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2
DEDICATION.
Fair tribes of rainbow-plumed imaginings!Flown hitherward from some untrodden dell
In the soul's mid forest, scarce accessible,
Lured by the lustre of your sheeny wings,
Perforce I chase you and with patient care
Outspread in vain, too oft in vain, the snare,
Or take at last but bruised and faded things.
Yea! wayward speech, thou still dost falsify
My inmost thoughts and dearest, and still I
Sorrow for all my maimed interpretings,
For all the subtler senses, like snared birds
'Scaped the coarse meshes of my net of words,
For the poor half truths left to hint a lie!
3
IN THE HARBOUR.
I linger and cast, ere storms blind me,One last look to the shore:
My calm days all drifting behind me,
Storms darkening before.
My soul, by those memories, gladdened
And strengthened, rejoices
Ere the wild waves and loud winds have deadened
All sound of dear voices;
For she hears whilst she floats thus in peace
On the smooth harbour water,
What shall nerve her 'mid perilous seas,
And rocks greedy of slaughter!
Oh! my friends, will ye bid me depart
With no music that cheers
The trouble and gloom of the heart
At the portal of tears?
4
Are the coral seas,
And the straits have ravenous teeth
That lead out from these;
But if there I be spared of the waves,
Of the rocks unriven,
Beyond is the calm deep that laves
The borders of heaven.
5
FAITH.
All day blind men had called my vision vain;
With weary joy at night I sought my bed;
Cool rose the pillows round my tired hot brain,
And I in some small sort was comforted,
Yet still my tense brows ached, and all the dead
Swoln ache was in my throat of vague long pain.
With weary joy at night I sought my bed;
Cool rose the pillows round my tired hot brain,
And I in some small sort was comforted,
Yet still my tense brows ached, and all the dead
Swoln ache was in my throat of vague long pain.
6
Slowly my loaded lids waxed heavier,
Weighed downward slowly over hopeless eyes,
Till fleshly husk of slumber lay over
My soul, as husk of white dead ash o'erlies
Live fire; and I, still filled with miseries,
'Scaped past my slumbering warders somewhither.
Weighed downward slowly over hopeless eyes,
Till fleshly husk of slumber lay over
My soul, as husk of white dead ash o'erlies
Live fire; and I, still filled with miseries,
'Scaped past my slumbering warders somewhither.
And somewhere in a land of dull grey days
I found a woman, sad and very fair,
Looking up cloudwards to a white dim haze
Of muffled sunlight, with pure eyes of prayer,
Eyes where half hope held place with half despair—
Lucid and pale, and lovely in the face;
I found a woman, sad and very fair,
Looking up cloudwards to a white dim haze
Of muffled sunlight, with pure eyes of prayer,
Eyes where half hope held place with half despair—
Lucid and pale, and lovely in the face;
And there this strife of bitter things and sweet
Thrilled me with ecstasy of sad surprise,
So that my knee sunk bended at her feet,
And, with mute upward worship of the eyes,
Whilst my choked breast worked up and down with sighs,
I read her loveliness, and fed on it.
Thrilled me with ecstasy of sad surprise,
So that my knee sunk bended at her feet,
And, with mute upward worship of the eyes,
Whilst my choked breast worked up and down with sighs,
I read her loveliness, and fed on it.
At length my brimming lips spilled witlessly
Some weak half word that died in a half moan;
Whereat her deep sad eyes drooped down straightway,
And all her face with sudden colour shone,
Then paled again, like some wan face of stone
Flushed by the red death of the winter's day.
Some weak half word that died in a half moan;
Whereat her deep sad eyes drooped down straightway,
And all her face with sudden colour shone,
Then paled again, like some wan face of stone
Flushed by the red death of the winter's day.
Whereto with a felt sudden rose-colour
Mine own cheeks echoed, and she beholding this
Stooped slowly down, and on me kneeling there
Breathed with light lips a fleshless spirit-kiss,
And, when my soul waked from its swoon of bliss,
These sweet sad sounds of comfort came from her.
Mine own cheeks echoed, and she beholding this
Stooped slowly down, and on me kneeling there
Breathed with light lips a fleshless spirit-kiss,
And, when my soul waked from its swoon of bliss,
These sweet sad sounds of comfort came from her.
7
“I know thee who thou art, lone child of grief,
No longer lone—sick of one sadness we:
But take thou heart, for, lo! their days are brief,
Those weak small sons of pride that compass thee,
Their blind mind's mockery of the souls that see,
Their narrow impotence of unbelief.
No longer lone—sick of one sadness we:
But take thou heart, for, lo! their days are brief,
Those weak small sons of pride that compass thee,
Their blind mind's mockery of the souls that see,
Their narrow impotence of unbelief.
“For God at length, though late, will look upon
The fool waxed blasphemous, and puffed with pride—
God, in whose hand the moon is, and the sun,
Who maketh laws and setteth laws aside,
Whose face no man unblinded can abide,
God, who is One in Three, and Three in One.
The fool waxed blasphemous, and puffed with pride—
God, in whose hand the moon is, and the sun,
Who maketh laws and setteth laws aside,
Whose face no man unblinded can abide,
God, who is One in Three, and Three in One.
“Yet oh! the world is frosty, and grey, and cold;
Dense swollen clouds hide every goodly thing!
Where are the mighty ones that died of old,
Yea, who with mouths made glad with triumphing,
Leaving mute mouths of mockery wondering,
Died like great suns in glory, and fire, and gold?
Dense swollen clouds hide every goodly thing!
Where are the mighty ones that died of old,
Yea, who with mouths made glad with triumphing,
Leaving mute mouths of mockery wondering,
Died like great suns in glory, and fire, and gold?
“The race rise up of Korah thunder-slain,
With blind hate of thy golden hierarchy;
Stretch forth thine arm! guard the one golden chain,
Whereby thy Church hangs to the throne of thee,
Till all thy Churches, now in severalty,
Again be folded in one fold again.
With blind hate of thy golden hierarchy;
Stretch forth thine arm! guard the one golden chain,
Whereby thy Church hangs to the throne of thee,
Till all thy Churches, now in severalty,
Again be folded in one fold again.
“Mourn, mother! mourn, city of the seven-fold throne!
We—sit beside the severing sea and mourn;
Mourn thou, lone sister, where the Asian sun
Sees alien minars crown the Golden Horn,
Christ left us one and little, but not forlorn;
Shall not He find us mighty, and great, and one?
We—sit beside the severing sea and mourn;
Mourn thou, lone sister, where the Asian sun
Sees alien minars crown the Golden Horn,
Christ left us one and little, but not forlorn;
Shall not He find us mighty, and great, and one?
8
“Oh, for the years nipped by the world's cold breath,
Whose last days, like late flowers, are well nigh shed!
Oh, for those Spartan wills that gave to faith
Of old, their dearest to be made the dead,
When, like the Indian idol charioted,
Faith rolled o'er reason worshipping in death!”
Whose last days, like late flowers, are well nigh shed!
Oh, for those Spartan wills that gave to faith
Of old, their dearest to be made the dead,
When, like the Indian idol charioted,
Faith rolled o'er reason worshipping in death!”
And here her voice drooped me-ward, and she said,
“Wilt thou too perish? storms are gathering—
And the world once more shall mock and wag the head
At Him crowned on the throne of suffering
With the bloody thorn-crown, the anointed King
With the bloody chrism from His own God's brows shed.”
“Wilt thou too perish? storms are gathering—
And the world once more shall mock and wag the head
At Him crowned on the throne of suffering
With the bloody thorn-crown, the anointed King
With the bloody chrism from His own God's brows shed.”
As a wild harp, swept by a wild wind, dies
In long æolian languors dreamily,
So here her voice, her face, and the grey skies
Died dreamily in the eyes and ears of me,
And when my soul rose out of lethargy,
New strange things dawned upon mine ears and eyes.
