 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
353
Love's Rosary.
To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
Shakespeare.
Shakespeare.
355
I.
LAND OF MY DREAMS.
O spacious, splendid Land that no man knows,
Whose mystery as the tideless sea is deep,
Whose beauty haunts me in the courts of sleep!
What whispering wind from thy hid garden blows,
Sweet with the breath of Love's celestial rose?
What field hast thou that mortal may not reap?
What soft enchantment do those meadows keep
Through which Life's bright, unfathomed river flows?
Whose mystery as the tideless sea is deep,
Whose beauty haunts me in the courts of sleep!
What whispering wind from thy hid garden blows,
Sweet with the breath of Love's celestial rose?
What field hast thou that mortal may not reap?
What soft enchantment do those meadows keep
Through which Life's bright, unfathomed river flows?
I can resist thy charm when noon is high;
Mine ears are deafened while earth's clamors rave;
But now the sun has set, the winds are low,
And Night with her proud company draws nigh,
Thy spell prevails, thy mystic joys I crave—
Land of my Dreams, I will arise and go.
Mine ears are deafened while earth's clamors rave;
But now the sun has set, the winds are low,
And Night with her proud company draws nigh,
Thy spell prevails, thy mystic joys I crave—
Land of my Dreams, I will arise and go.
356
II.
THOUGH WE WERE DUST.
In the vast realms of unconjectured space,
Where devious paths eternally outspread,
Where farthest stars their mighty marches tread,
And unknown suns through unknown systems pace,
What power can give our longing hearts the grace
To follow feet that long ago have fled,
Among the thronging populace of the dead
To find the welcome of the one dear face?
Where devious paths eternally outspread,
Where farthest stars their mighty marches tread,
And unknown suns through unknown systems pace,
What power can give our longing hearts the grace
To follow feet that long ago have fled,
Among the thronging populace of the dead
To find the welcome of the one dear face?
Nay! Let the souls throng round us! I am I,
And you are you! We should not vainly seek:
Would you not hear, though faint and far my call?
Nay, were we dust, and had no lips to speak,
Our very atoms on the winds blown by
Would meet, and cling, whatever might befall.
And you are you! We should not vainly seek:
Would you not hear, though faint and far my call?
Nay, were we dust, and had no lips to speak,
Our very atoms on the winds blown by
Would meet, and cling, whatever might befall.
357
III.
THE ROSE OF DAWN.
How mockingly the morning dawns for me,
Since thou art gone where no pursuing speech,
No prayer, no farthest-sounding cry can reach!
I call, and wait the answer to my plea—
But only hear the stern, dividing sea,
That pauses not, however I beseech,
Breaking, and breaking, on the distant beach
Of that far land whereto thy soul did flee.
Since thou art gone where no pursuing speech,
No prayer, no farthest-sounding cry can reach!
I call, and wait the answer to my plea—
But only hear the stern, dividing sea,
That pauses not, however I beseech,
Breaking, and breaking, on the distant beach
Of that far land whereto thy soul did flee.
Do happy suns shine on thee where thou art?
And kind stars cheer with friendly ray thy night?
And strange birds wake with music strange thy morn?
This beggared world, where thou no more hast part,
Misapprehends the morning's young delight,
And the old grief makes the new day forlorn.
And kind stars cheer with friendly ray thy night?
And strange birds wake with music strange thy morn?
This beggared world, where thou no more hast part,
Misapprehends the morning's young delight,
And the old grief makes the new day forlorn.
358
IV.
THOU REIGNEST STILL.
Thou liv'st and reignest in my memory,
Discrowned of earth, but crowned still in the soul
Subject to thee from pole to utmost pole:—
This is the kingdom thou hast still in fee,
Though Silence and the Night have hidden thee—
King, crowned in joy, and crowned again in dole,
Sovereign and master of my being's whole,
My heart, and life, and all there is of me.
