University of Virginia Library


7

Dedication

TO MY WIFE

Beloved wife,
For ever mine, not by the rash
Consuming kiss
Whose fierce flame turns to early ash,
But by the love that is
The sunshine of the tree of life;
Thy love, that lent
Its morning breath to song, hath hushed
My manlier lute;
As birds that pipe when dawn is flushed,
Or eve is wan, are mute
At noontide of their full content.

8

When love had birth,
My heart became a secret shell
Where many an air
Moaned of the sea of love—Ah! well,
Those songs, my sweet, will share
Our slumber in the sacred earth;
And now that day
Is darkened by the hand of death,
In warning raised,
And the dread angel threateneth,
While love recoils amazed,
The hour wherein the soul grows gray;
Again my heart
Is shaken into song; for so
I need thy love
As blossoms need the light, and know
This paradise will prove
A wilderness if thou depart.

9

Therefore I crave
With all my selfish strength that thou
May'st close mine eyes,
Not I, belovéd, thine; death's brow
Frowns not on him that dies,
But him that kneels beside the grave.
Nor could my loss
So harm thee, as thy loss would blight
My lonelier soul;—
But ah! thy tears!—'tis well that night
Obscures the shore, where roll
The waters each must singly cross.
Is love afraid
Of love's best friend? Is it to see
His picture wear
Its highest holiest light, that He
Who painted love so fair
Hath edged it with so deep a shade?

10

Thy beauty glows
The brighter for this cloud, fair flower
Suffused with light
Of love's own sun, whose gracious power
Evil and good unite
To praise, as all men praise the rose.
Still would I woo
To win thee, though I have by rote
Thy sure consent;
For thou art mistress of each note
Of love's sweet instrument,
And art as free as thou art true.
I ask no life
Beyond this homely earth, so God
The boon bestow
Of autumn calm, and, ere the sod
Receive us, days of snow
For closer nestling, faithful wife.

11

But whether long
Or brief our transient honeymoon,
We'll share at last
One dwelling, where in love's high noon
Our dearest days were passed,
Not far from Avon's slumber-song.