 | Under The Aspens |  |
17
It is good to be young in the spring, but to breathe, but to be,
When the woods are tumultuous with song, the leaf freshly unfurled,
To break into joy as the blossom breaks forth of the tree,
In the on-coming tide which is lightening the heart of the world;
When the woods are tumultuous with song, the leaf freshly unfurled,
To break into joy as the blossom breaks forth of the tree,
In the on-coming tide which is lightening the heart of the world;
It is good to be young in the spring, but O, rare beyond words
To love and be loved in the season when love is at best,
To pair in the youth of your days and the year with the birds,
As wise as the world, if no wiser—this is to be blest!
To love and be loved in the season when love is at best,
To pair in the youth of your days and the year with the birds,
As wise as the world, if no wiser—this is to be blest!
18
O river, that comest from far, you have been, you have seen,
Where the willows are weeping for sorrow that once wept for bliss;
You have past the still cove where the daffodil buds overlean
Your waters in April as bent their own shadows to kiss;
Where the willows are weeping for sorrow that once wept for bliss;
You have past the still cove where the daffodil buds overlean
Your waters in April as bent their own shadows to kiss;
And you know how the shade of your greenery thickens in May,
When the trill of the nightingale shakes down the sweet summer snows
From the boughs of the thorn, and is answered from over the way
By a voice from the heart of the wood where the hyacinth blows.
When the trill of the nightingale shakes down the sweet summer snows
From the boughs of the thorn, and is answered from over the way
By a voice from the heart of the wood where the hyacinth blows.
O bring me, wild waters, the scent of the now buried flowers—
The violets in hiding, whose secret we crushed out and gave
To the murmuring breezes, and with it bring back the dead hours—
The hours that in dying have made of the wide world on grave.
The violets in hiding, whose secret we crushed out and gave
To the murmuring breezes, and with it bring back the dead hours—
The hours that in dying have made of the wide world on grave.
19
Comes a time when the pulse of the season has risen still higher—
When the crown of the year is of May, but not yet of the rose,
When the trees through a mist of soft leaves seem to gladly respire
The air that is balm, and to drink of the sunshine that glows;
When the crown of the year is of May, but not yet of the rose,
When the trees through a mist of soft leaves seem to gladly respire
The air that is balm, and to drink of the sunshine that glows;
When the lilac still blushes, the lilies lie folded beneath,
When the broom and laburnum are tossing or shedding their gold,
And the hand of the bountiful Giver o'er meadow and heath,
In gorse and in kingcup is scattering riches untold;
When the broom and laburnum are tossing or shedding their gold,
And the hand of the bountiful Giver o'er meadow and heath,
In gorse and in kingcup is scattering riches untold;
When the moist living green of the nethermost boughs of the elm
Rises up as a verdurous breath, and a robe seems to cling
Round the boles of the birch, that show fair through the tremulous film,
As the silvery limbs of a Dryad in vesture of spring
Rises up as a verdurous breath, and a robe seems to cling
Round the boles of the birch, that show fair through the tremulous film,
As the silvery limbs of a Dryad in vesture of spring
20
When the larch in its youth, and the king of the forest discrowned
The garlanded age of the thorn, and the succulent weed
Born in yesterday's shower—all things that have root in the ground
Are alive and abloom in the sun, from the oak to the reed;
The garlanded age of the thorn, and the succulent weed
Born in yesterday's shower—all things that have root in the ground
Are alive and abloom in the sun, from the oak to the reed;
When the heaven being open above us, while fair at our feet
The pride and the joy of the earth spread a carpet of flowers,
I went forth again with my love the glad season to greet,
And we rode in the triumph of Nature which seemed to be ours.
The pride and the joy of the earth spread a carpet of flowers,
I went forth again with my love the glad season to greet,
And we rode in the triumph of Nature which seemed to be ours.
How brightly you beamed on us, river, as if you took part
In the joy that grew vocal beside you as softly we trod,
And the voice of the love flowing forth from the deep of your heart
Was more full than the nightingale's own, O my young river god!
In the joy that grew vocal beside you as softly we trod,
And the voice of the love flowing forth from the deep of your heart
Was more full than the nightingale's own, O my young river god!
21
Yes I see him, I hear him once more, with his presence fulfilled,
His words through the desolate void of my heart seem to ring,
As I, beggared of love and of hope, stand here shaken and thrilled
With the full pulsing life of that high day of affluent spring.
His words through the desolate void of my heart seem to ring,
As I, beggared of love and of hope, stand here shaken and thrilled
With the full pulsing life of that high day of affluent spring.
Fill me full with sweet poison, dear river, that mingled your voice
With the words that he said when he loosened my winter of life
As the rivers are loosened in spring, when he bade me rejoice—
His Queen of the May whom the autumn should crown as his wife.
With the words that he said when he loosened my winter of life
As the rivers are loosened in spring, when he bade me rejoice—
His Queen of the May whom the autumn should crown as his wife.
Yes, I hear him, he murmurs, ‘My fair one,’ he calls me his queen—
Of the May, of all Mays, and all months all the blessed year through;
But he calls me his wife that shall be,—and the word is so keen
That it cuts all my life, the before and thereafter, in two.
Of the May, of all Mays, and all months all the blessed year through;
But he calls me his wife that shall be,—and the word is so keen
That it cuts all my life, the before and thereafter, in two.
22
I, poor with the poorest, with none for my sorrow to care,
More beggared of love's daily need than of silver or gold,
I, who only of life had hard work and hard words for my share,
With no home but the grave, where the heart of my mother lay cold.
More beggared of love's daily need than of silver or gold,
I, who only of life had hard work and hard words for my share,
With no home but the grave, where the heart of my mother lay cold.
I, dropped from the hands of the dead on the floor of the world,
To be lifted again,—all my wrongs in a moment atoned,—
Lifted high beyond sight of the place whence I once had been hurled,
To be taken and dowered with all things, to own and be owned!
To be lifted again,—all my wrongs in a moment atoned,—
Lifted high beyond sight of the place whence I once had been hurled,
To be taken and dowered with all things, to own and be owned!
O river, they know not—how should they?—the rich and the proud,
Who sit down every day to the feast and make light of the best,
What some hungry, some starving one chosen from out of the crowd
Can bring to the banquet of life of sharp longing and zest.
Who sit down every day to the feast and make light of the best,
What some hungry, some starving one chosen from out of the crowd
Can bring to the banquet of life of sharp longing and zest.
23
It was under the greenwood, our seat the flowery sod,
There my secret flowed forth and was mixed with the violets' breath,
There I gave him his name, there first called him my young river god,
There we vowed to be true to each other in life and in death.
There my secret flowed forth and was mixed with the violets' breath,
There I gave him his name, there first called him my young river god,
There we vowed to be true to each other in life and in death.
Then no tree of the forest, no herb of the garden or field,
Not the thrush or the nightingale's self even—poet of birds—
Was so eager to rush into bloom or melodiously yield
All the rapture repressed, as our love was to flower in words.
Not the thrush or the nightingale's self even—poet of birds—
Was so eager to rush into bloom or melodiously yield
All the rapture repressed, as our love was to flower in words.
It was May-time, within and without us, above and beneath,
It was May with the lark in the sky and its mate on the ground,
It was May in our hearts, and the wonder had broken its sheath
With all blossoming things, and flowed forth as the waters unbound.
It was May with the lark in the sky and its mate on the ground,
It was May in our hearts, and the wonder had broken its sheath
With all blossoming things, and flowed forth as the waters unbound.
24
But the passionate pause which o'ercame us at whiles as a spell,
That had more than the tenderest words of love's secret to teach;
When he looked in my eyes, and my eyes could not bear it, and fell,
And a touch of the hand held us dumb as despairing of speech.
That had more than the tenderest words of love's secret to teach;
When he looked in my eyes, and my eyes could not bear it, and fell,
And a touch of the hand held us dumb as despairing of speech.
When your lips met my lips, O beloved, and the mystery first,
The meaning of life became clear in a moment of bliss;
There was love at the heart of the world that had once seemed accurst,
And men bore not their burthens in vain if they bore them for this.
The meaning of life became clear in a moment of bliss;
There was love at the heart of the world that had once seemed accurst,
And men bore not their burthens in vain if they bore them for this.
But our kisses were stolen in haste, for the dip of an oar,
Or the sound of a step on the path, of a voice on the green,
Made us start from each other to gaze on the opposite shore,
And to look as if kisses between us could never have been.
Or the sound of a step on the path, of a voice on the green,
Made us start from each other to gaze on the opposite shore,
And to look as if kisses between us could never have been.
25
Yet once for a moment it seemed that the world had been made
For us two and no other—one moment we came to forget
That a presence was blotting the light from the flickering shade,
Wherein dusk, as the lips of the dead, showed the white violet.
For us two and no other—one moment we came to forget
That a presence was blotting the light from the flickering shade,
Wherein dusk, as the lips of the dead, showed the white violet.
'Twas a voice that awakened us rudely and scattered our dream,
The voice and low laugh of a crone that had power to fling
Defiance in face of our youth, and to chill with the gleam
Of her dull wintry eyes all the sap in the veins of the spring.
The voice and low laugh of a crone that had power to fling
Defiance in face of our youth, and to chill with the gleam
Of her dull wintry eyes all the sap in the veins of the spring.
Yes, she stood there and faced us, a creature so haggard and bent,
A ruin that seemed of things sad and unholy the haunt;
As I looked, the bright veil of the universe seemed to be rent,
As I heard, the shrill joy of the lark seemed an arrogant vaunt.
A ruin that seemed of things sad and unholy the haunt;
As I looked, the bright veil of the universe seemed to be rent,
As I heard, the shrill joy of the lark seemed an arrogant vaunt.
26
Not by time had the beldame been withered alone, she was crushed,
As a scroll that is held of too little account for the fire;
Yet those lips may have haply known kisses, that cheek may have blushed
Ere they shrank from the light in the shame of an insult so dire.
As a scroll that is held of too little account for the fire;
Yet those lips may have haply known kisses, that cheek may have blushed
Ere they shrank from the light in the shame of an insult so dire.
Now they muttered but curses, which each to my ear was a cry,
While her cheek was the map of a country where cross-roads of care
Had been ploughed through a highway of tears ere their fountain was dry,
And the pity of all was the ways seemed to lead to nowhere!
While her cheek was the map of a country where cross-roads of care
Had been ploughed through a highway of tears ere their fountain was dry,
And the pity of all was the ways seemed to lead to nowhere!
How the palsied hand clutched at the coin that he gave, how her eyes,
As she fingered the treasure, grew keen with a horrible lust!
Does the dross of the earth which our opulent youth can despise—
Its mere dust grow so dear to a soul on its way to the dust?
As she fingered the treasure, grew keen with a horrible lust!
Does the dross of the earth which our opulent youth can despise—
Its mere dust grow so dear to a soul on its way to the dust?
27
As a dog at the heels of his tyrant, and hailed on a road
He may never return by, still furtively buries his bone,
So she tremblingly felt in her tatters, and darkly bestowed,
Tied her wealth up from knowledge and use in some corner unknown.
He may never return by, still furtively buries his bone,
So she tremblingly felt in her tatters, and darkly bestowed,
Tied her wealth up from knowledge and use in some corner unknown.
Then she chuckled for joy of her cunning and turned on her way,
And we gazed through the fresh willow shoots on the figure forlorn,
Until nothing was left of the sight that had saddened the May
But a rag that was tainting the air from the boughs of the thorn.
And we gazed through the fresh willow shoots on the figure forlorn,
Until nothing was left of the sight that had saddened the May
But a rag that was tainting the air from the boughs of the thorn.
Is love then immortal and not to be quenched with the breath,
Can he strike out the path where the road to all other is dim,
That he bears with decay, and grows bolder in presence of death;
That the jaws of the grave are the gates as of heaven to him?
Can he strike out the path where the road to all other is dim,
That he bears with decay, and grows bolder in presence of death;
That the jaws of the grave are the gates as of heaven to him?
28
I know not, but know he soon lifted his head and made light
Of the terrors of time; that we wandered, dear river, with thee,
And we thought that the stream, which was bearing us on in its might,
Was akin to some vast mid-most ocean, as thou to the sea.
Of the terrors of time; that we wandered, dear river, with thee,
And we thought that the stream, which was bearing us on in its might,
Was akin to some vast mid-most ocean, as thou to the sea.
Now the stream bears me only, my love, for to love you are lost!
Draws me down to some bottomless deep which will suck out my life;
I, in doubting of thee, doubt of all, and my spirit is tost
As a wave that is forming and breaking in impotent strife.
Draws me down to some bottomless deep which will suck out my life;
I, in doubting of thee, doubt of all, and my spirit is tost
As a wave that is forming and breaking in impotent strife.
Lull, dull my sad senses, O river, that break'st on the pier
With false whispers of peace, let me think never-more, let me dream,
O my dream that love reigns over all and my lover is near,
And so turn for a while of the river of fate the cold stream.
With false whispers of peace, let me think never-more, let me dream,
O my dream that love reigns over all and my lover is near,
And so turn for a while of the river of fate the cold stream.
29
Let me dream in my madness some eye, that is other than those
Of the pitiless stars, has an answer to give to my own;
That some heart is awake, some one ear still alive to my woes,
And that love in the breast of a girl lives not wholly alone.
Of the pitiless stars, has an answer to give to my own;
That some heart is awake, some one ear still alive to my woes,
And that love in the breast of a girl lives not wholly alone.
It is June; there comes rest with the rose; the earth's crown has been won;
If the hand of the Giver has taken back ought that he gave,
He has filled up the void with some blossom more dear to the sun;
So we rock all oblivious of doom on the crest of the wave.
If the hand of the Giver has taken back ought that he gave,
He has filled up the void with some blossom more dear to the sun;
So we rock all oblivious of doom on the crest of the wave.
Yes I see him before me, my river-god, see him afloat
Where he found me at first; we are carried along with the tide
To the bowers that await us; his oars do but steady the boat,
As enthroned on my cushions I queen it in indolent pride.
Where he found me at first; we are carried along with the tide
To the bowers that await us; his oars do but steady the boat,
As enthroned on my cushions I queen it in indolent pride.
30
So we float with the stream till the hum of the city grows faint,
And we float and we float till the banks of the river are green,
When we glide, with the swans in our wake, where the hanging woods paint
Cool shades on the smooth-flowing water and temper its sheen.
And we float and we float till the banks of the river are green,
When we glide, with the swans in our wake, where the hanging woods paint
Cool shades on the smooth-flowing water and temper its sheen.
And the king of the troop, with white wings and soft feathers apart,
Overlooking the double of self which he everywhere drew,
Was an image of pride, but more tenderly proud was my heart
When I saw myself fair in those eyes with all heaven in their blue.
Overlooking the double of self which he everywhere drew,
Was an image of pride, but more tenderly proud was my heart
When I saw myself fair in those eyes with all heaven in their blue.
No, none other can look as I looked there; my image was first
In the field of his vision—there bides—nor will ever accord
The place to that pallid new comer—that woman accurst!—
Nay, river, I asked of thee poison—not fire and sword!
In the field of his vision—there bides—nor will ever accord
The place to that pallid new comer—that woman accurst!—
Nay, river, I asked of thee poison—not fire and sword!
31
Soft, whisper me, falsely, befool me again, let me think
You are lapping the bows of the boat as your bosom we cleave;
One more look at my paradise lost ere I finally sink
In the night of my sorrow—O river, one moment's reprieve.
You are lapping the bows of the boat as your bosom we cleave;
One more look at my paradise lost ere I finally sink
In the night of my sorrow—O river, one moment's reprieve.
I tremble, I fail, and I lose of the vision my hold;
Come, clasp me, my love, hold me fast from this horror of night;
Make me warm on your heart, or I die in the darkness and cold;
Sun me through with your smile, ere I fade evermore from the light.
Come, clasp me, my love, hold me fast from this horror of night;
Make me warm on your heart, or I die in the darkness and cold;
Sun me through with your smile, ere I fade evermore from the light.
We are floating again, we are floating, and sundered a space
I can make up the sum of my wealth. Oh, my love, you are fair
In the stately repose of the strength which makes perfect your grace,
With your broad shadowed brows, and the gold of your youth on your hair.
I can make up the sum of my wealth. Oh, my love, you are fair
In the stately repose of the strength which makes perfect your grace,
With your broad shadowed brows, and the gold of your youth on your hair.
32
But how fair and how stately soever, that day as we glide
Up the stream with the swans, between banks that are sweet with the rose,
I seem made for your mate, I am worthy to sit by your side,
I am rich in the beauty that crowns and the grace that bestows,—
Up the stream with the swans, between banks that are sweet with the rose,
I seem made for your mate, I am worthy to sit by your side,
I am rich in the beauty that crowns and the grace that bestows,—
In all gifts of the Gods to the woman whereby she makes blest
The desire of her soul; I had gathered this truth from your eyes,
Which the power of my presence to move you at moments confest
In such flashes electric as trouble the midsummer skies.
The desire of her soul; I had gathered this truth from your eyes,
Which the power of my presence to move you at moments confest
In such flashes electric as trouble the midsummer skies.
When I captured the floating swan-feathers and made you a crown,
And you twined me a garland of roses which, when it was done,
You bound me withal, while you trembled yourself like the down,
And I turned from your gaze as a flower that is slain of the sun.
And you twined me a garland of roses which, when it was done,
You bound me withal, while you trembled yourself like the down,
And I turned from your gaze as a flower that is slain of the sun.
33
When I sat with my joy heavy-hearted, too richly fulfilled
With the folded delight which the days yet to be should disclose,
And it seemed that through all the enfolding a secret distilled
As the deep central sweetness exhales from the breast of the rose.
With the folded delight which the days yet to be should disclose,
And it seemed that through all the enfolding a secret distilled
As the deep central sweetness exhales from the breast of the rose.
So we float and we float all alone, though the river is blithe
With the laughter of children and voices of young men and maids;
And the woods are still vocal, the mower is there with his scythe,
And the scent of the newly-mown hay all the region pervades.
With the laughter of children and voices of young men and maids;
And the woods are still vocal, the mower is there with his scythe,
And the scent of the newly-mown hay all the region pervades.
Might we float with the stream and the swans, might we float evermore
In the flush of the rose-time, the youth and the pride of our state,
We two and no other; not pausing or putting to shore
Till we wearied, or death came to help us, to baffle our fate.
In the flush of the rose-time, the youth and the pride of our state,
We two and no other; not pausing or putting to shore
Till we wearied, or death came to help us, to baffle our fate.
34
Yet our bowers when we landed were welcome; the light filtered soft
Through the green leaves translucent; the speed-well lay cool in the grass;
The talk of the mowers came dulled from the neighbouring croft,
And the steps on the towing-path near seemed discreetly to pass.
Through the green leaves translucent; the speed-well lay cool in the grass;
The talk of the mowers came dulled from the neighbouring croft,
And the steps on the towing-path near seemed discreetly to pass.
And there went as the sound of a hush through the midsummer air,
And a shadow would glance, and the tender boughs let through a bird
That had come in the heat of the noon on his mate unaware,
And the sensitive leaves at the stroke of their hearts would be stirred.
And a shadow would glance, and the tender boughs let through a bird
That had come in the heat of the noon on his mate unaware,
And the sensitive leaves at the stroke of their hearts would be stirred.
Still no peal rang forth heavy and sweet with the wealth of that hour,
When the spirit of Life seemed to consciously hold in his breath,
Lest a sigh should imperil a leaf of the all-perfect flower,
As if fulness of being had brought with it prescience of death.
When the spirit of Life seemed to consciously hold in his breath,
Lest a sigh should imperil a leaf of the all-perfect flower,
As if fulness of being had brought with it prescience of death.
35
If the veiled one, whose presence can make sacramental life's feast,
When its mood is the lightest, had taken me then from your side;
If the heart that was beating too high had but suddenly ceased,
I had lain at your feet as a lily cut off in its pride;
When its mood is the lightest, had taken me then from your side;
If the heart that was beating too high had but suddenly ceased,
I had lain at your feet as a lily cut off in its pride;
I had died all undimmed by a doubt, in the sheen of my youth,
I had dropped and been reaped as a flower in the path of the wheat,
And gone crowned to my grave as a queen in the rose of your truth,
And been mourned there awhile with salt tears which the years would make sweet.
I had dropped and been reaped as a flower in the path of the wheat,
And gone crowned to my grave as a queen in the rose of your truth,
And been mourned there awhile with salt tears which the years would make sweet.
But to die as I die, overthrown, dispossessed and forlorn,
And be charged as I may be, a spectre unwelcome to stand
Betwixt you and that other with whom you to-day were forsworn,
Thus to die, O my love, that once loved me,-and die by your hand
And be charged as I may be, a spectre unwelcome to stand
Betwixt you and that other with whom you to-day were forsworn,
Thus to die, O my love, that once loved me,-and die by your hand
36
Is to perish past hope, and be drawn to some foul, tangled deep,
With life's ends all unended and endless for ever to dwell;
To lie cold amid forms of disorder that hinder from sleep,
Or be hustled by chance through the wastes of some latter-day hell;
With life's ends all unended and endless for ever to dwell;
To lie cold amid forms of disorder that hinder from sleep,
Or be hustled by chance through the wastes of some latter-day hell;
For I died by your hand in that letter; it did not require
Such urgence of proof that the blow was decreed and must fall;
Ten pages—and written so fairly, and written with fire!
Was that well when a word of your lips had sufficed to it all?
Such urgence of proof that the blow was decreed and must fall;
Ten pages—and written so fairly, and written with fire!
Was that well when a word of your lips had sufficed to it all?
I had never contested your will, if your will was to part,
Neither battled nor yielded with tears as a deer brought to bay,
I had laid all my life in your hand, had made over my heart;
It was easy to win me—more easy to cast me away
Neither battled nor yielded with tears as a deer brought to bay,
I had laid all my life in your hand, had made over my heart;
It was easy to win me—more easy to cast me away
37
And to score out a record so fair with a pen dipped in flame,
When a look of your eyes that was strange or the faintest cold breath
Would have daunted the hope you had kindled, extinguished my claim,
Till the want at my heart should have dealt me more merciful death;—
When a look of your eyes that was strange or the faintest cold breath
Would have daunted the hope you had kindled, extinguished my claim,
Till the want at my heart should have dealt me more merciful death;—
That was cruel—but no, it was madness; you could not have known
How those charactered devils of fire would grave on my brain
Through the nights that were endless, the nights when they had me alone—
Those ten pages effacing the vows we had whispered in vain.
How those charactered devils of fire would grave on my brain
Through the nights that were endless, the nights when they had me alone—
Those ten pages effacing the vows we had whispered in vain.
You are brave; had you met me in face, love, the stroke had been fair;
You would never have marred me or left me dismantled and shorn;
If not crowned with your truth, you had spread out the wealth of my hair
For a winding sheet, knotted and woven, to hide me from scorn.
You would never have marred me or left me dismantled and shorn;
If not crowned with your truth, you had spread out the wealth of my hair
For a winding sheet, knotted and woven, to hide me from scorn.
38
Had you put out my life on that day, when its light was at full,
And had set me to float to the sea with the turn of the tide,
I had let it alone as you laid it—my brain had been cool,
With no letters of flame to make light of my woe, or deride.
And had set me to float to the sea with the turn of the tide,
I had let it alone as you laid it—my brain had been cool,
With no letters of flame to make light of my woe, or deride.
Then that month had been spared me which burnt up the flowery June,
When I sat at my task, as if rooted, and drooped and grew white,
As we toiled in the gaslight, which flared in the face of the moon,
For the bread which should keep us still toiling for others' delight.
When I sat at my task, as if rooted, and drooped and grew white,
As we toiled in the gaslight, which flared in the face of the moon,
For the bread which should keep us still toiling for others' delight.
I had sucked not so bare then of sweetness, while there I sat bent,
All the hours of my last day of life, till they too seemed to pale,
As a cup which the bees in their quest and requesting have shent,
Till the best of its nectar grows vapid and threatens to fail.
All the hours of my last day of life, till they too seemed to pale,
As a cup which the bees in their quest and requesting have shent,
Till the best of its nectar grows vapid and threatens to fail.
39
And I then of that terror of silence had likewise been quit—
The silence that fell on my life before death was decreed,
And the stillness had fallen thereafter, where most it is fit:
When the life is gone out of you, peace is the ultimate need.
The silence that fell on my life before death was decreed,
And the stillness had fallen thereafter, where most it is fit:
When the life is gone out of you, peace is the ultimate need.
But you let in upon me those devils, who would not be made
To see that the dead must have rest; and through ages of time
They kept putting foul words in my mouth—yes, they were not afraid—
They dared even to call you a coward, and brand you with crime.
To see that the dead must have rest; and through ages of time
They kept putting foul words in my mouth—yes, they were not afraid—
They dared even to call you a coward, and brand you with crime.
Yet I baffled them! never a lie that they struggled to teach
Found a passage from out of these lips, by an iron will barred—
Ay, forbidden to let in a crumb lest the stream of their speech
Should find issue thereon in despite of my vigilant guard.
Found a passage from out of these lips, by an iron will barred—
Ay, forbidden to let in a crumb lest the stream of their speech
Should find issue thereon in despite of my vigilant guard.
40
We are born to our names, and there are that are sterner than Fate;
We own not so much as are owned of them, body and soul,
Hard creditors, tyrants, nay vampires which nothing can sate
But the best of our blood, which in draining they poison the whole.
We own not so much as are owned of them, body and soul,
Hard creditors, tyrants, nay vampires which nothing can sate
But the best of our blood, which in draining they poison the whole.
Such a vampire had seized on you—you, who were brave to deny
The claim on your life of a name which in sloth had grown old,
Till it came with an army of duties our love to defy,
And you yielded, disarmed love, where only the base had been bold.
The claim on your life of a name which in sloth had grown old,
Till it came with an army of duties our love to defy,
And you yielded, disarmed love, where only the base had been bold.
You were summoned to suffer, to strip your life bare, so you said,
‘Of the hope that was dearest, for one who was only less dear;’
If your part was to live for him, mine was to die in his stead;
In those pages of fire all the path for us both was made clear.
‘Of the hope that was dearest, for one who was only less dear;’
If your part was to live for him, mine was to die in his stead;
In those pages of fire all the path for us both was made clear.
41
Yes, my life for the life of your father, who, sick, would have died
At the fall of his fortunes, if lacking a son who would wed
With the wealth which should build them again, only setting aside
The claim of a girl who could urge it no more, being dead.
At the fall of his fortunes, if lacking a son who would wed
With the wealth which should build them again, only setting aside
The claim of a girl who could urge it no more, being dead.
Well, a life for a life; if, when counting my treasure for loss,
Yielding days that were priceless with love, I had seen but the eyes
Of the Christ who once suffered for men, as was said on the Cross,
And been lifted in heart and in hope to some high paradise,
Yielding days that were priceless with love, I had seen but the eyes
Of the Christ who once suffered for men, as was said on the Cross,
And been lifted in heart and in hope to some high paradise,
I had died not so hard; they in asking my life to redeem
The life of another, had made me partaker with Him;
Now men sharing Christ's sorrow and death have no part in his dream,
And his God is as lost to their love as the veiled Cherubim.
The life of another, had made me partaker with Him;
Now men sharing Christ's sorrow and death have no part in his dream,
And his God is as lost to their love as the veiled Cherubim.
42
Had a king only ruled over spirits, those demons of flame
Who were able to rack and to rend me, to torture, and grieve,
Would have quailed when I fell on my knees, when I called on his name—
But they tremble no longer; the devils have ceased to believe.
Who were able to rack and to rend me, to torture, and grieve,
Would have quailed when I fell on my knees, when I called on his name—
But they tremble no longer; the devils have ceased to believe.
Has anyone tasted my sorrow and learnt to endure,
Bear the curse of a Fate that knows neither design nor desert?
But has anyone, tasting my sorrow, had proof of its cure—
Stood the test of the fiery furnace and come out unhurt?
Bear the curse of a Fate that knows neither design nor desert?
But has anyone, tasting my sorrow, had proof of its cure—
Stood the test of the fiery furnace and come out unhurt?
No, the truest of hearts fare the worst—they are hardest to cheat;
We are victims, not martyrs, we burn, and are calcined to stone;
We grow black in the reek, are made bitter where once we were sweet;
Would my soul remain fair, it must look to the river alone.
We are victims, not martyrs, we burn, and are calcined to stone;
We grow black in the reek, are made bitter where once we were sweet;
Would my soul remain fair, it must look to the river alone.
| Under The Aspens | |