Discrowned of earth, but crowned still in the soul
Subject to thee from pole to utmost pole:—
This is the kingdom thou hast still in fee,
Though Silence and the Night have hidden thee—
King, crowned in joy, and crowned again in dole,
Sovereign and master of my being's whole,
My heart, and life, and all there is of me.
It is thy breath I breathe upon the air;
Thou shinest on me with the stars of night;
Thou risest for me with the morning sun;
I enter Dreamland's Court and find thee there,
And finding quiver with the old delight,
When life and love and hope had just begun.
Thou shinest on me with the stars of night;
Thou risest for me with the morning sun;
I enter Dreamland's Court and find thee there,
And finding quiver with the old delight,
When life and love and hope had just begun.
359
V.
TIME'S PRISONER.
Time was, beloved, when from this far-off place
My words could reach thee, and thine own reply—
Now thou art gone, and my heart's longing cry
Pursues thee, as some runner runs his race—
Cleaves like a bird the emptiness of space,
And falls back, baffled, from the pitiless sky.
Ah, why with thee, so dear, did I not die?
Why should I live benighted of thy face?
My words could reach thee, and thine own reply—
Now thou art gone, and my heart's longing cry
Pursues thee, as some runner runs his race—
Cleaves like a bird the emptiness of space,
And falls back, baffled, from the pitiless sky.
Ah, why with thee, so dear, did I not die?
Why should I live benighted of thy face?
Thou wilt have sped so far before I come—
How shall I ever win to where thou art?
Or, if I find thee, shall I not be dumb—
With voiceless longing break my silent heart?
Nay! Surely thou wilt read mine eyes, and know
That for thy sake all heaven I would forego.
How shall I ever win to where thou art?
Or, if I find thee, shall I not be dumb—
With voiceless longing break my silent heart?
Nay! Surely thou wilt read mine eyes, and know
That for thy sake all heaven I would forego.
360
VI.
“HAVE I NOT LEARNED TO LIVE WITHOUT THEE YET?”
Have I not learned to live without thee yet?—
Years joined to scornful years have mocked my pain;
Light-footed joys have proffered transient gain,
And smiled on me, and wooed me to forget;
And lesser loves my pathway have beset
With cheap enticements. Since my heart was fain,
Sometimes I listened, but their boast was vain,—
They had no coin to pay the old time's debt.
Years joined to scornful years have mocked my pain;
Light-footed joys have proffered transient gain,
And smiled on me, and wooed me to forget;
And lesser loves my pathway have beset
With cheap enticements. Since my heart was fain,
Sometimes I listened, but their boast was vain,—
They had no coin to pay the old time's debt.
And thou? Thou art at rest, and far away
From all the vain delusions of the hour;
Like some forsaken child, I weep by night,
While thou rejoicest in thy perfect day:
Thine is the triumph, thine the immortal power,—
Art thou too glad to mourn for earth's delight?
From all the vain delusions of the hour;
Like some forsaken child, I weep by night,
While thou rejoicest in thy perfect day:
Thine is the triumph, thine the immortal power,—
Art thou too glad to mourn for earth's delight?
361
VII.
A HEAVENLY BIRTHDAY.
Dost thou take note and say, in thy far place,
“This birthday is the first since that dark hour
When on my breast was laid Love's funeral flower?”
Thou hast won all, in the immortal race—
Conquerer of life and death and time and space—
And I, a lagging, beaten runner, cower,
While round me mocking memories jeer and lower,
And from thy far world comes no helpful grace.
“This birthday is the first since that dark hour
When on my breast was laid Love's funeral flower?”
Thou hast won all, in the immortal race—
Conquerer of life and death and time and space—
And I, a lagging, beaten runner, cower,
While round me mocking memories jeer and lower,
And from thy far world comes no helpful grace.
Thou dost not whisper that those heights are cold
Where I walk not beside thee, and the night
Of death is long. Nay, I am over-bold!
