University of Virginia Library

O many and many a day before we met,
I knew some Spirit walked the world alone,
Awaiting the Beloved from afar;
And I was the anointed chosen one
Of all the world to crown her queenly brows
With the imperial crown of human love,
And light its glory in her happy look.
I saw not with mine eyes so full of mist,
But heard Faith's low sweet singing in the night,
And groping through the darkness, touched God's hand.
My heart might toil on blindly, but, like earth,
It kept sure footing through the thickest gloom.
I knew my sunshine somewhere warmed the world,
Though I trode darkling in a perilous way;
And I should reach it in His own good time
Who sendeth sun, and dew, and love for all.

Earth, with her many voices, talked of thee!—
Low winds, and whispering leaves, and piping birds;
The amorous sunlight, and the virgin dews;
Eve's crimson air and light of twinkling gold;
Spring's kindled greenery, and her breath of balm;
The dance of happiness in summer woods,
To silver dulcimer of sun-shot rain.
Thine eyes oped with their rainy lights, and laughters,
In April's tearful heaven of tender blue,
With all the changeful beauty melting through them,—
Dawn opened, Sunset ended, in thy face.
And standing as in Love's own presence-chamber,
When silence lay like sleep upon the world,
And it seemed rich to die, alone with Night,
The Stars have trembled through the holy hush,
And smiled down tenderly, and read to me
The love hid for me in a budding breast,
Like fragrance folded in a young flower's heart.
Strong as a sea-swell came the wave of wings,
Strange trouble trembled through my inner depths,
And answering wings have sprung within my soul:
And from the dumb waste places of the dark,
A voice has sighed, “She comes!” and ebbed again;
While all my life stood listening for thy coming:
I guessed the presence that I might not see,
And felt it in the beating of my heart.
When all was dark within, sweet thoughts would come,
As starry guests swim golden down the gloom,
And through Night's lattice smile a rare delight:
While, lifted for the dear and distant Dawn,
The face of all things wore a happy look,
Like those dream-smiles which are the speech of Sleep.
Thus Love lived on, and strengthened with the days,
Lit by its own true light within my heart,
Like a live diamond burning in the dark.

Then came there One, a mirage of the Dawn;
She swam on towards me sumptuous in her triumph,
Voluptuously upborne, like Aphrodité
Upon a meadowy swell of emerald sea.
A ripe, serene, smile-affluent graciousness
Hung like a shifting radiance on her motion,
As feathered flames upon the Dove's neck burn.
Her lip might flush a wrinkled life in bloom!
Her eyes had an omnipotence of power!
“O eyes!” I said, “if such your glories be,
Sure 'tis a warm heart feedeth ye with light!”
The silver throbbing of her laughter pulsed
The air with music rich and resonant,—
As, from the deep heart of a summer night,
Some bird with sudden sparklings of fine sound
Strikes all the startled stillness into song.
And from her sumptuous wealth of golden hair
Down to the delicate, pearly finger-tip,
Fresh beauty trembled from its thousand springs:
And standing in the outer porch of life,
All eager for the templed mysteries,
With a full heart as rich in fragrant love
As the musk-roses are of morning's wine,
What marvel if I questioned not her brow,
For the flame-signet of the Hand divine,
Or gauged it for the crown of my large love?
I plunged to clutch the pearl of her babbling beauty,
Like some swift diver in a shallow stream,
That smites his life out on its heart of stone.
Ah! how my life did run with fire and tears!
With what a passionate pulse my love did beat!
But she, rose-warm without,—God pity her—
Was cold at heart as snow in last year's nest,
And struck like death into my burning brain.
Just passing with her wanton robes afloat,
She brushed and blurred the hues of my young life,
As one may smear a picture while 'tis wet.
My tears, that rained out love, she froze in falling,
And wore them, jewel-like, to deck her triumph!

But love is never lost, though hearts run waste;
Its tides may gush 'mid swirling, swathing deserts,
Where no green leaf drinks up the precious life:
True love doth evermore enrich itself,—
Its bitterest waters run some golden sands.
No star goes down but climbs in other skies;
The flower of Sunset folds its glory up,
To burst again from out the bosom of Dawn;
And love is never lost, though hearts run waste,
And sorrow makes the chastened soul a seer;
The deepest dark reveals the starriest hope,
And Faith can trust her heaven behind the veil.