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Poems and dramas of George Cabot Lodge

Lodge, George Cabot (1873-1909)

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VOLUME I
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THE SONG OF THE WAVE AND OTHER POEMS
  
[dedication]
  
EXORDIUM
  
A FIRST WORD
  
THE OCEAN SINGS
  
THE SONG OF THE WAVE
  
THE EAST WIND
  
THE NORSEMEN
  
“WAS HAT MAN DIR, DU ARMES KIND, GETHAN?”
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THE SONG OF THE SWORD
  
BALLAD
  
DAWN
  
SUNSET
  
THE GATES OF LIFE
  
MOTHERS OF MEN
  
LOVE IN AGE
  
A MEMORY
  
AGE
  
EVENING
  
TO A WOMAN
  
THE END
  
NEANT
  
YOUTH
  
SERENADE
  
SONG
  
SONG
  
[Silent, alone! Around the wrinkled earth]
  
THEY
  
TO A BUST OF THE MATER DOLOROSA
  
TO PSYCHE
  
THE WILL
  
TUCKANUCK
  
PASTORAL
  
FALL
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SONNETS
 1. 
I TO SILENCE
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II TO THE EARTH
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III ESSEX
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IV ESSEX
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[V Toward thine Eastern window when the morn]
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VI FOG AT SEA
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VII NIRVANA
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VIII NIRVANA
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IX PASSING DAYS
 10. 
X ON AN ÆOLIAN HARP
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XI THE SPHINX
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[XII Whiles were, I almost seemed to understand]
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XIII TO THE MEMORY OF W. H. P.
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XIV INSOMNIA
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[XV I stood upon the old Earth's breast and gazed]
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[XVI Our lips are laughing while our eyes are wet]
 17. 
XVII THE GATE OF DREAMS
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XVIII TO GIACOMO LEOPARDI
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XIX TO J. T. S.
 20. 
XX TO THE CHILDREN OF THE MUSE
 21. 
XXI L'ENFANT DU SIÈCLE
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XXII AUX MODERNES
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XXIII AUX MODERNES
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[XXIV Of this that I have written none is mine]
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XXV TO A STATUE
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XXVI A DREAM
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XXVII “ELI! ELI! LAMA SABACTHANI!”
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XXVIII DANTE
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XXIX LOVE
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XXX LOVE
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[XXXI I dreamed of Thee, O Wonder, with the sheen]
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[XXXII She came once only in a dream of death]
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[XXXIII The low moon quivers on the hyacinth sky,]
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[XXXIV Tell me again, and then lift up to me]
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[XXXV Give me thy pitiful, soft-moulded hand]
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[XXXVI If I have touched thy heart, as Solomon]
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XXXVII TOO SOON
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XXXVIII TOO LATE
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XXXIX THE NIGHT-WIND
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[XL And they shall say to thee, “He died distraught]
  
A LAST WORD
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POEMS (1899–1902)
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CAIN
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VOLUME II

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97

[XXIV
Of this that I have written none is mine]

Of this that I have written none is mine,
Save only as my clouded sense has heard
And blurred with ineffectual rhyme the Word
Whose Virgin silence was and is divine.
The veins of God are filled with golden wine
Perturbed with splendour, and this world we dream
Around our tinsel lives endows a theme
Of music—Hearken! for its voice is thine!
The Youth and Beauty of the earlier earth
Have never died, but on the breast of song
They lie like flowers—'t is we that agonize!
And in the gray senescence of our birth
Erase the soul whose voice condemns the wrong,
And move our fingers through the dust we prize.
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