Thou sittest comforted and healed with light,
And young and glad; and I who wait am old;
Yet shall I find thee, even in Death's despite.
Where I walk not beside thee, and the night
Of death is long. Nay, I am over-bold!
Thou sittest comforted and healed with light,
And young and glad; and I who wait am old;
Yet shall I find thee, even in Death's despite.
362
VIII.
LETHE.
What shall assuage the unforgotten pain,
And teach the unforgetful to forget?
D. G. Rossetti.
And teach the unforgetful to forget?
D. G. Rossetti.
I tire of phantoms that my heart distrain,
That claim their own, and will not let me rest,
That mock me with old laughter, long-hushed jest,
And of the love I promised once are fain.
Shall I not seek some opiate for pain,
And drug the ceaseless ache within my breast—
Bid Memory “Hence!” as an unwelcome guest,
And smite the joyous chords of Life again?
That claim their own, and will not let me rest,
That mock me with old laughter, long-hushed jest,
And of the love I promised once are fain.
Shall I not seek some opiate for pain,
And drug the ceaseless ache within my breast—
Bid Memory “Hence!” as an unwelcome guest,
And smite the joyous chords of Life again?
Nay! Then must I forbid the dead to speak,
And do the holy past unholy wrong—
Disown its claim—refuse to pay its debt—
All Heaven would look with scorn on one so weak!
I choose, instead, to suffer and be strong—
Give me no Lethe! I will not forget.
And do the holy past unholy wrong—
Disown its claim—refuse to pay its debt—
All Heaven would look with scorn on one so weak!
I choose, instead, to suffer and be strong—
Give me no Lethe! I will not forget.
363
IX.
A SILENT VOICE.
They bid me welcome in the proud New Year,
Crowned with delight, his Minister the Sun—
Monarch, whose sumptuous reign has just begun:
Nay, I am deaf—their shouts I do not hear—
I miss a voice that long ago was dear;
A tender voice, whose lightest call had won
My ear, my heart, my life, till life were done:—
That voice is silent—theirs I will not hear.
Crowned with delight, his Minister the Sun—
Monarch, whose sumptuous reign has just begun:
Nay, I am deaf—their shouts I do not hear—
I miss a voice that long ago was dear;
A tender voice, whose lightest call had won
My ear, my heart, my life, till life were done:—
That voice is silent—theirs I will not hear.
A little bird that finds the winter cold
Comes out, and looks at me, and sings of him
Who made the vanished summers warm; and, bold
With sorrow, calls the New Year's splendor dim.
Nay, bird, he is gone far who used to sing;
And days, and months, and years no message bring.
Comes out, and looks at me, and sings of him
Who made the vanished summers warm; and, bold
With sorrow, calls the New Year's splendor dim.
Nay, bird, he is gone far who used to sing;
And days, and months, and years no message bring.
364
X.
WERE BUT MY SPIRIT LOOSED UPON THE AIR.
Were but my spirit loosed upon the air—
By some High Power who could Life's chains unbind,
Set free to seek what most it longs to find—
To no proud Court of Kings would I repair:
I would but climb, once more, a narrow stair,
When day was wearing late, and dusk was kind;
And one should greet me to my failings blind,
Content so I but shared his twilight there.
By some High Power who could Life's chains unbind,
Set free to seek what most it longs to find—
To no proud Court of Kings would I repair:
I would but climb, once more, a narrow stair,
When day was wearing late, and dusk was kind;
And one should greet me to my failings blind,
Content so I but shared his twilight there.
Nay! well I know he waits not as of old—
I could not find him in the old-time place—
I must pursue him, made by sorrow bold,
Through worlds unknown, in strange celestial race,
Whose mystic round no traveller has told,
From star to star, until I see his face.
I could not find him in the old-time place—
I must pursue him, made by sorrow bold,
Through worlds unknown, in strange celestial race,
Whose mystic round no traveller has told,
From star to star, until I see his face.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |