 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
MY MANUSCRIPT.
The writing is not easy to be read,
So subtly traced, and dim
With mysteries that gather from the dead,
And clouds that sweetly swim;
That shine with woman's tender holy tears,
And look past earthly strife,
Beyond the vain blind yearning of the years,
The wonderment of life;
Its characters are strangely mixed, and spread
Dark in each diverse tone
None may interpret, which my love has read
Alone.
So subtly traced, and dim
With mysteries that gather from the dead,
And clouds that sweetly swim;
109
And look past earthly strife,
Beyond the vain blind yearning of the years,
The wonderment of life;
Its characters are strangely mixed, and spread
Dark in each diverse tone
None may interpret, which my love has read
Alone.
The lines are broad and bold with maiden strength,
And in their shadows bright
With the great purpose hardly won at length,
After the toil and night;
Cut on the calmness of the glorious brow,
By sorrow's chisel keen,
And wrought into one pure and perfect vow,
With awful lights between;
Stamped round the mouth so chaste and cherry-lipt,
In work of suffering done,
Unknown to others, and a manuscript
For one.
And in their shadows bright
With the great purpose hardly won at length,
After the toil and night;
Cut on the calmness of the glorious brow,
By sorrow's chisel keen,
And wrought into one pure and perfect vow,
With awful lights between;
Stamped round the mouth so chaste and cherry-lipt,
In work of suffering done,
Unknown to others, and a manuscript
For one.
But all those letters bear the blotted mark,
That tells of danger trod,
And wild white hands uplighted thro' the dark,
To silence men call God;
And they are blurred with travail long, the sign
Of conflict healéd o'er,
The seal of her, who, tost on surge malign,
Struggles at last to shore;
What they have rescued from the fire they teach,
Not fancy's lying art,
The dread romance of truths, that only reach
The heart.
That tells of danger trod,
And wild white hands uplighted thro' the dark,
To silence men call God;
And they are blurred with travail long, the sign
Of conflict healéd o'er,
The seal of her, who, tost on surge malign,
Struggles at last to shore;
What they have rescued from the fire they teach,
Not fancy's lying art,
The dread romance of truths, that only reach
The heart.
A manuscript that, big with grief and pain,
May not be public still,—
My manuscript for ever must remain,
Through blessing that is ill;
That grandly shows how good it is to live,
Though love in anguish lie,
And when the mocking world turns fugitive,
How beautiful to die;
A prophecy, when lesser joys have flown,
Of supreme bliss to be,
Hid from the gaze of vulgar eyes, but known
To me.
May not be public still,—
My manuscript for ever must remain,
Through blessing that is ill;
That grandly shows how good it is to live,
Though love in anguish lie,
And when the mocking world turns fugitive,
How beautiful to die;
A prophecy, when lesser joys have flown,
Of supreme bliss to be,
Hid from the gaze of vulgar eyes, but known
To me.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |