University of Virginia Library

TO LILLIE.

I SAT AND GAZED INTO THE BURNING SKY.

I.

I sat and gazed into the burning sky
Where, like a dying king, the parting day,
In calm, majestic prescience of decay,
Lighted his pyre that he a king might die.
And I, whose thought upsoars on wider wings,
Since thy pure soul has breathed into my life
A quickened kinship with diviner things—
I builded there, remote from din and strife,
A spacious solitude, where thou and I
Might reign untroubled by the pace of time.
How with thy fleetest wish the cloud would thrill,
And, like some sweet, unmeditated rhyme,
Bend with melodious impulse to thy will!
And I, strong in thy love, unquailingly
Would greet the gaze of dread eternity.

I SAW THE LILY PALE AND PERFECT GROW.

II.

I saw the lily pale and perfect grow
Amid its silent sisters in the mead.
Methought within its chilly depth to read
A maidenly severity, as though
A cool young life lay slumbering in the snow
Of its frail substance. In that chalice white
Whose fairy texture shone against the light
An unawakened pulse beat faint and slow.
And I remembered, love, thy coy disdain,
When thou my love for thee hadst first divined:
Thy proud, shy tenderness—too proud to feign
That wilful blindness which is yet not blind.
Then toward the sun thy lily-life I turned—
With sudden splendor flushed its chalice burned.

WITHIN THE ROSE I FOUND A TREMBLING TEAR.

III.

Within the rose I found a trembling tear,
Close curtained in a gloom of crimson night
By tender petals from the outer light.
I plucked the flower and held it to my ear,
And thought within its fervid breast to hear
A smothered heart-beat throbbing soft and low.
I heard its busy life-blood gently flow,
Now far away and now so strangely near.
Ah, thought I, if these silent lips of flame
Could be unsealed and fling upon the air
Their woe, their passion, and in speech proclaim
Their warm intoxication of despair;—
Then would I give the rose into thy hand;
Thou couldst its voice, beloved, not withstand.

HOW CAN I LIGHTLY SPEAK THY WONDROUS NAME.

IV.

How can I lightly speak thy wondrous name,
Which breathes the airy fragrance of thyself,
As might, far straying from his flower, the elf
Hold yet a breath within his fragile frame
Of the flower's soul, betraying whence he came?
I too, beloved, though we stray apart,
Since in the vestal temple of thy heart
I dwell secure, glow with a sacred flame.
A breath of thy sweet self unto me clings—
A wondrous voice, as of large unborn deeds,
With deep resoundings through my being rings,
And unto wider realms of vision leads.
And dead to me are sorrow, doubt, and pain;
The slumbering god within me wakes again.

AN ANXIOUS WHISPER STEALS UNTO MY EAR.

V.

An anxious whisper steals unto my ear,
That thy young soul, so fresh and pure it be,
Is alien unto mine; that I in thee
No resonance shall find for thoughts austere;
No glorious kinship in that loftier sphere
Where spirits meet and recognize their own.
And yet, beloved, from those depths unknown—
Those slumbering depths of silence which I fear
With my rude touch to stir—some shy sweet thought
Comes upward trembling, like a coral bright,
Which no bold eye its loveliness has taught,
Through pale green waters flashing its warm light!
Yet, wert thou shallow, love, the heaven's wide sweep
The shallow stream reflects, e'en as the deep.

THY GRACIOUS FACE I GREET WITH GLAD SURPRISE.

VI.

Thy gracious face I greet with glad surprise
With each new day; and yet thou saidst a fear
Oft nestled at thy heart when I was near,
Because I loved thee only with mine eyes.
Thou wert not skilled in lore, nor deep, nor wise,
But thou wert strong to love and warm and true.
What could I answer, love? Alas, I knew
I love too well, perhaps, the radiant guise
Through which thy spirit breathes its loveliness.
Yes, darling, yes, I love thee as thou art,—
Thy coy surrender to my bold caress;
When folded in my arms, I feel thy heart
Beat 'gainst my breast; and when my lips meet thine
Thy very soul is wedded unto mine.

YES, MY OLD SELF IS DEAD; AND IT IS WELL.

VII.

Yes, my old self is dead; and it is well;—
I knew, as thou, he had no right to be;
And light his death was, for he knew not thee.
And thrilling into life by some strange spell
I stood new-born and wondering; nor could tell
Aught of what had been. Through a mist outspread
I saw the by-gone years lie cold and dead,
And the bright future where with thee I dwell,
A happy Delos rising from the sea.
Dim seems my past and strange, and all the earth
A pale and melancholy pageantry,
Until the shining moment of thy birth.
Thy life from out this age of toil and gloom
Sprang, like a flower that blossoms on a tomb.

IF I SHOULD LOSE THEE, DARLING, AND BEHOLD.

VIII.

If I should lose thee, darling, and behold
No more thy pallid brow, thy gentle eyes,—
This still unvanquished thought in wondrous guise
Returns to haunt me. On a cloud of gold
Amid the shining vastness of the spheres
I saw thee standing, while with helpless tears
I clung unto thy feet. The huge globe rolled
With strident noises onward, and the bright
And void, compassionless eternity
Beat with its deepening vistas on my sight;
When, lo! my hands wherewith I clung to thee
Grew weak, and with a speed no eye could trace
I sank through all the barren realms of space.

I SAW THEE DRIFTING, DRIFTING FAR AWAY.

IX.

I saw thee drifting, drifting far away,
And fading slowly on my famished eyes,
Like as a star that in the sun-bathed skies
Grows faint and flickers with unsteady ray;
Till 'mid the bright expanses of the day
Its slender life is quenched. “Oh, thou art lost
To me, and on this aimless whirlwind tossed
My wandering soul forevermore will stray,
Forever seeking thee, forevermore!”
Thus in the depth of my despair I cried,
And echoes from some sounding planet bore
My voice, on trembling pinions, far and wide.
Then desolation round about me spread,
Until methought that God himself was dead.

I WONDER OFT WHY GOD, WHO IS SO GOOD.

X.

I wonder oft why God, who is so good,
Has barred so close, so close the gates of death.
I stand and listen with suspended breath
While night and silence round about me brood,
If then, perchance, some spirit-whisper would
Grow audible and pierce my torpid sense.
And oft I feel a presence, veiled, intense,
That pulses softly through the solitude;
But as my soul leaps quivering to my ear
To grasp the potent message, all takes flight,
And from the fields and woods I only hear
The murmurous chorus of the summer night.
I am as one that's dead—yet in his gloom
Feels faintly song of birds above his tomb.