University of Virginia Library


22

THE POET

O artist dreaming thus thy life away,
There is a higher life than thou canst guess.
Art thou a poet? sweet love answers, “nay.”
Was Christ a poet? woman answers, “yes.”
The highest poethood is ever this:
To love as Christ loved, and to save the race.
Not to spend wild years, seeking kiss on kiss,
But to draw forth the soul in woman's face.
To aid the weary, and to lift the low:
To show God's pity in the human sphere:
Besought by sorrow, never to say “no”:
To lend the helpless heart a ready ear:
To honour woman, and, if woman slip,
To stand by ready, with strong outstretched hand,
As God sends starlight to the struggling ship,
Or the staunch life-boat pulling from the land:

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This is true poethood.—Aye, not to love
The rose the less, but to love virtue more:
Not to love earth less in that, far above,
The poet sees the stars that sail or soar.
Hast thou God's vision? art thou part of him?
Can thine eye, steady, mocking at fatigue,
Traverse vast spaces where man's eye grows dim,
Pursuing phantom star-ships, league on league?
Canst thou through throbbing heart and thrilling nerve
Feel God's life tingle? canst thou, looking up,
Discern God's sculpture in the rainbow curve,
Or, glancing downward, in the tulip's cup?
Is woman unto thee past measure more
Than unto fools and grovellers of the race?
God's woman-nature sent us to adore?
One moment's glimpse of the eternal face?
Canst thou, beholding her, behold God's sense
Of form in every curve of neck and limb?
God's deep love, insupportably intense,
In the eyes that follow man and worship him?

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Canst thou see what no common eye can see,
And, penetrating far past space and time,
Be clothed upon with God's eternity—
And, as he made the ebon night sublime
With countless stars, make generations bright
With songs that breathe through ages yet to be
The passionate fragrance of one summer night,
The scent of sea-weed on a mortal sea?
Then, being more than man in thought and frame,
Be more than man in noble act as well;
Be poet in thy deeds, not only in name;
Flash down song's sunshine to the depths of hell.
With all who love and struggle take thy part;
The gift most holy of all gifts is thine:
Pain never a weak soul, hurt no human heart
By one unworthy thought or heartless line.