In long æolian languors dreamily,
So here her voice, her face, and the grey skies
Died dreamily in the eyes and ears of me,
And when my soul rose out of lethargy,
New strange things dawned upon mine ears and eyes.
Calm lights before me shone through a dim air,
From o'er a glimmering shrine of gems and gold;
Swung censers, and awed kneeling priests were there,
And sound of singing voices manifold,
And through the place some throbbing organ rolled
Its great swoln seas, laden with wailing prayer.
From o'er a glimmering shrine of gems and gold;
Swung censers, and awed kneeling priests were there,
And sound of singing voices manifold,
And through the place some throbbing organ rolled
Its great swoln seas, laden with wailing prayer.
Each side a maze of carvings, where among
Stone and strange wood mine eyes waxed wildered,
And over these a maze of arches sprung
From shafts with deep flowered marble garlanded
Up through dim mystic twilights overhead,
To tangled roofs whereto the music clung.
Stone and strange wood mine eyes waxed wildered,
And over these a maze of arches sprung
From shafts with deep flowered marble garlanded
Up through dim mystic twilights overhead,
To tangled roofs whereto the music clung.
9
I kneeled, and heard a sound of prayers and cries,
As semichoir to semichoir replied,
I heard weird music sink, and surge, and rise,
And spirit voices as of souls who had died,
When suddenly up-rose from every side
This wail of wild long yearning litanies;
As semichoir to semichoir replied,
I heard weird music sink, and surge, and rise,
And spirit voices as of souls who had died,
When suddenly up-rose from every side
This wail of wild long yearning litanies;
“Oh, Lord! be near us; for a fiendish light
The world hath lit wherewith to daze our eyes,
Yea, a light blinder than the blindest night;
We call thee, oh! our Guide, with bitter cries,
For we are guideless, girt with enemies,
The road is rough, and we are dazed of sight;
The world hath lit wherewith to daze our eyes,
Yea, a light blinder than the blindest night;
We call thee, oh! our Guide, with bitter cries,
For we are guideless, girt with enemies,
The road is rough, and we are dazed of sight;
“And men, poor grovelers, lift a haughty head,
Saying of what Thou sayest, ‘this cannot be;’
But we, oh, Lord! will doubt not where we tread,
Even should'st Thou call us, walking on the sea,
For Thou art ever perfect and great, but we
Are little as yet, and nowise perfected.
Saying of what Thou sayest, ‘this cannot be;’
But we, oh, Lord! will doubt not where we tread,
Even should'st Thou call us, walking on the sea,
For Thou art ever perfect and great, but we
Are little as yet, and nowise perfected.
“Oh! do thou stay our frail and faltering paces,
And bring to sick sad souls warm words of cheer,
And eager blood to pale desponding faces;
We will not quail at faith's strange paths, Thou near,
At chasms wherefrom sick reason starts with fear,
At cloud-swathed heights, and giddy terrible places!”
And bring to sick sad souls warm words of cheer,
And eager blood to pale desponding faces;
We will not quail at faith's strange paths, Thou near,
At chasms wherefrom sick reason starts with fear,
At cloud-swathed heights, and giddy terrible places!”
And then from the lit altar, low and clear
A voice came calling, “Come be comforted!
“Come fearful doubters, heal your doubt and fear!
“Come drink the dear blood for your own souls shed!
“Take, whence alone is life, the living bread!
“Bow down and worship;—God made flesh is here.”
A voice came calling, “Come be comforted!
“Come fearful doubters, heal your doubt and fear!
“Come drink the dear blood for your own souls shed!
“Take, whence alone is life, the living bread!
“Bow down and worship;—God made flesh is here.”
10
At the last words, the very soul of me
Came through my lips, and mingled and was as one,
Like a man's blood shed in a bloody sea,
With the full yearning of their antiphon,
“Our faith is weak, have mercy, Lord, thereon,
So that we die not everlastingly!”
Came through my lips, and mingled and was as one,
Like a man's blood shed in a bloody sea,
With the full yearning of their antiphon,
“Our faith is weak, have mercy, Lord, thereon,
So that we die not everlastingly!”
THE RETREAT.
My life is overhung with cold grey shadeOf dense dark clouds that will nor weep nor fly:
Hope's orphan flowers hang languid heads and fade
Beneath the wintry sky.
But since the sun is mute, of thy pale beams,
Oh, moon! enchantress, let the man forlorn
Weave for his soul a daedal woof of dreams,
Proof against all cold scorn.
Yea, let me here forget my very home,
In a rapt dream o'er these hypastral seas,
Charmed by the luminous fall of silvery foam
In silvery melodies,
Far gazing where the ocean moonlight fades
Into the starry mystery of night,
Watching the wandering shudders of soft shades
That skim the quivering light;
'Till, as shed snows in water, more and more
That which I am be lost in that I see—
Oh! dreamy, foamy moonlight! dreamy shore!
Oh! dreamy ecstasy!
11
Lifts them, and I am floated far away
From this dull world of loveless men and blind,
Close wedded to their clay,
Into strange realms of buried mystery,
Whose secret gates some sudden hand unbars,
Where the wild beauties of old ages lie,
Looked down upon by stars.
My soul goes forth over the isles of fame,
White temples, mid dark frondage, panting seas
Washing with wavering fringe of liquid flame
The clustering Cyclades.
Strange sounds and musical are on the gales
Of tongues long mute, and lo, beneath mine eyes
Sweep carven prows and shadowy glimmering sails
Of ancient argosies;
And triremes with the measured flash of oars,
And foam-wan plumes, and breast-plates luminous,
And calm-eyed pilots helming toward the shores
Of leaguered Pergamus.
Now great lone lands, with feverish interchange
Of hollow shadows and pale sickly gleams,
Perplex the eye—wild places, vague and strange,
And veined with silvery streams—
Streams crag-born, down from splintered mountains dashing,
Girdling below, with sparkling coils of light,
White skeletons of old mammoth cities flashing
On purple plains of night.
Here 'mid deep woods the startled stars behold
Wan throngs of faces turned towards the skies,
Phantoms adoring phantom gods in old
Hypaethral sanctuaries,
12
Islanded in the deep hearts of forest seas,
And resonant ever with the low lorn moan
Of Hamadryades.
Down many a dew-lit dell of hemlock deep,
Hung with dank leaves, the calm keen moonbeams glide,
And touch the snake in silver coils of sleep,
Or cold stark suicide.
Rising o'er billowy mountain-lands unknown—
Wrecks of sick light strewn on a shadowy sea—
The aching moon looks down upon the lone
Caucasian Calvary,
Peering snow-pale over pale mountain-snows
On the worn watcher, and the cruel chain,
Carving on the white marble of his brows
Keen hieroglyphs of pain.
He lieth there calm, beautiful and bound,
Walled by vast crags, and roofed by fretted skies—
What anguish speaks in that pure gaze profound
Of sleepless starward eyes!
But softly;—what—this hushed strange prison-place,
These muffled looks, these tears, this struggling breath,
And that majestic, calm, unearthly face,
That hemlock-draught of death?
Draining the fearful cup with welcoming lips,
Like the full moon unclouding by degrees,
Breaks from the shadow of terrene eclipse
The soul of Socrates.
Hail life in death! old beauty born again!
Dear lovely things of ages long gone by,
Whose last smiles minish from the world as men
Grown loveless multiply!
13
Headlong to plunge into the deep green seas,
Catching the wavering lustre through the waves
Of ocean palaces;
So have I longed, ye beautiful dead years,
For ye and yours, seeing the things that be
Touch me with frost that nips, and heat that sears,
And have small part in me.
I famish here.—Oh! might I roam the hills
And dells and plains of the old days apart,
And feed the open-mouthèd brood that fills
The eyrie of my heart.
Then, as speeds on the winter-fleeing swallow
In summer's wake, south to some kindlier zone,
Spirit of Beauty, I'd take flight and follow,
As thou before hast flown.
Wake, children of the past,—ye long-closed lids,
Unfold for me! Shine forth, imperial eyes!
Smile, lips embalmed beneath the pyramids
Of heaped up centuries.
Scorn not your stranger guest, sweet shapes that throng
The far off Edens of completed years!
Queens of the wizard universe of song,
Be ye my comforters!
Lo yonder, one, that darkly wildly eyed,
Yearneth for somewhat o'er the starlit sea,
From yon wet rock, whereround the sluggish tide
Sobs slow and heavily;
The flagging wind floats her loose fluctuous hair,
As the waves weed; unheeded creeping down,
Her raiment leaves her glimmering beauty bare—
Sea dews are moist thereon.
14
“Elissa, he will not return to thee—
“We twain are lone—let twain be comforted—
“Dost thou think scorn of me?
“Kiss me, ye lips that have nor cold nor heat,
“Thou fair sweet supersensual sensuousness!
“Lull me with love that sees himself is sweet,
“With passion passionless!”
The eyes that have been gazing otherwhere
Droop down on mine as these words smite her ears,
And lo, the hard dry ice of glazed despair
Thaws in slow large warm tears!
The relaxed lips, half opening dreamily,
Breathe soft things over me her worshipper;
That murmuring mingle with the wind's moist sigh,
And the sad wave-water
'Till each soul's pensive sorrows melt, as snow
Spring-charmed in dew, love making all past pain
Sweet sadness, as a red sun sets aglow
A dying day of rain.
But hark! the gasping wind is gathering—
I catch a sudden sprinkling of blown spray—
I start—the bubble bursts, and everything—
My whole dream falls away!
Numbed Self springs up, and, fresh from trance, once more
Clutches my soul once more made void and cold;
And I, lone on this old familiar shore,
With stupid eyes behold
A great night hung with starlight stooping down
Over the tumbling silver of the sea,
And hear a voice, “Is beauty wholly gone?
“Nay,—let this comfort thee;—
15
“With many names, leads on the swerveless soul,
“By ways wherein but parts of good are found
“To realms where reigns the whole!
“Seek not for love in the warm plastic clay,
“Nor good, nor beauty in the blind, dead years,
“Onward! this prison soon shall pass away,
“This life of blinding tears!
[Her eyes were like Cocytus' midnight deeps]
Her eyes were like Cocytus' midnight deeps,When far in the transparent darkness sleeps
The moon, whose light, as the waves tremble, flashes
In oily ripples, 'mid the reedy lashes
Dying incessantly. Who would not shrink
Shivering from that sad streams uncertain brink,
Fancying the noiseless waters sliding o'er
Strange horrors unconceived, and brimmed with store
Of lizard-footed things? So none there were
Who loved those eyes, and the strange moonlight there.
TO MELANCHOLY.
Death's living daughter, that like some soft lightOver the charnel-house of joy dost hover,
Dearer than Hesper in the cold grey night
To the now lonely lover;
Thou that 'neath heavy evergreens dost keep
Thy dewy vigils with calm downward eyes,
Where the wan tomb-stones lie, like drowsy sheep,
In twilight cemetries;
16
Where dead delight so sweetly, darkly gleams,
And twining, in thy loose long locks dew-laden,
Wreaths from the elm of dreams;
Thine are all joys that on their death-beds lie,
Or under grass-grown graves; thou still dost treasure
In the pale paradise of memory,
The soul of dying pleasure!
The soul is purer than ephemeral clay,
Most pure when clayless. Surely purer far
The joys whose outer husk hath passed away,
That have been, not that are—
Twilights of days that have beheld men glad,
Joy's sunshine glimmering through the leaves of care,
And all the strange calm moods for hope too sad,
Too tender for despair.
Soothe then my drooping soul, ye sweet things fled!
Where the world's frost can bite not let me dwell,
And share with ye, dear visionary dead,
The Elysian asphodel!
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