairiest of fairy flowers—
Come back to them, but they would fain forget,
Tortured by sweet, impossible regret.
Yet wherefore so, for there are beauties here,
Not bound within the limits of our lot,
And changes rolling through a vaster sphere,
Whose moments are as years: we note them not:
The fault is ours,—so small a part we see,
We think that grandeur is monotony.
Not bound within the limits of our lot,
And changes rolling through a vaster sphere,
Whose moments are as years: we note them not:
The fault is ours,—so small a part we see,
We think that grandeur is monotony.
And they who haunt the ocean-shore behold
Cloud shadows float across the watery plain;
The sudden flush of sunrise red and cold,
Gild the dark purple of the stormy main;
Or the long track of moonlight half asleep,
Heave with the flow of the enchanted deep.
Cloud shadows float across the watery plain;
The sudden flush of sunrise red and cold,
Gild the dark purple of the stormy main;
Or the long track of moonlight half asleep,
Heave with the flow of the enchanted deep.
'Tis theirs to watch the eager eddying race
Of waters rushing round the headland rocks;
Or it may be the dark and dripping face
Of some sheer precipice that breaks the shocks
Of endless ocean-rollers; or the sheet
Of spray flung up as baffled waves retreat.
Of waters rushing round the headland rocks;
Or it may be the dark and dripping face
Of some sheer precipice that breaks the shocks
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Of spray flung up as baffled waves retreat.
Or in calm weather when no tempest raves,
Along the level sands of some lone shore,
They watch the endlessly advancing waves
Creep up and break with heavy booming roar,
And straight a smooth expanse glides up the sand,
Of white and seething foam and belts the strand.
Along the level sands of some lone shore,
They watch the endlessly advancing waves
Creep up and break with heavy booming roar,
And straight a smooth expanse glides up the sand,
Of white and seething foam and belts the strand.
But these, may be, oppress them while they thrill;
They look away, and it is sometimes sweet
To find a delicately painted shell
Minutely perfect, lying at their feet,
Fair as a gentian blue and bright that grows
'Mid Alpine rocks that fringe lone Alpine snows.
They look away, and it is sometimes sweet
To find a delicately painted shell
Minutely perfect, lying at their feet,
Fair as a gentian blue and bright that grows
'Mid Alpine rocks that fringe lone Alpine snows.
Father, forgive my murmurs, if I cry
Out of the depths to Thee—if I repine,
E'en though my heart breathes through its very sigh
Of discontent, “Thy will, oh! Lord, not mine,”
That Thou hast set me near the lonely sea,
The ocean of my own Eternity.
Out of the depths to Thee—if I repine,
E'en though my heart breathes through its very sigh
Of discontent, “Thy will, oh! Lord, not mine,”
That Thou hast set me near the lonely sea,
The ocean of my own Eternity.
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I weary of its infinite extent
Of moaning waters: I am thrilled with awe
When storms of doubt and vast bewilderment
Sweep over it, obedient to no law,
And I am troubled, though my soul be stirred
Whene'er the thunder of the waves is heard.
Of moaning waters: I am thrilled with awe
When storms of doubt and vast bewilderment
Sweep over it, obedient to no law,
And I am troubled, though my soul be stirred
Whene'er the thunder of the waves is heard.
And oh! forgive me, Father, if it seems
When Thy own glory dawns upon the waste
Of heaving billows, that its reddening beams
Are wan and cold, and better far replaced
E'en by the primal darkness that concealed
Yon stormy desolation now revealed.
When Thy own glory dawns upon the waste
Of heaving billows, that its reddening beams
Are wan and cold, and better far replaced
E'en by the primal darkness that concealed
Yon stormy desolation now revealed.
Ay, and the richer splendour that is Thine,
The light that follows tempest-clouded hours,
Bathing the sea in loveliness divine,
Turning to golden rain the falling showers,
This—though it thrill my spirit with the throes
Of yearning joy, yet cannot bring repose.
The light that follows tempest-clouded hours,
Bathing the sea in loveliness divine,
Turning to golden rain the falling showers,
This—though it thrill my spirit with the throes
Of yearning joy, yet cannot bring repose.
Yet bid me see a purpose in Thy ways,
Teach me to know it is not all in vain
That I have left behind those woodland days,
That were so sweet, that will not come again,
Teach me to feel that still thy guiding hand
Is with me on the lonely spray-swept strand.
Teach me to know it is not all in vain
That I have left behind those woodland days,
That were so sweet, that will not come again,
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Is with me on the lonely spray-swept strand.
Take from me all rebellion, all regret,
All hopeless looking back to what is gone:
Fain would I blot the past away, and set
My gazing futurewards; and so gaze on
Even till mists of vacancy should swim
Into my eyes and make their vision dim.
All hopeless looking back to what is gone:
Fain would I blot the past away, and set
My gazing futurewards; and so gaze on
Even till mists of vacancy should swim
Into my eyes and make their vision dim.
Not without pangs of travailing, I wis,
Stirs into life a fuller, deeper joy,—
Stirs in the womb of old, familiar bliss
Which its own birth hereafter must destroy,
When the old life, however lost to view,
Shall live more truly, buried in the new.
Stirs into life a fuller, deeper joy,—
Stirs in the womb of old, familiar bliss
Which its own birth hereafter must destroy,
When the old life, however lost to view,
Shall live more truly, buried in the new.
And if it be Thy will that all my years
Be one long travail-throe of agony,
Oh! give me grace to smile amid my tears,
Give me the confidence of Love of Thee:
But for that shivering hour before the morn
The splendour of the sun were never born.
Be one long travail-throe of agony,
Oh! give me grace to smile amid my tears,
Give me the confidence of Love of Thee:
But for that shivering hour before the morn
The splendour of the sun were never born.
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Some day the world will widen on my sight;—
Reality will melt into a dream;—
And the wide Ocean and the stormy light,
Whose grandeur crushed my soul, will haply seem
Fair as a rain drop, child of sun and shower,
That hangs and sparkles on some fairy flower.
Reality will melt into a dream;—
And the wide Ocean and the stormy light,
Whose grandeur crushed my soul, will haply seem
Fair as a rain drop, child of sun and shower,
That hangs and sparkles on some fairy flower.
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