 | Western windows and other poems |  |
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TO A POET: ON HIS MARRIAGE.
[I.]
“The Artist with his Art alone should wed,”They say, the worldly wise, “who runs may read;”
And I would grant it holy truth indeed,
Did Art want men in whom the man was dead—
Pale priesthood. But with fullest life, instead,
She ordains her truer worshippers: her need
Is men who live as well as dream their deed;
She loves to see her lovers sweat for bread.
My friend, I know you not as one who bear,
Dream-like, upon your soul the ideal sphere
And kick the real world beneath your feet:
I see you, brave young Atlas, lift in air
The loving load of manhood, without fear.
Both worlds be one to you, a world complete!
II.
If you should ask me what your life should seem,Built by the great, slow mason, Time, for you,
(My wishes being master-builders, too,)
I'd say a grand cathedral, with the stream
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With heavenliest shapes and sacred historie true
Of truest lives that e'er immortal grew
From low mortality's divinest dream.
Above, uplifted on some chaunt divine,
An angel choir should cluster, dumb in stone;
Below, and rapt in the religious air,
Most saintly brows should with a halo shine:
And, amid marble multitudes alone,
Lo! one sweet woman's face the holiest there!
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