My Lyrical Life :: :: University of Virginia Library

And blindly in that dark of fate, they grope for the golden prize,
For somewhere hidden in her heart the charmèd treasure lies.
Such glory burning in the skies, she lifts her crown of light
Above the dark, we see not what we trample in the night.
O merry world of London! O aching world of moan,
How many a soul hath stooped to thee, and lost its starry throne!
There Circe brims her sparkling ruby, dancing welcome,—laughs
All scruples down with wicked eye, and the crazed lover quaffs,
Until the fires of Hell have left white ashes on his lips;
And there they pass whose tortured heart the worm that dies not grips.
The stricken crawl apart to die. There, many a bosom heaves
With merry laughters mournful as the dancing of dead leaves.
There griping Greed rich-heaps the yellow wealth of Bank and Shop,
As Autumn leaves grow goldenest when rotten-ripe to drop:
And many melt the marrow of their Manhood, sere its bloom,
In Passion's serpent arms, and with her kiss of fire consume:
And Vanity sideling seeks a mirror in each passing face.

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But through the dark some luminous lives flash up and pray Heaven's grace.

All beauteous stand her Idols shining on their azure height,
And from their fairy heaven lean veiled Shapes, half-dim, half-bright;
They draw us with a dream delicious to the aching sight;
Arms stretched with longing, bosom sweets, ripe lips, and merry Brides;
Beds of lilies and roses! low sweet music, worlds besides!
And day by day, on each highway, from many a sunny shire,
The country life comes green to wither for the hungry fire.
All into London leaping, leaping flows the human sea,
Where, wreck at heart, or prize in arms, the waves flash merrily.
With a prayer to God on high, he sees the tumult, hears the strife,
And dives, from out the gulfs to snatch a jewel worth a life.
The Lady Laura leaneth like a bending heaven above,
And his life is safely steadied by the anchor of his love.

Three times into the City ran and breathed the news of Spring:
Sweet Primrose-time is come again, and silver showers sing.

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The cloudy imagery of heaven sails o'er him day by day,
He watches parching as the Palm when rain floats far away,
All thirsty, as the Hero's soul with glory's burning drouth!
And yearning, as the dying yearn for a death-bed in the South!
For Spring's warm breath, and bright caress, and pleasant feel of leaves,
And all her beauty moist with morn, his heart within him grieves.
The country memories rich inlaid, so fragrantly are stirred,
As spice-winds whisper something low, or sings a prisoned Bird.
The green-woods beckon spirit-like through dreams of azure sky;
All heaven looks out from a flower as from his Beloved's eye,
And visions of a lovelier-lighted life go shining by.

Above that wilderness o' the weary oft he sat alone;
His soul was working with the waves that, ever and anon,
Revealed the proud wave-wrestler Hope forever battling on!
And ever through the dark the Lady Laura smiling shone.
The night was free and all his own, life rose fantastic-towered;
Full-honeyed with its folded Spring, his shut heart bud-like flowered.

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Upon the stream that pined all day, the calm of heaven doth rest;
Its Star of love, though far above, keeps bridal on its breast.
Pure, painèd Loveliness! she walks a world of wrong and guile,
Yet nightly looketh in his face with the same sweet, patient smile.
While ever and forever goeth up to God for doom,
The City's breath of life and death, in glory or in gloom;
And there it rings each spirit round, of light or darkness woven,
And they shall wake and walk their self-unfolded hell or heaven.
Nightly a merry harvest-home the Devil in London drives,
And gathers on the shores of hell the wreck of human lives.