 | Poems |  |
THE SHADOW-HUNTED.
“Which highest mortal in this inane existence had I not found a
shadow-hunter or shadow-hunted?”—Sartor Resartus.
Artist, hold yon shapes but shadows,
Hovering round thy mounting way,
Tempting from thy track forechosen
On through other paths to stray;
Burns thy young aim, upward climbing,
High before, a guiding star;
Onward—onward, earnest-hearted;
Lo, but wildering lights they are.
Hovering round thy mounting way,
Tempting from thy track forechosen
On through other paths to stray;
Burns thy young aim, upward climbing,
High before, a guiding star;
Onward—onward, earnest-hearted;
Lo, but wildering lights they are.
456
Lo, the shows of wealth, far glistening,
Luring pomps, before thee burn;
Filmless eyes are thine, look through them;
Fairy gold, to dust they turn;
Sensuous ease—world-worshipped station,
To thine eye what seem they—when
With high acts thy future weighs them,
Acts that aye shall fashion men?
Luring pomps, before thee burn;
Filmless eyes are thine, look through them;
Fairy gold, to dust they turn;
Sensuous ease—world-worshipped station,
To thine eye what seem they—when
With high acts thy future weighs them,
Acts that aye shall fashion men?
Ah, who comes with unbound tresses
Heaping gold on golden day,
Subtle passion in her laughter,
Passion in her soft eyes' play?
Through a light of love she swimmeth,
Zoned with utterless desire,
And the air of her swift coming
Through thy hot veins pulseth fire.
Heaping gold on golden day,
Subtle passion in her laughter,
Passion in her soft eyes' play?
Through a light of love she swimmeth,
Zoned with utterless desire,
And the air of her swift coming
Through thy hot veins pulseth fire.
Lo, thou tremblest—quivering through thee
Thrill the arrows of her eyes;
Half, thy pulse forgets its calmness—
Half, resolve within thee dies;
Swift she darkens—ah, thou shield'st thee
In the faith that life was given
Not to work thy senses' bidding,
But through good to toil to Heaven.
Thrill the arrows of her eyes;
Half, thy pulse forgets its calmness—
Half, resolve within thee dies;
Swift she darkens—ah, thou shield'st thee
In the faith that life was given
Not to work thy senses' bidding,
But through good to toil to Heaven.
Ah, the sun of whose bright presence,
Through the waning of Delight,
From thy Godward path to lure thee,
Riseth gleaming on thy sight?
Upward still on high she turneth
The globed wonder of her eyes,
Lit with fixed desire that burneth
For the life that never dies.
Through the waning of Delight,
From thy Godward path to lure thee,
Riseth gleaming on thy sight?
Upward still on high she turneth
The globed wonder of her eyes,
Lit with fixed desire that burneth
For the life that never dies.
Hark—the throbbing air doth hush it
In delight that swoons to pain,
As come wandering through the silence
Her low accents to thy brain;
Hark—“On man's eternal wonder
Will I throne thy name sublime;
Lo, the ages bow before thee
As they circle into time.”
In delight that swoons to pain,
As come wandering through the silence
Her low accents to thy brain;
457
Will I throne thy name sublime;
Lo, the ages bow before thee
As they circle into time.”
“Wilt thou, with the beast that grazeth,
Clasp, content, a common doom,
When the radiance of thy glory
Might the coming years illume?
Lo, the starry crown I reach thee;
Lo, the orb—the sceptre—see,
O'er the world's far memory, empire,
Endless sway, I proffer thee.”
Clasp, content, a common doom,
When the radiance of thy glory
Might the coming years illume?
Lo, the starry crown I reach thee;
Lo, the orb—the sceptre—see,
O'er the world's far memory, empire,
Endless sway, I proffer thee.”
Ah, thy keen desire panteth
That low voice's tones to track,
Yet the high resolves of reason
All unerring win thee back;
Victor o'er thy senses' wiling—
O'er the lures of glory—lo,
Clear thy life's path lies before thee;
On, true worker, Godward go.
That low voice's tones to track,
Yet the high resolves of reason
All unerring win thee back;
Victor o'er thy senses' wiling—
O'er the lures of glory—lo,
Clear thy life's path lies before thee;
On, true worker, Godward go.
| Poems | |