 | Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox |  |
413
POEMS OF HOPE
PAIN'S PROOF
I think man's great capacity for pain
Proves his immortal birthright. I am sure
No merely human mind could bear the strain
Of some tremendous sorrows we endure.
Proves his immortal birthright. I am sure
No merely human mind could bear the strain
Of some tremendous sorrows we endure.
Art's most ingenious breastworks fail at length,
Beat by the mighty billows of the sea;
Only the God-formed shores possess the strength
To stand before their onslaughts, and not flee.
Beat by the mighty billows of the sea;
Only the God-formed shores possess the strength
To stand before their onslaughts, and not flee.
The structure that we build with careful toil,
The tempest lays in ruins in an hour;
While some grand tree that springs forth from the soil
Is bended but not broken by its power.
The tempest lays in ruins in an hour;
While some grand tree that springs forth from the soil
Is bended but not broken by its power.
Unless our souls had root in soil divine
We could not bear earth's overwhelming strife.
The fiercest pain that racks this heart of mine,
Convinces me of everlasting life.
We could not bear earth's overwhelming strife.
The fiercest pain that racks this heart of mine,
Convinces me of everlasting life.
414
THE MASTER HAND
It is something too strange to understand,
How all the chords on the instrument,
Whether sorrowful, blithe, or grand,
Under the touch of your master hand
Were into one melody blent.
Major, minor, everything—all—
Came at your magic fingers' call.
How all the chords on the instrument,
Whether sorrowful, blithe, or grand,
Under the touch of your master hand
Were into one melody blent.
Major, minor, everything—all—
Came at your magic fingers' call.
Why! famed musicians had turned in despair
Again and again from those self-same keys;
They mayhap brought forth a simple air,
But a discord always crept in somewhere,
In their fondest efforts to please;
Or a jarring, jangling, meaningless strain
Angered the silence to noisy pain.
Again and again from those self-same keys;
They mayhap brought forth a simple air,
But a discord always crept in somewhere,
In their fondest efforts to please;
Or a jarring, jangling, meaningless strain
Angered the silence to noisy pain.
“Out of tune,” they would frown and say!
Or “a loosened key” or “a broken string”;
But sure and certain they were alway,
That no man living on earth could play
Measures more perfect, or bring
Sweeter sounds or a truer air
Out of that curious instrument there.
Or “a loosened key” or “a broken string”;
But sure and certain they were alway,
That no man living on earth could play
Measures more perfect, or bring
Sweeter sounds or a truer air
Out of that curious instrument there.
And then you came. You swept the scale
With a mighty master's wonderful art.
You made the minor keys sob and wail,
While the low notes rang like a bell in the gale.
And every chord in my heart,
From the deep bass tones to the shrill ones above,
Joined into that glorious harmony—Love.
With a mighty master's wonderful art.
You made the minor keys sob and wail,
415
And every chord in my heart,
From the deep bass tones to the shrill ones above,
Joined into that glorious harmony—Love.
And now, though I live for a thousand years,
On no new chord can a new hand fall.
The chords of sorrow, of pain, of tears,
The chord of raptures and hopes and fears,
I say you have struck them all;
I say all the meaning put into each strain
By the Great Composer, you have made plain.
On no new chord can a new hand fall.
The chords of sorrow, of pain, of tears,
The chord of raptures and hopes and fears,
I say you have struck them all;
I say all the meaning put into each strain
By the Great Composer, you have made plain.
THE LAW
Life is a Shylock; always it demands
The fullest usurer's interest for each pleasure.
Gifts are not freely scattered by its hands:
We make returns for every borrowed treasure.
The fullest usurer's interest for each pleasure.
Gifts are not freely scattered by its hands:
We make returns for every borrowed treasure.
Each talent, each achievement, and each gain
Necessitates some penalty to pay.
Delight imposes lassitude and pain,
As certainly as darkness follows day.
Necessitates some penalty to pay.
Delight imposes lassitude and pain,
As certainly as darkness follows day.
All you bestow on causes or on men,
Of love or hate, of malice or devotion,
Somehow, sometime, shall be returned again—
There is no wasted toil, no lost emotion.
Of love or hate, of malice or devotion,
Somehow, sometime, shall be returned again—
There is no wasted toil, no lost emotion.
416
The motto of the world is give and take.
It gives you favours—out of sheer goodwill,
But unless speedy recompense you make,
You'll find yourself presented with its bill.
It gives you favours—out of sheer goodwill,
But unless speedy recompense you make,
You'll find yourself presented with its bill.
When rapture comes to thrill the heart of you,
Take it with tempered gratitude. Remember,
Some later time the interest will fall due,
No year brings June that does not bring December.
Take it with tempered gratitude. Remember,
Some later time the interest will fall due,
No year brings June that does not bring December.
RECOMPENSE
Straight through my heart this fact to-day,
By Truth's own hand is driven:
God never takes one thing away,
But something else is given.
By Truth's own hand is driven:
God never takes one thing away,
But something else is given.
I did not know in earlier years,
This law of love and kindness;
I only mourned through bitter tears
My loss, in sorrow's blindness.
This law of love and kindness;
I only mourned through bitter tears
My loss, in sorrow's blindness.
But, ever following each regret
O'er some departed treasure,
My sad repining heart was met
With unexpected pleasure.
O'er some departed treasure,
My sad repining heart was met
With unexpected pleasure.
I thought it only happened so;
But Time this truth has taught me—
No least thing from my life can go,
But something else is brought me.
But Time this truth has taught me—
No least thing from my life can go,
But something else is brought me.
417
It is the Law, complete, sublime;
And now with Faith unshaken,
In patience I but bide my time.
When any joy is taken.
And now with Faith unshaken,
In patience I but bide my time.
When any joy is taken.
No matter if the crushing blow
May for the moment down me,
Still, behind it waits Love, I know,
With some new gift to crown me.
May for the moment down me,
Still, behind it waits Love, I know,
With some new gift to crown me.
AN OLD COMRADE
All suddenly between me and the light,
That brightly shone, and warm,
Robed in the pall-like garments of the night,
There rose a shadowy form.
That brightly shone, and warm,
Robed in the pall-like garments of the night,
There rose a shadowy form.
“Stand back,” I said; “you quite obscure the sun;
What do you want with me?”
“Dost thou not know, then?” quoth the mystic one;
“Look on my face and see!”
What do you want with me?”
“Dost thou not know, then?” quoth the mystic one;
“Look on my face and see!”
I looked, and, lo! it was my old despair,
Robed in a new disguise;
In blacker garments than it used to wear,
But with the same sad eyes.
Robed in a new disguise;
In blacker garments than it used to wear,
But with the same sad eyes.
So ghostly were the memories it awoke,
I shrank in fear away.
“Nay, be more kind,” 'twas thus the dark shape spoke,
“For I have come to stay.
I shrank in fear away.
“Nay, be more kind,” 'twas thus the dark shape spoke,
“For I have come to stay.
418
“So long thy feet have trod on sunny heights,
Such joys thy heart has known,
Perchance thou hast forgotten those long nights,
When we two watched alone.
Such joys thy heart has known,
Perchance thou hast forgotten those long nights,
When we two watched alone.
“Though sweet and dear the Pleasures thou hast met,
And comely to thine eye,
Has one of them, in all that bright throng yet,
Been half so true as I?
And comely to thine eye,
Has one of them, in all that bright throng yet,
Been half so true as I?
“And that last rapture which ensnared thee so
With pleasure twin to pain,
It was the swiftest of them all to go—
But I—I will remain.
With pleasure twin to pain,
It was the swiftest of them all to go—
But I—I will remain.
“Again we two will live a thousand years,
In desperate nights of grief,
That shall refuse the bitter balm of tears,
For thy bruised heart's relief.
In desperate nights of grief,
That shall refuse the bitter balm of tears,
For thy bruised heart's relief.
“Again we two will watch the hopeless dawn
Creep up a lonely sky—
Again we'll urge the drear day to be gone,
Yet dread to see it die.
Creep up a lonely sky—
Again we'll urge the drear day to be gone,
Yet dread to see it die.
“Nay, shrink not from me, for I am thy friend,
One whom the Master sent;
And I shall help thee, ere we reach the end,
To find a great content.
One whom the Master sent;
And I shall help thee, ere we reach the end,
To find a great content.
419
“And I will give thee courage to attain,
The heights supremely fair,
Wherein thou'lt cry, ‘How blessèd was my pain!
How God sent my despair!’”
The heights supremely fair,
Wherein thou'lt cry, ‘How blessèd was my pain!
How God sent my despair!’”
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW
She was my dream's fulfilment and my joy,
This lovely woman whom you call your wife,
You sported at your play, an idle boy,
When I first felt the stirring of her life
Within my startled being. I was thrilled
With such intensity of love, it filled
The very universe! But words are vain—
No man can comprehend that wild, sweet pain.
This lovely woman whom you call your wife,
You sported at your play, an idle boy,
When I first felt the stirring of her life
Within my startled being. I was thrilled
With such intensity of love, it filled
The very universe! But words are vain—
No man can comprehend that wild, sweet pain.
You smiled in childhood's slumber while I felt
The agonies of labour; and the nights
I, weeping, o'er the little sufferer knelt,
You, wandering on through dreamland's fair delights,
Flung out your lengthening limbs and slept and grew;
While I, awake, saved this dear wife for you.
The agonies of labour; and the nights
I, weeping, o'er the little sufferer knelt,
You, wandering on through dreamland's fair delights,
Flung out your lengthening limbs and slept and grew;
While I, awake, saved this dear wife for you.
She was my heart's loved idol and my pride.
I taught her all those graces which you praise,
I dreamed of coming years, when at my side
She would lend lustre to my fading days,
Should cling to me (as she to you clings now),
The young fruit hanging to the withered bough.
But lo! the blossom was so fair a sight,
You plucked it from me—for your own delight.
I taught her all those graces which you praise,
I dreamed of coming years, when at my side
She would lend lustre to my fading days,
Should cling to me (as she to you clings now),
The young fruit hanging to the withered bough.
420
You plucked it from me—for your own delight.
Well, you are worthy of her—oh, thank God—
And yet I think you do not realise
How burning were the sands o'er which I trod,
To bear and rear this woman you so prize.
It was no easy thing to see her go—
Even into the arms of the one she worshipped so.
And yet I think you do not realise
How burning were the sands o'er which I trod,
To bear and rear this woman you so prize.
It was no easy thing to see her go—
Even into the arms of the one she worshipped so.
How strong, how vast, how awful seems the power
Of this new love which fills a maiden's heart,
For one who never bore a single hour
Of pain for her; which tears her life apart
From all its moorings, and controls her more
Than all the ties the years have held before;
Which crowns a stranger with a kingly grace—
And gives the one who bore her—second place.
Of this new love which fills a maiden's heart,
For one who never bore a single hour
Of pain for her; which tears her life apart
From all its moorings, and controls her more
Than all the ties the years have held before;
Which crowns a stranger with a kingly grace—
And gives the one who bore her—second place.
She loves me still! and yet, were Death to say,
“Choose now between them!” you would be her choice.
God meant it to be so—it is His way.
But can you wonder if, while I rejoice
In her content, this thought hurts like a knife—
“No longer necessary to her life!”
“Choose now between them!” you would be her choice.
God meant it to be so—it is His way.
But can you wonder if, while I rejoice
In her content, this thought hurts like a knife—
“No longer necessary to her life!”
My pleasure in her joy is bitter sweet.
Your very goodness sometimes hurts my heart,
Because, for her, life's drama seems complete
Without the mother's oft-repeated part.
Be patient with me! She was mine so long
Who now is yours. One must indeed be strong,
To meet the loss without the least regret.
And so, forgive me, if my eyes are wet.
Your very goodness sometimes hurts my heart,
421
Without the mother's oft-repeated part.
Be patient with me! She was mine so long
Who now is yours. One must indeed be strong,
To meet the loss without the least regret.
And so, forgive me, if my eyes are wet.
THE OLD STAGE QUEEN
Back in the box by the curtains shaded,
She sits alone by the house unseen;
Her eye is dim, her cheek is faded,
She who was once the people's queen.
She sits alone by the house unseen;
Her eye is dim, her cheek is faded,
She who was once the people's queen.
The curtain rolls up, and she sees before her
A vision of beauty and youth and grace.
Ah! no wonder all hearts adore her,
Silver-throated and fair of face.
A vision of beauty and youth and grace.
Ah! no wonder all hearts adore her,
Silver-throated and fair of face.
Out of her box she leans and listens;
Oh, is it with pleasure or with despair
That her thin cheek pales and her dim eye glistens,
While that fresh young voice sings the grand old air?
Oh, is it with pleasure or with despair
That her thin cheek pales and her dim eye glistens,
While that fresh young voice sings the grand old air?
She is back again in the Past's bright splendour—
When life seemed worth living, and love a truth,
Ere Time had told her she must surrender
Her double dower of fame and youth.
When life seemed worth living, and love a truth,
Ere Time had told her she must surrender
Her double dower of fame and youth.
422
It is she herself who stands there singing
To that sea of faces that shines and stirs;
And the cheers and cheers that go up ringing
And rousing the echoes—are hers—all hers.
To that sea of faces that shines and stirs;
And the cheers and cheers that go up ringing
And rousing the echoes—are hers—all hers.
Just for one moment the sweet delusion
Quickens her pulses and blurs her sight,
And wakes within her that wild confusion
Of joy that is anguish and fierce delight.
Quickens her pulses and blurs her sight,
And wakes within her that wild confusion
Of joy that is anguish and fierce delight.
Then the curtain goes down and the lights are gleaming
Brightly o'er circle and box and stall.
She starts like a sleeper who wakes from dreaming—
Her past lies under a funeral pall.
Brightly o'er circle and box and stall.
She starts like a sleeper who wakes from dreaming—
Her past lies under a funeral pall.
Her day is dead and her star descended,
Never to rise or shine again;
Her reign is over—her Queenship ended—
A new name is sounded and sung by men.
Never to rise or shine again;
Her reign is over—her Queenship ended—
A new name is sounded and sung by men.
All the glitter and glow and splendour,
All the glory of that lost day,
With the friends that seemed true, and the love that seemed tender,
Why, what is it all but a dead bouquet?
All the glory of that lost day,
With the friends that seemed true, and the love that seemed tender,
Why, what is it all but a dead bouquet?
She rises to go. Has the night turned colder?
The new Queen answers to call and shout;
And the old Queen looks back over her shoulder,
Then all unnoticed she passes out.
The new Queen answers to call and shout;
And the old Queen looks back over her shoulder,
Then all unnoticed she passes out.
423
FAITH
I will not doubt, though all my ships at sea
Come drifting home with broken masts and sails;
I shall believe the Hand which never fails,
From seeming evil worketh good for me;
And though I weep because those sails are battered,
Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered,
“I trust in thee.”
Come drifting home with broken masts and sails;
I shall believe the Hand which never fails,
From seeming evil worketh good for me;
And though I weep because those sails are battered,
Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered,
“I trust in thee.”
I will not doubt, though all my prayers return
Unanswered from the still, white Realm above;
I shall believe it is an all-wise Love
Which has refused those things for which I yearn;
And though at times I cannot keep from grieving,
Yet the pure ardour of my fixed believing
Undimmed shall burn.
Unanswered from the still, white Realm above;
I shall believe it is an all-wise Love
Which has refused those things for which I yearn;
And though at times I cannot keep from grieving,
Yet the pure ardour of my fixed believing
Undimmed shall burn.
I will not doubt, though sorrows fall like rain,
And troubles swarm like bees about a hive;
I shall believe the heights for which I strive
Are only reached by anguish and by pain;
And though I groan and tremble with my crosses,
I yet shall see, through my severest losses,
The greater gain,
And troubles swarm like bees about a hive;
I shall believe the heights for which I strive
Are only reached by anguish and by pain;
And though I groan and tremble with my crosses,
I yet shall see, through my severest losses,
The greater gain,
I will not doubt; well anchored in the faith,
Like some staunch ship, my soul braves every gale,
So strong its courage that it will not fail
To breast the mighty unknown sea of Death.
Oh, may I cry when body parts with spirit,
“I do not doubt,” so listening worlds may hear it,
With my last breath.
Like some staunch ship, my soul braves every gale,
So strong its courage that it will not fail
424
Oh, may I cry when body parts with spirit,
“I do not doubt,” so listening worlds may hear it,
With my last breath.
THE TRUE KNIGHT
We sigh above historic pages,
Brave with the deeds of courtly men,
And wish those peers of middle ages
In our dull day could live again.
And yet no knight or troubadour began
In chivalry with the American.
Brave with the deeds of courtly men,
And wish those peers of middle ages
In our dull day could live again.
And yet no knight or troubadour began
In chivalry with the American.
He does not frequent joust or tourney
And flaunt his lady's colours there;
But in the tedium of a journey,
He shows that deferential care—
That thoughtful kindness to the sex at large,
Which makes each woman feel herself his charge.
And flaunt his lady's colours there;
But in the tedium of a journey,
He shows that deferential care—
That thoughtful kindness to the sex at large,
Which makes each woman feel herself his charge.
He does not challenge foes to duel,
To win his lady's cast-off glove,
But proves in ways less rash and cruel,
The truth and fervour of his love.
Not by bold deeds, but by his reverent mien,
He pays his public tribute to his Queen.
To win his lady's cast-off glove,
But proves in ways less rash and cruel,
The truth and fervour of his love.
Not by bold deeds, but by his reverent mien,
He pays his public tribute to his Queen.
425
He may not shine with courtly graces,
But yet, his kind, respectful air
To woman, whatsoe'er her place is,
It might be well if kings could share.
So, for the chivalric true gentleman,
Give me, I say, our own American.
But yet, his kind, respectful air
To woman, whatsoe'er her place is,
It might be well if kings could share.
So, for the chivalric true gentleman,
Give me, I say, our own American.
THIMBLE ISLANDS
(Off Long Island Sound)
Between the shore and the distant sky-lands,
Where a ship's dim shape seems etched on space,
There lies this cluster of lovely islands,
Like laughing mermaids grouped in grace.
Where a ship's dim shape seems etched on space,
There lies this cluster of lovely islands,
Like laughing mermaids grouped in grace.
I look out over the waves and wonder,
Are they not sirens who dwell in the sea?
When the tide runs high they dip down under
Like mirthful bathers who sport in glee.
Are they not sirens who dwell in the sea?
When the tide runs high they dip down under
Like mirthful bathers who sport in glee.
When the tide runs low they lift their shoulders
Above the billows and gaily spread
Their soft green garments along the boulders
Of grim grey granite that form their bed.
Above the billows and gaily spread
Their soft green garments along the boulders
Of grim grey granite that form their bed.
Close by the group, in sheltered places,
Many a ship at anchor lies,
And drinks the charm of their smiling faces,
As lover's drink smiles from maiden's eyes.
Many a ship at anchor lies,
And drinks the charm of their smiling faces,
As lover's drink smiles from maiden's eyes.
426
But true to the harsh and stern old ocean,
As maids in a harem are true to one,
They give him all of their heart's devotion,
Though wooed for ever by moon and sun.
As maids in a harem are true to one,
They give him all of their heart's devotion,
Though wooed for ever by moon and sun.
A ship sails on that has bravely waded
Through foaming billows to sue in vain;
A whip-poor-will flies that has serenaded
And sung unanswered his plaintive strain.
Through foaming billows to sue in vain;
A whip-poor-will flies that has serenaded
And sung unanswered his plaintive strain.
In the sea's great arms I see them lying,
Bright and beaming and fond and fair,
While the jealous July day is dying
In a crimson fury of mad despair.
Bright and beaming and fond and fair,
While the jealous July day is dying
In a crimson fury of mad despair.
The desolate moon drifts slowly over,
And covers its face with the lace of a cloud,
While the sea, like a glad triumphant lover,
Clasps close his islands and laughs aloud.
And covers its face with the lace of a cloud,
While the sea, like a glad triumphant lover,
Clasps close his islands and laughs aloud.
THE SOUTH
A queen of indolence and idle grace,Robed in the vestments of a costly gown,
She turns the languor of her lovely face
Upon progression with a lazy frown.
Her throne is built upon a marshy down;
Malarial mosses wreathe her like old lace;
427
She sits indifferent to the world's swift race.
Across the seas there stalks an ogre grim:
Too languid she for even fear's alarms,
While frightened nations rally in defence,
She lifts her smiling Creole eyes to him,
And reaching out her shapely unwashed arms,
She clasps her rightful lover—Pestilence.
MY GRAVE
If, when I die, I must be buried, letNo cemetery engulf me—no lone grot,
Where the great palpitating world comes not,
Save when, with heart bowed down and eyelids wet,
It pays its last sad melancholy debt
To some out-journeying pilgrim. May my lot
Be rather to lie in some much-used spot,
Where human life, with all its noise and fret,
Throbs on about me. Let the roll of wheels,
With all earth's sounds of pleasure, commerce, love,
And rush of hurrying feet surge o'er my head.
Even in my grave I shall be one who feels
Close kinship with the pulsing world above;
And too deep silence would distress me, dead.
428
A SAILOR'S WIFE
(Her Memory)
Sun in my lattice, and sun on the sea
(Oh, but the sun is fair),
And a sky of blue and a sea of green,
And a ship with a white, white sail between,
And a light wind blowing free—
And back from the stern, and forth from the land,
The last farewell of a waving hand.
(Oh, but the sun is fair),
And a sky of blue and a sea of green,
And a ship with a white, white sail between,
And a light wind blowing free—
And back from the stern, and forth from the land,
The last farewell of a waving hand.
Mist on the window and mist on the sea
(Oh, but the mist is gray),
And the weird, tall shape of a spectral mast
Gleams out of the fog like a ghost of my past
And the old hope stirs in me—
The old, old hope that warred with doubt,
While the years with the tides surged in and out.
(Oh, but the mist is gray),
And the weird, tall shape of a spectral mast
Gleams out of the fog like a ghost of my past
And the old hope stirs in me—
The old, old hope that warred with doubt,
While the years with the tides surged in and out.
Rain on my window and rain on the sea
(Oh, but the rain is sad),
And only the dreams of a vanished barque
And a vanished youth shine through the dark,
And torture the night and me.
But somewhere, I think, near some fair strand,
That lost ship lies with its waving hand.
(Oh, but the rain is sad),
And only the dreams of a vanished barque
And a vanished youth shine through the dark,
And torture the night and me.
But somewhere, I think, near some fair strand,
That lost ship lies with its waving hand.
429
THE DISAPPOINTED
There are songs enough for the hero
Who dwells on the heights of fame;
I sing for the disappointed—
For those who missed their aim.
Who dwells on the heights of fame;
I sing for the disappointed—
For those who missed their aim.
I sing with a tearful cadence
For one who stands in the dark,
And knows that his last, best arrow
Has bounded back from the mark.
For one who stands in the dark,
And knows that his last, best arrow
Has bounded back from the mark.
I sing for the breathless runner,
The eager, anxious soul,
Who falls with his strength exhausted,
Almost in sight of the goal;
The eager, anxious soul,
Who falls with his strength exhausted,
Almost in sight of the goal;
For the hearts that break in silence
With a sorrow all unknown,
For those who need companions,
Yet walk their ways alone.
With a sorrow all unknown,
For those who need companions,
Yet walk their ways alone.
There are songs enough for the lovers
Who share love's tender pain,
I sing for the one whose passion
Is given all in vain.
Who share love's tender pain,
I sing for the one whose passion
Is given all in vain.
430
For those whose spirit comrades
Have missed them on the way
I sing with a heart o'erflowing,
This minor strain to-day.
Have missed them on the way
I sing with a heart o'erflowing,
This minor strain to-day.
And I know the Solar system
Must somewhere keep in space
A prize for that spent runner
Who barely lost the race.
Must somewhere keep in space
A prize for that spent runner
Who barely lost the race.
For the plan would be imperfect
Unless it held some sphere
That paid for the toil and talent
And love that are wasted here.
Unless it held some sphere
That paid for the toil and talent
And love that are wasted here.
THE BIRTH OF THE OPAL
The Sunbeam loved the Moonbeam,
And followed her low and high,
But the Moonbeam fled and hid her head,
She was so shy—so shy.
And followed her low and high,
But the Moonbeam fled and hid her head,
She was so shy—so shy.
The Sunbeam wooed with passion;
Ah, he was a lover bold!
And his heart was afire with mad desire
For the Moonbeam pale and cold.
Ah, he was a lover bold!
And his heart was afire with mad desire
For the Moonbeam pale and cold.
She fled like a dream before him,
Her hair was a shining sheen,
And oh, that Fate would annihilate
The space that lay between!
Her hair was a shining sheen,
And oh, that Fate would annihilate
The space that lay between!
431
Just as the day lay panting
In the arms of the twilight dim,
The Sunbeam caught the one he sought
And drew her close to him.
In the arms of the twilight dim,
The Sunbeam caught the one he sought
And drew her close to him.
But out of his warm arms, startled
And stirred by Love's first shock,
She sprang afraid, like a trembling maid,
And hid in the niche of a rock.
And stirred by Love's first shock,
She sprang afraid, like a trembling maid,
And hid in the niche of a rock.
And the Sunbeam followed and found her,
And led her to Love's own feast;
And they were wed on that rocky bed,
And the dying Day was their priest.
And led her to Love's own feast;
And they were wed on that rocky bed,
And the dying Day was their priest.
And lo! the beautiful Opal—
That rare and wondrous gem—
Where the moon and sun blend into one,
Is the child that was born to them.
That rare and wondrous gem—
Where the moon and sun blend into one,
Is the child that was born to them.
TWO LOVES
The woman he loved, while he dreamed of her,
Danced on till the stars grew dim,
But alone with her heart, from the world apart,
Sat the woman who loved him.
Danced on till the stars grew dim,
But alone with her heart, from the world apart,
Sat the woman who loved him.
The woman he worshipped only smiled,
When he poured out his passionate love.
But the other somewhere, kissed her treasure most rare,
A book he had touched with his glove.
When he poured out his passionate love.
But the other somewhere, kissed her treasure most rare,
A book he had touched with his glove.
432
The woman he loved betrayed his trust,
And he wore the scars for life;
And he cared not, nor knew, that the other was true
But no man called her his wife.
And he wore the scars for life;
And he cared not, nor knew, that the other was true
But no man called her his wife.
The woman he loved trod festal halls,
While they sang his funeral hymn,
But the sad bells tolled, ere the year was old,
For the woman who lovèd him.
While they sang his funeral hymn,
But the sad bells tolled, ere the year was old,
For the woman who lovèd him.
ABSENCE
After you went away, our lovely room
Seemed like a casket whence the soul had fled.
I stood in awful and appalling gloom,
The world was empty and all joy seemed dead.
Seemed like a casket whence the soul had fled.
I stood in awful and appalling gloom,
The world was empty and all joy seemed dead.
I think I felt as one might feel who knew
That Death had left him on the earth alone.
For “all the world” to my fond heart means you;
And there is nothing left when you are gone.
That Death had left him on the earth alone.
For “all the world” to my fond heart means you;
And there is nothing left when you are gone.
Each way I turned my sad, tear-blinded gaze,
I found fresh torture to augment my grief;
Some new reminder of the perfect days
We passed together, beautiful as brief.
I found fresh torture to augment my grief;
Some new reminder of the perfect days
We passed together, beautiful as brief.
There lay a pleasing book that we had read—
And there your latest gift; and everywhere
Some tender act, some loving word you said,
Seemed to take form and mock at my despair.
And there your latest gift; and everywhere
Some tender act, some loving word you said,
Seemed to take form and mock at my despair.
433
All happiness that human heart may know
I find with you; and when you go away,
Those hours become a winding-sheet of woe,
And make a ghastly phantom of To-day.
I find with you; and when you go away,
Those hours become a winding-sheet of woe,
And make a ghastly phantom of To-day.
FISHING
Maybe this is fun, sitting in the sun,
With a book and a parasol, as my Angler wishes,
While he dips his line in the ocean brine,
Under the impression that his bait will catch the fishes.
With a book and a parasol, as my Angler wishes,
While he dips his line in the ocean brine,
Under the impression that his bait will catch the fishes.
'Tis romantic, yes, but I must confess
Thoughts of shady rooms at home somehow seem more inviting.
But I dare not move—“Quiet, there, my love!”
Says my Angler, “for I think a monster fish is biting.”
Thoughts of shady rooms at home somehow seem more inviting.
But I dare not move—“Quiet, there, my love!”
Says my Angler, “for I think a monster fish is biting.”
Oh, of course it's bliss, but how hot it is!
And the rock I'm sitting on grows harder every minute;
Still my fisher waits, trying various baits,
But the basket at his side I see has nothing in it.
And the rock I'm sitting on grows harder every minute;
Still my fisher waits, trying various baits,
But the basket at his side I see has nothing in it.
Oh, it's just the way to pass a July day,
Arcadian and sentimental, dreamy, idle, charming,
But how fierce the sunlight falls! and the way that insect crawls
Along my neck and down my back is really quite alarming.
Arcadian and sentimental, dreamy, idle, charming,
But how fierce the sunlight falls! and the way that insect crawls
Along my neck and down my back is really quite alarming.
434
“Any luck?” I gently ask of the Angler at his task,
“There's something pulling at my line,” he says; “I've almost caught it.”
But when with blistered face, we our homeward steps retrace,
We take the little basket just as empty as we brought it.
“There's something pulling at my line,” he says; “I've almost caught it.”
But when with blistered face, we our homeward steps retrace,
We take the little basket just as empty as we brought it.
NEW YEAR
I saw on the hills of the morning,
The form of the New Year arise,
He stood like a statue adorning
The world with a background of skies.
There were courage and grace in his beautiful face,
And hope in his glorious eyes.
The form of the New Year arise,
He stood like a statue adorning
The world with a background of skies.
There were courage and grace in his beautiful face,
And hope in his glorious eyes.
“I come from Time's boundless forever,”
He said, with a voice like a song,
“I come as a friend to endeavour,
I come as a foe to all wrong.
To the sad and afraid I bring promise of aid,
And the weak I will gird and make strong.
He said, with a voice like a song,
“I come as a friend to endeavour,
I come as a foe to all wrong.
To the sad and afraid I bring promise of aid,
And the weak I will gird and make strong.
“I bring you more blessings than terrors,
I bring you more sunlight than gloom,
I tear out your page of old errors,
And hide them away in Time's tomb.
I reach you clean hands, and lead on to the lands
Where the lilies of peace are in bloom.”
I bring you more sunlight than gloom,
I tear out your page of old errors,
And hide them away in Time's tomb.
I reach you clean hands, and lead on to the lands
Where the lilies of peace are in bloom.”
435
THE DIFFERENCE
Passion is what the sun feels for the earth
When harvests ripen into golden birth.
When harvests ripen into golden birth.
Lust is the hot simoon whose burning breath
Sweeps o'er the fields with devastating death.
Sweeps o'er the fields with devastating death.
Passion is what God felt, the Holy One,
Who loved the world so, He begot His Son.
Who loved the world so, He begot His Son.
Lust is the impulse Satan peering in
To Eden had, when he taught Eve to sin.
To Eden had, when he taught Eve to sin.
One sprang from light, and one from darkness grew!
How dim the vision that confounds the two!
How dim the vision that confounds the two!
THE SEA-BREEZE AND THE SCARF
Hung on the casement that looked o'er the main,
Fluttered a scarf of blue;
And a gay, bold breeze paused to flatter and tease
This trifle of delicate hue.
“You are lovelier far than the proud skies are,”
He said with a voice that sighed;
“You are fairer to me than the beautiful sea—
Oh, why do you stay here and hide?
Fluttered a scarf of blue;
And a gay, bold breeze paused to flatter and tease
This trifle of delicate hue.
“You are lovelier far than the proud skies are,”
He said with a voice that sighed;
“You are fairer to me than the beautiful sea—
Oh, why do you stay here and hide?
436
“You are wasting your life in that dull, dark room”
(And he fondled her silken folds),
“O'er the casement lean but a little, my Queen,
And see what the great world holds.
How the wonderful blue of your matchless hue
Cheapens both sea and sky—
You are far too bright to be hidden from sight,
Come, fly with me, darling—fly.”
(And he fondled her silken folds),
“O'er the casement lean but a little, my Queen,
And see what the great world holds.
How the wonderful blue of your matchless hue
Cheapens both sea and sky—
You are far too bright to be hidden from sight,
Come, fly with me, darling—fly.”
Tender his whisper and sweet his caress,
Flattered and pleased was she,
The arms of her lover lifted her over
The casement out to sea.
Close to his breast she was fondly pressed,
Kissed once by his laughing mouth;
Then dropped to her grave in the cruel wave,
While the wind went whistling south.
Flattered and pleased was she,
The arms of her lover lifted her over
The casement out to sea.
Close to his breast she was fondly pressed,
Kissed once by his laughing mouth;
Then dropped to her grave in the cruel wave,
While the wind went whistling south.
HER REVERIE
We were both of us—aye, we were both of us there,
In the self-same house at the play together,
To her it was summer, with bees in the air—
To me it was winter weather.
In the self-same house at the play together,
To her it was summer, with bees in the air—
To me it was winter weather.
We never had met and yet we two
Had played in desperate woman fashion,
A game of life, with a prize in view,
And oh! I played with passion.
Had played in desperate woman fashion,
A game of life, with a prize in view,
And oh! I played with passion.
437
Twas a game that meant heaven and sweet home-life,
For the one who went forth with a crown upon her;
For the one who lost—it meant lone strife,
Sorrow, despair, and dishonour.
For the one who went forth with a crown upon her;
For the one who lost—it meant lone strife,
Sorrow, despair, and dishonour.
Well, she won (yet it was not she—
I am told that she was a praying woman:
No earthly power could outwit me—
But hers was superhuman).
I am told that she was a praying woman:
No earthly power could outwit me—
But hers was superhuman).
She has the prize, and I have—well,
Memories sweeter than joys of heaven;
Memories fierce as the fires of hell—
Those unto me were given.
Memories sweeter than joys of heaven;
Memories fierce as the fires of hell—
Those unto me were given.
And we sat in the self-same house last night;
And he was there. It is no error
When I say (and it gave me keen delight)
That his eye met mine with terror.
And he was there. It is no error
When I say (and it gave me keen delight)
That his eye met mine with terror.
When the love we have won at any cost
Has grown familiar as some old story,
Naught seems so dear as the love we lost,
All bright with the Past's weird glory.
Has grown familiar as some old story,
Naught seems so dear as the love we lost,
All bright with the Past's weird glory.
And tho' he is fond of that woman, I know—
I saw in his eyes the brief confession—
That the love seemed sweeter which he let go
Than that in his possession.
I saw in his eyes the brief confession—
That the love seemed sweeter which he let go
Than that in his possession.
438
So I am content. It would be the same
Were I the wife love-crowned and petted,
And she the woman who lost the game—
Then she were the one regretted.
Were I the wife love-crowned and petted,
And she the woman who lost the game—
Then she were the one regretted.
And loving him so, I would rather be
The one he let go—and then vaguely desired,
Than, winning him, once in his face to see
The look of a love grown tired.
The one he let go—and then vaguely desired,
Than, winning him, once in his face to see
The look of a love grown tired.
QUERIES
Well, how has it been with you since we met
That last strange time of a hundred times?
When we met to swear that we could forget—
I your caresses, and you my rhymes—
The rhyme of my lays that rang like a bell,
And the rhyme of my heart with yours, as well?
That last strange time of a hundred times?
When we met to swear that we could forget—
I your caresses, and you my rhymes—
The rhyme of my lays that rang like a bell,
And the rhyme of my heart with yours, as well?
How has it been since we drank that last kiss,
That was bitter with lees of the wasted wine;
When the tattered remains of a threadbare bliss,
And the worn-out shreds of a joy divine,
With a year's best dreams and hopes, were cast
Into the ragbag of the Past?
That was bitter with lees of the wasted wine;
When the tattered remains of a threadbare bliss,
And the worn-out shreds of a joy divine,
With a year's best dreams and hopes, were cast
Into the ragbag of the Past?
439
Since Time, the rag-buyer, hurried away
With a chuckle of glee at the bargain made,
Did you discover, like me, one day,
That hid in the folds of those garments frayed
With priceless jewels and diadems—
The soul's best treasures, the heart's best gems?
With a chuckle of glee at the bargain made,
Did you discover, like me, one day,
That hid in the folds of those garments frayed
With priceless jewels and diadems—
The soul's best treasures, the heart's best gems?
Have you, too, found that you could not supply
The place of those jewels so rare and chaste?
Do all that you borrow, or beg, or buy,
Prove to be nothing but skilful paste?
Have you found pleasure, as I find art,
Not all sufficient to fill your heart?
The place of those jewels so rare and chaste?
Do all that you borrow, or beg, or buy,
Prove to be nothing but skilful paste?
Have you found pleasure, as I find art,
Not all sufficient to fill your heart?
Do you sometimes sigh for that tattered shreds
Of the old delight that we cast away,
And find no worth in the silken threads
Of newer fabrics we wear to-day?
Have you thought the bitter of that last kiss
Better than sweets of a later bliss?
Of the old delight that we cast away,
And find no worth in the silken threads
Of newer fabrics we wear to-day?
Have you thought the bitter of that last kiss
Better than sweets of a later bliss?
What idle queries!—or yes or no—
Whatever your answer, I understand
That there is no pathway by which we can go
Back to the dead past's wonderland;
And the gems he purchased from me and you,
There is no rebuying, from Time the Jew.
Whatever your answer, I understand
That there is no pathway by which we can go
Back to the dead past's wonderland;
And the gems he purchased from me and you,
There is no rebuying, from Time the Jew.
440
SLEEP AND DEATH
When Sleep drops down beside my love and me,
Although she wears the countenance of a friend,
A jealous foe we prove her in the end.
In separate barques far out on dreamland's sea,
She lures our wedded souls. Wild winds blow free,
And drift us wide apart by tides that tend
Tow'rd unknown worlds. Not once our strange ways blend
Through the long night, while Sleep looks on in glee.
Although she wears the countenance of a friend,
A jealous foe we prove her in the end.
In separate barques far out on dreamland's sea,
She lures our wedded souls. Wild winds blow free,
And drift us wide apart by tides that tend
Tow'rd unknown worlds. Not once our strange ways blend
Through the long night, while Sleep looks on in glee.
O Death! be kinder than thy sister seems,
When at thy call we journey forth some day,
Through that mysterious and unatlased strait,
To lands more distant than the lands of dreams;
Close, close together let our spirits stay,
Or else, with one swift stroke, annihilate!
When at thy call we journey forth some day,
Through that mysterious and unatlased strait,
To lands more distant than the lands of dreams;
Close, close together let our spirits stay,
Or else, with one swift stroke, annihilate!
GUILO
Yes, yes! I love thee, Guilo; thee alone.
Why dost thou sigh, and wear that face of sorrow?
The sunshine is to-day's, although it shone
On yesterday, and may shine on to-morrow.
Why dost thou sigh, and wear that face of sorrow?
The sunshine is to-day's, although it shone
On yesterday, and may shine on to-morrow.
441
I love but thee, my Guilo! be content,
The greediest heart can claim but present pleasure.
The future is thy God's. The past is spent.
To-day is thine; clasp close the precious treasure.
The greediest heart can claim but present pleasure.
The future is thy God's. The past is spent.
To-day is thine; clasp close the precious treasure.
See how I love thee, Guilo! Lips and eyes
Could never under thy fond gaze dissemble.
I could not feign these passion-laden sighs,
Deceiving thee, my pulses would not tremble.
Could never under thy fond gaze dissemble.
I could not feign these passion-laden sighs,
Deceiving thee, my pulses would not tremble.
“So I loved Romney.” Hush, thou foolish one—
I should forget him wholly, wouldst thou let me;
Or but remember that his day was done
From that most supreme hour when first I met thee.
I should forget him wholly, wouldst thou let me;
Or but remember that his day was done
From that most supreme hour when first I met thee.
“And Paul?” Well, what of Paul? Paul had blue eyes,
And Romney grey, and thine are darkly tender!
One finds fresh feelings under change of skies—
A new horizon brings a newer splendour.
And Romney grey, and thine are darkly tender!
One finds fresh feelings under change of skies—
A new horizon brings a newer splendour.
As I love thee, I never loved before;
Believe me, Guilo, for I speak most truly.
What though to Romney and to Paul I swore
The selfsame words; my heart now worships newly.
Believe me, Guilo, for I speak most truly.
What though to Romney and to Paul I swore
The selfsame words; my heart now worships newly.
We never feel the same emotion twice:
No two ships ever ploughed the selfsame billow.
The waters change, with every fall and rise;
So, Guilo, go contented to thy pillow.
No two ships ever ploughed the selfsame billow.
The waters change, with every fall and rise;
So, Guilo, go contented to thy pillow.
442
ISAURA
Dost thou not tire, Isaura, of this play?
What play? Why, this old play of winning hearts!
Nay, now, lift not thine eyes in that feigned way;
'Tis all in vain—I know thee, and thine arts.
What play? Why, this old play of winning hearts!
Nay, now, lift not thine eyes in that feigned way;
'Tis all in vain—I know thee, and thine arts.
Let us be frank, Isaura. I have made
A study of thee; and while I admire
The practised skill with which thy plans are laid,
I can but wonder if thou dost not tire.
A study of thee; and while I admire
The practised skill with which thy plans are laid,
I can but wonder if thou dost not tire.
Why, I tire even of Hamlet and Macbeth!
When over-long the season runs, I find
Those master-scenes of passion, blood, and death,
After a time, do pall upon my mind.
When over-long the season runs, I find
Those master-scenes of passion, blood, and death,
After a time, do pall upon my mind.
Dost thou not tire of lifting up thine eyes
To read the story thou hast read so oft—
Of ardent glances, and deep quivering sighs,
Of haughty faces suddenly grown soft?
To read the story thou hast read so oft—
Of ardent glances, and deep quivering sighs,
Of haughty faces suddenly grown soft?
Is it not stale, oh, very stale, to thee,
The scene that follows? Hearts are much the same;
The loves of men but vary in degree—
They find no new expressions for the flame.
The scene that follows? Hearts are much the same;
The loves of men but vary in degree—
They find no new expressions for the flame.
443
Thou must know all they utter ere they speak,
As I know Hamlet's part, whoever plays.
Oh, does it not seem sometimes poor and weak?
I think thou must grow weary of their ways.
As I know Hamlet's part, whoever plays.
Oh, does it not seem sometimes poor and weak?
I think thou must grow weary of their ways.
I pity thee, Isaura! I would be
The humblest maiden with her dream untold,
Rather than live a Queen of Hearts, like thee,
And find life's rarest treasures stale and old.
The humblest maiden with her dream untold,
Rather than live a Queen of Hearts, like thee,
And find life's rarest treasures stale and old.
I pity thee; for now, let come what may,
Fame, glory, riches, yet life will lack all.
Wherewith can salt be salted? And what way
Can life be seasoned after love doth pall?
Fame, glory, riches, yet life will lack all.
Wherewith can salt be salted? And what way
Can life be seasoned after love doth pall?
FROM THE GRAVE
When the first sere leaves of the year are falling,
I heard, with a heart that was strangely thrilled,
Out of the grave of a dead Past calling,
A voice I fancied for ever stilled.
All through winter, and spring, and summer,
Silence hung over that grave like a pall;
But, borne on the breath of the last sad comer,
I listened again to the old-time call.
I heard, with a heart that was strangely thrilled,
Out of the grave of a dead Past calling,
A voice I fancied for ever stilled.
All through winter, and spring, and summer,
Silence hung over that grave like a pall;
But, borne on the breath of the last sad comer,
I listened again to the old-time call.
It is only a love of a bygone season,
A senseless folly that mocked at me,
A reckless passion that lacked all reason:
So I killed it, and hid it where none could see.
I smothered it first to stop its crying,
Then stabbed it through with a good sharp blade:
And cold and pallid I saw it lying,
And deep—ah! deep was the grave I made.
A senseless folly that mocked at me,
A reckless passion that lacked all reason:
So I killed it, and hid it where none could see.
444
Then stabbed it through with a good sharp blade:
And cold and pallid I saw it lying,
And deep—ah! deep was the grave I made.
But now I know that there is no killing
A thing like Love, for it laughs at Death.
There is no hushing, there is no stilling
That which is part of your life and breath.
You may bury it deep, and leave behind you
The land, the people that knew your slain;
It will push the sods from its grave, and find you
On wastes of water or desert plain.
A thing like Love, for it laughs at Death.
There is no hushing, there is no stilling
That which is part of your life and breath.
You may bury it deep, and leave behind you
The land, the people that knew your slain;
It will push the sods from its grave, and find you
On wastes of water or desert plain.
You may hear but tongues of a foreign people,
You may list to sounds that are strange and new;
But, clear as a silver bell in a steeple,
That voice from the grave shall call to you.
You may rouse your pride, you may use your reason,
And seem for a space to slay Love so;
But, all in its own good time and season,
It will rise and follow wherever you go.
You shall sit sometimes, when the leaves are falling,
Alone in your heart, as I sit to-day,
And hear that voice from your dead Past calling
Out of the graves that you hid away.
You may list to sounds that are strange and new;
But, clear as a silver bell in a steeple,
That voice from the grave shall call to you.
You may rouse your pride, you may use your reason,
And seem for a space to slay Love so;
But, all in its own good time and season,
It will rise and follow wherever you go.
You shall sit sometimes, when the leaves are falling,
Alone in your heart, as I sit to-day,
And hear that voice from your dead Past calling
Out of the graves that you hid away.
445
PERFECTNESS
All perfect things are saddening in effect.
The autumn wood robed in its scarlet clothes,
The matchless tinting on the royal rose
Whose velvet leaf by no least flaw is flecked,
Love's supreme moment, when the soul unchecked
Soars high as heaven, and its best rapture knows,
These hold a deeper pathos than our woes,
Since they leave nothing better to expect.
The autumn wood robed in its scarlet clothes,
The matchless tinting on the royal rose
Whose velvet leaf by no least flaw is flecked,
Love's supreme moment, when the soul unchecked
Soars high as heaven, and its best rapture knows,
These hold a deeper pathos than our woes,
Since they leave nothing better to expect.
Resistless change, when powerless to improve,
Can only mar. The gold will pale to gray—
No thing remains to-morrow as to-day—
The rose will not seem quite so fair, and love
Must find its measures of delight made less.
Ah, how imperfect is all Perfectness!
Can only mar. The gold will pale to gray—
No thing remains to-morrow as to-day—
The rose will not seem quite so fair, and love
Must find its measures of delight made less.
Ah, how imperfect is all Perfectness!
BLEAK WEATHER
Dear Love, where the red lilies blossomed and grew
The white snows are falling;
And all through the woods where I wandered with you
The loud winds are calling;
And the robin that piped to us tune upon tune,
'Neath the oak you remember,
O'er hilltop and forest has followed the June
And left us December.
The white snows are falling;
And all through the woods where I wandered with you
The loud winds are calling;
And the robin that piped to us tune upon tune,
'Neath the oak you remember,
O'er hilltop and forest has followed the June
And left us December.
446
He has left like a friend who is true in the sun
And false in the shadows;
He has found new delights in the land where he's gone,
Greener woodlands and meadows.
Let him go! what care we? let the snow shroud the lea,
Let it drift on the heather;
We can sing through it all; I have you, you have me,
And we'll laugh at the weather.
And false in the shadows;
He has found new delights in the land where he's gone,
Greener woodlands and meadows.
Let him go! what care we? let the snow shroud the lea,
Let it drift on the heather;
We can sing through it all; I have you, you have me,
And we'll laugh at the weather.
The old year may die and a new year be born
That is bleaker and colder:
It cannot dismay us: we dare it, we scorn,
For our love makes us bolder.
Ah, Robin! sing loud on your far distant lea,
You friend in fair weather!
But here is a song sung that's fuller of glee
By two warm hearts together.
That is bleaker and colder:
It cannot dismay us: we dare it, we scorn,
For our love makes us bolder.
Ah, Robin! sing loud on your far distant lea,
You friend in fair weather!
But here is a song sung that's fuller of glee
By two warm hearts together.
GRACIA
Nay, nay, Antonio! nay, thou shalt not blame her,
My Gracia, who hath so deserted me.
Thou art my friend; but if thou dost defame her
I shall not hesitate to challenge thee.
My Gracia, who hath so deserted me.
Thou art my friend; but if thou dost defame her
I shall not hesitate to challenge thee.
“Curse and forget her?” so I might another
One not so bounteous natured or so fair;
But she, Antonio, she was like no other—
I curse her not, because she was so rare.
One not so bounteous natured or so fair;
But she, Antonio, she was like no other—
I curse her not, because she was so rare.
447
She was made out of laughter and sweet kisses;
Not blood, but sunshine, through her blue veins ran;
Her soul spilled over with its wealth of blisses—
She was too great for loving but a man.
Not blood, but sunshine, through her blue veins ran;
Her soul spilled over with its wealth of blisses—
She was too great for loving but a man.
None but a god could keep so rare a creature—
I blame her not for her inconstancy;
When I recall each radiant smile, and feature,
I wonder she was so long true to me.
I blame her not for her inconstancy;
When I recall each radiant smile, and feature,
I wonder she was so long true to me.
Call her not false or fickle. I, who love her,
Do hold her not unlike the royal sun,
That, all unmated, roams the wide world over
And lights all worlds, but lingers not with one.
Do hold her not unlike the royal sun,
That, all unmated, roams the wide world over
And lights all worlds, but lingers not with one.
If she were less a goddess, more a woman,
And so had dallied for a time with me,
And then had left me, I, who am but human,
Would slay her, and her newer love, may-be.
And so had dallied for a time with me,
And then had left me, I, who am but human,
Would slay her, and her newer love, may-be.
But since she seeks Apollo, or another
Of those lost gods (and seeks him all in vain)
And has loved me as well as any other
Of her men-loves, why, I do not complain.
Of those lost gods (and seeks him all in vain)
And has loved me as well as any other
Of her men-loves, why, I do not complain.
448
THE FAREWELL OF CLARIMONDE
(SUGGESTED BY THE “CLARIMONDE” OF THEOPHILE GAUTIER)
Adieu, Romauld! But thou canst not forget me,
Although no more I haunt thy dreams at night,
Thy hungering heart for ever must regret me,
And starve for those lost moments of delight.
Although no more I haunt thy dreams at night,
Thy hungering heart for ever must regret me,
And starve for those lost moments of delight.
Naught shall avail thy priestly rites and duties—
Nor fears of Hell, nor hopes of Heaven beyond:
Before the Cross shall rise my fair form's beauties—
The lips, the limbs, the eyes of Clarimonde.
Nor fears of Hell, nor hopes of Heaven beyond:
Before the Cross shall rise my fair form's beauties—
The lips, the limbs, the eyes of Clarimonde.
Like gall the wine sipped from the sacred chalice,
Shall taste to one who knew my red mouth's bliss:
When Youth and Beauty dwelt in Love's own palace
And life flowed on in one eternal kiss.
Shall taste to one who knew my red mouth's bliss:
When Youth and Beauty dwelt in Love's own palace
And life flowed on in one eternal kiss.
Through what strange ways I come, dear heart, to reach thee,
From viewless lands, by paths no man e'er trod!
I braved all fears, all dangers dared, to teach thee
A love more mighty than thy love of God.
From viewless lands, by paths no man e'er trod!
I braved all fears, all dangers dared, to teach thee
A love more mighty than thy love of God.
Think not in all His Kingdom to discover
Such joys, Romauld, as ours, when fierce yet fond
I clasped thee—kissed thee—crowned thee my one lover:
Thou canst not find another Clarimonde.
Such joys, Romauld, as ours, when fierce yet fond
I clasped thee—kissed thee—crowned thee my one lover:
Thou canst not find another Clarimonde.
449
I knew all arts of love: he who possessed me,
Possessed all women, and could never tire;
A new life dawned for him who once caressed me
Satiety itself I set on fire.
Possessed all women, and could never tire;
A new life dawned for him who once caressed me
Satiety itself I set on fire.
Inconstancy I chained: men died to win me;
Kings cast by crowns for one hour on my breast,
And all the passionate tide of love within me
I gave to thee, Romauld. Wert thou not blest?
Kings cast by crowns for one hour on my breast,
And all the passionate tide of love within me
I gave to thee, Romauld. Wert thou not blest?
Yet, for the love of God, thy hand hath riven
Our welded souls. But not in prayer well conned,
Not in thy dearly-purchased peace of Heaven,
Canst thou forget those hours with Clarimonde.
Our welded souls. But not in prayer well conned,
Not in thy dearly-purchased peace of Heaven,
Canst thou forget those hours with Clarimonde.
IF I SHOULD DIE
RONDEAU
If I should die, how kind you all would grow.
In that strange hour I would not have one foe.
There are no words too beautiful to say
Of one who goes forevermore away
Across that ebbing tide which has no flow.
In that strange hour I would not have one foe.
There are no words too beautiful to say
Of one who goes forevermore away
Across that ebbing tide which has no flow.
With what new lustre my good deeds would glow!
If faults were mine, no one would call them so,
Or speak of me in aught but praise that day,
If I should die.
If faults were mine, no one would call them so,
Or speak of me in aught but praise that day,
If I should die.
450
Ah, friends! before my listening ear lies low.
While I can hear and understand, bestow
That gentle treatment and fond love, I pray,
The lustre of whose late though radiant way
Would gild my grave with mocking light, I know,
If I should die.
While I can hear and understand, bestow
That gentle treatment and fond love, I pray,
The lustre of whose late though radiant way
Would gild my grave with mocking light, I know,
If I should die.
MISALLIANCE
I am troubled to-night with a curious pain;
It is not of the flesh, it is not of the brain,
Nor yet of a heart that is breaking:
But down still deeper, and out of sight—
In the place where the soul and the body unite—
There lies the seat of the aching.
It is not of the flesh, it is not of the brain,
Nor yet of a heart that is breaking:
But down still deeper, and out of sight—
In the place where the soul and the body unite—
There lies the seat of the aching.
They have been lovers, in days gone by;
But the soul is fickle, and longs to fly
From the fettering misalliance;
And she tears at the bonds which are binding her so,
And pleads with the body to let her go,
But he will not yield compliance.
But the soul is fickle, and longs to fly
From the fettering misalliance;
And she tears at the bonds which are binding her so,
And pleads with the body to let her go,
But he will not yield compliance.
For the body loves, as he loved in the past
When he wedded the soul; and he holds her fast,
And swears that he will not loose her;
That he will keep her and hide her away
For ever and ever and for a day
From the arms of Death, the seducer.
When he wedded the soul; and he holds her fast,
And swears that he will not loose her;
That he will keep her and hide her away
For ever and ever and for a day
From the arms of Death, the seducer.
451
Ah! this is the strife that is wearying me—
The strife 'twixt a soul that would be free
And a body that will not let her.
And I say to my soul, “Be calm, and wait:
For I tell ye truly that soon or late
Ye surely shall drop each fetter.”
The strife 'twixt a soul that would be free
And a body that will not let her.
And I say to my soul, “Be calm, and wait:
For I tell ye truly that soon or late
Ye surely shall drop each fetter.”
And I say to the body, “Be kind, I pray;
For the soul is not of thy mortal clay,
But is formed in spirit fashion.”
And still through the hours of the solemn night
I can hear my sad soul's plea for flight,
And my body's reply of passion.
For the soul is not of thy mortal clay,
But is formed in spirit fashion.”
And still through the hours of the solemn night
I can hear my sad soul's plea for flight,
And my body's reply of passion.
RED CARNATIONS
One time in Arcadie's fair bowers
There met a bright immortal band,
To choose their emblems from the flowers
That made an Eden of that land.
There met a bright immortal band,
To choose their emblems from the flowers
That made an Eden of that land.
Sweet Constancy, with eyes of hope,
Strayed down the garden path alone
And gathered sprays of heliotrope,
To place in clusters at her zone.
Strayed down the garden path alone
And gathered sprays of heliotrope,
To place in clusters at her zone.
True Friendship plucked the ivy green,
Forever fresh, forever fair.
Inconstancy with flippant mien
The fading primrose chose to wear.
Forever fresh, forever fair.
Inconstancy with flippant mien
The fading primrose chose to wear.
452
One moment Love the rose paused by;
But Beauty picked it for her hair.
Love paced the garden with a sigh—
He found no fitting emblem there.
But Beauty picked it for her hair.
Love paced the garden with a sigh—
He found no fitting emblem there.
Then suddenly he saw a flame;
A conflagration turned to bloom.
It even put the rose to shame,
Both in its beauty and perfume.
A conflagration turned to bloom.
It even put the rose to shame,
Both in its beauty and perfume.
He watched it, and it did not fade:
He plucked it, and it brighter grew
In cold or heat, all undismayed,
It kept its fragrance and its hue.
He plucked it, and it brighter grew
In cold or heat, all undismayed,
It kept its fragrance and its hue.
“Here deathless love and passion sleep,”
He cried, “embodied in this flower.
This is the emblem I will keep.”
Love wore carnations from that hour.
He cried, “embodied in this flower.
This is the emblem I will keep.”
Love wore carnations from that hour.
THE LOST GARDEN
There was a fair green garden sloping
From the south-east side of the mountain-ledge;
And the earliest tint of the dawn came groping
Down through its paths, from the day's dim edge.
The bluest skies and the reddest roses
Arched and varied its velvet sod;
And the glad birds sang, as the soul supposes
The angels sing on the hills of God.
From the south-east side of the mountain-ledge;
And the earliest tint of the dawn came groping
Down through its paths, from the day's dim edge.
The bluest skies and the reddest roses
Arched and varied its velvet sod;
And the glad birds sang, as the soul supposes
The angels sing on the hills of God.
453
I wandered there when my veins seemed bursting
With life's rare rapture, and keen delight;
And yet in my heart was a constant thirsting
For something over the mountain-height.
I wanted to stand in the blaze of glory
That turned to crimson the peaks of snow,
And the winds from the west all breathed a story
Of realms and regions I longed to know.
With life's rare rapture, and keen delight;
And yet in my heart was a constant thirsting
For something over the mountain-height.
I wanted to stand in the blaze of glory
That turned to crimson the peaks of snow,
And the winds from the west all breathed a story
Of realms and regions I longed to know.
I saw on the garden's south side growing
The brightest blossoms that breathe of June;
I saw in the east how the sun was glowing,
And the gold air shook with a wild bird's tune;
I heard the drip of a silver fountain,
And the pulse of a young laugh throbbed with glee;
But still I looked out over the mountain
Where unnamed wonders awaited me.
The brightest blossoms that breathe of June;
I saw in the east how the sun was glowing,
And the gold air shook with a wild bird's tune;
I heard the drip of a silver fountain,
And the pulse of a young laugh throbbed with glee;
But still I looked out over the mountain
Where unnamed wonders awaited me.
I came at last to the western gateway
That led to the path I longed to climb;
But a shadow fell on my spirit straightway,
For close at my side stood grey-beard Time.
I paused, with feet that were fain to linger
Hard by that garden's golden gate;
But Time spoke, pointing with one stern finger;
“Pass on,” he said, “for the day grows late.”
That led to the path I longed to climb;
But a shadow fell on my spirit straightway,
For close at my side stood grey-beard Time.
I paused, with feet that were fain to linger
Hard by that garden's golden gate;
But Time spoke, pointing with one stern finger;
“Pass on,” he said, “for the day grows late.”
And now on the chill grey cliffs I wander;
The heights recede which I thought to find,
And the light seems dim on the mountain yonder,
When I think of the garden I left behind.
Should I stand at last on its summit's splendour,
I know full well it would not repay
For the fair lost tints of the dawn so tender,
That crept up over the edge o' day.
The heights recede which I thought to find,
And the light seems dim on the mountain yonder,
When I think of the garden I left behind.
454
I know full well it would not repay
For the fair lost tints of the dawn so tender,
That crept up over the edge o' day.
I would go back, but the ways are winding,
If ways there are to that land, in sooth;
For what man succeeds in ever finding
A path to the garden of his lost youth?
But I think sometimes, when the June stars glisten,
That a rose-scent drifts from far away;
And I know, when I lean from the cliffs and listen
That a young laugh breaks on the air like spray.
If ways there are to that land, in sooth;
For what man succeeds in ever finding
A path to the garden of his lost youth?
But I think sometimes, when the June stars glisten,
That a rose-scent drifts from far away;
And I know, when I lean from the cliffs and listen
That a young laugh breaks on the air like spray.
DROUGHT
Why do we pity those who weep? The painThat finds a ready outlet in the flow
Of salt and bitter tears is blessèd woe,
And does not need our sympathies. The rain
But fits the shorn field for new yield of grain;
While the red brazen skies, the sun's fierce glow,
The dry, hot winds that from the tropics blow,
Do parch and wither the unsheltered plain.
The anguish that through long, remorseless years
Looks out upon the world with no relief,
Of sudden tempests or slow dripping tears—
The still, unuttered, silent, wordless grief
That evermore doth ache, and ache, and ache—
This is the sorrow wherewith hearts do break.
455
THE SADDEST HOUR
The saddest hour of anguish and of loss
Is not that season of supreme despair
When we can find no least light anywhere
To gild the dread, black shadow of the Cross.
Not in that luxury of sorrow when
We sup on salt of tears, and drink the gall
Of memories of days beyond recall—
Of lost delights that cannot come again.
Is not that season of supreme despair
When we can find no least light anywhere
To gild the dread, black shadow of the Cross.
Not in that luxury of sorrow when
We sup on salt of tears, and drink the gall
Of memories of days beyond recall—
Of lost delights that cannot come again.
But when, with eyes that are no longer wet,
We look out on the great, wide world of men,
And, smiling, lean toward a bright to-morrow,
Then backward shrink, with sudden keen regret,
To find that we are learning to forget:
Ah! then we face the saddest hour of sorrow.
We look out on the great, wide world of men,
And, smiling, lean toward a bright to-morrow,
Then backward shrink, with sudden keen regret,
To find that we are learning to forget:
Ah! then we face the saddest hour of sorrow.
MY HERITAGE
I into life so full of love was sent,
That all the shadows which fall on the way
Of every human being, could not stay,
But fled before the light my spirit lent.
That all the shadows which fall on the way
Of every human being, could not stay,
But fled before the light my spirit lent.
I saw the world through gold and crimson dyes:
Men sighed, and said, “Those rosy hues will fade
As you pass on into the glare and shade!”
Still beautiful the way seems to mine eyes.
Men sighed, and said, “Those rosy hues will fade
As you pass on into the glare and shade!”
Still beautiful the way seems to mine eyes.
456
They said, “You are too jubilant and glad;
The world is full of sorrow and of wrong.
For soon your lips shall breathe forth sighs—not song!”
The day wears on, and yet I am not sad.
The world is full of sorrow and of wrong.
For soon your lips shall breathe forth sighs—not song!”
The day wears on, and yet I am not sad.
They said, “You love too largely, and you must
Through wound on wound, grow bitter to your kind.”
They were false prophets; day by day I find
More cause for love, and less cause for distrust.
Through wound on wound, grow bitter to your kind.”
They were false prophets; day by day I find
More cause for love, and less cause for distrust.
They said, “Too free you give your soul's rare wine;
The world will quaff, but it will not repay.”
Yet into the emptied flagons, day by day,
True hearts pour back a nectar as divine.
The world will quaff, but it will not repay.”
Yet into the emptied flagons, day by day,
True hearts pour back a nectar as divine.
Thy heritage! Is it not love's estate?
Look to it, then, and keep its soil well tilled.
I hold that my best wishes are fulfilled
Because I love so much, and cannot hate.
Look to it, then, and keep its soil well tilled.
I hold that my best wishes are fulfilled
Because I love so much, and cannot hate.
RESOLVE
Build on resolve, and not upon regret,
The structure of thy future. Do not grope
Among the shadows of old sins, but let
Thine own soul's light shine on the path of hope
And dissipate the darkness. Moist no tears
Upon the blotted record of lost years,
But turn the leaf, and smile, oh, smile, to see
The fair white pages that remain for thee.
The structure of thy future. Do not grope
Among the shadows of old sins, but let
Thine own soul's light shine on the path of hope
And dissipate the darkness. Moist no tears
Upon the blotted record of lost years,
But turn the leaf, and smile, oh, smile, to see
The fair white pages that remain for thee.
457
Prate not of thy repentance. But believe
The spark divine dwells in thee: let it grow.
That which the upreaching spirit can achieve
The grand and all creative forces know;
They will assist and strengthen as the light
Lifts up the acorn to the oak-tree's height.
Thou hast but to resolve, and lo! God's whole
Great universe shall fortify thy soul.
The spark divine dwells in thee: let it grow.
That which the upreaching spirit can achieve
The grand and all creative forces know;
They will assist and strengthen as the light
Lifts up the acorn to the oak-tree's height.
Thou hast but to resolve, and lo! God's whole
Great universe shall fortify thy soul.
THE TIGER
In the still jungle of the senses lay
A tiger soundly sleeping, till one day
A bold young hunter chanced to come that way.
A tiger soundly sleeping, till one day
A bold young hunter chanced to come that way.
“How calm,” he said, “that splendid creature lies,
I long to rouse him into swift surprise!”
A well aimed arrow, shot from amorous eyes,
I long to rouse him into swift surprise!”
A well aimed arrow, shot from amorous eyes,
And lo! the tiger rouses up and turns,
A coal of fire his glowing eyeball burns,
His mighty frame with savage hunger yearns.
A coal of fire his glowing eyeball burns,
His mighty frame with savage hunger yearns.
He crouches for a spring; his eyes dilate—
Alas! bold hunter, what shall be thy fate?
Thou canst not fly, it is too late, too late.
Alas! bold hunter, what shall be thy fate?
Thou canst not fly, it is too late, too late.
Once having tasted human flesh, ah! then,
Woe, woe unto the whole rash world of men,
The awakened tiger will not sleep again.
Woe, woe unto the whole rash world of men,
The awakened tiger will not sleep again.
458
ONLY A SIMPLE RHYME
Only a simple rhyme of love and sorrow,
Where “blisses” rhymed with “kisses,” “heart,” with “dart.”
Yet, reading it, new strength I seemed to borrow,
To live on bravely, and to do my part.
Where “blisses” rhymed with “kisses,” “heart,” with “dart.”
Yet, reading it, new strength I seemed to borrow,
To live on bravely, and to do my part.
A little rhyme about a heart that's bleeding—
Of lonely hours, and sorrow's unrelief.
I smiled at first; but there came with the reading,
A sense of sweet companionship in grief.
Of lonely hours, and sorrow's unrelief.
I smiled at first; but there came with the reading,
A sense of sweet companionship in grief.
The selfishness of my own woe forsaking,
I thought about the singer of that song.
Some other breast felt this same weary aching,
Another found the summer days too long.
I thought about the singer of that song.
Some other breast felt this same weary aching,
Another found the summer days too long.
The few sad lines, my sorrow so expressing,
I read, and on the singer, all unknown,
I breathed a fervent, though a silent, blessing,
And seemed to clasp his hand within my own.
I read, and on the singer, all unknown,
I breathed a fervent, though a silent, blessing,
And seemed to clasp his hand within my own.
And though fame pass him, and he never know it,
And though he never sings another strain,
He has performed the mission of the poet,
In helping some sad heart to bear its pain.
And though he never sings another strain,
He has performed the mission of the poet,
In helping some sad heart to bear its pain.
459
LET ME LEAN HARD
Let me lean hard upon the Eternal Breast:
In all earth's devious ways, I sought for rest
And found it not. I will be strong, said I,
And lean upon myself. I will not cry
And importune all heaven with my complaint,
But now my strength fails, and I fall, I faint:
Let me lean hard.
In all earth's devious ways, I sought for rest
And found it not. I will be strong, said I,
And lean upon myself. I will not cry
And importune all heaven with my complaint,
But now my strength fails, and I fall, I faint:
Let me lean hard.
Let me lean hard upon the unfailing Arm.
I said I will walk on, I fear no harm,
The spark divine within my soul will show
The upward pathway where my feet should go;
But now the heights to which I most aspire
Are lost in clouds. I stumble and I tire:
Let me lean hard.
I said I will walk on, I fear no harm,
The spark divine within my soul will show
The upward pathway where my feet should go;
But now the heights to which I most aspire
Are lost in clouds. I stumble and I tire:
Let me lean hard.
Let me lean harder yet. That swerveless force
Which speeds the solar systems on their course
Can take, unfelt, the burden of my woe,
Which bears me to the dust and hurts me so.
I thought my strength enough for any fate,
But lo! I sink beneath my sorrow's weight.
Let me lean hard.
Which speeds the solar systems on their course
Can take, unfelt, the burden of my woe,
Which bears me to the dust and hurts me so.
I thought my strength enough for any fate,
But lo! I sink beneath my sorrow's weight.
Let me lean hard.
460
THE YEAR OUTGROWS THE SPRING
The year outgrows the spring it thought so sweet
And clasps the summer with a new delight,
Yet wearied, leaves her languors and her heat
When cool-browed autumn dawns upon his sight.
And clasps the summer with a new delight,
Yet wearied, leaves her languors and her heat
When cool-browed autumn dawns upon his sight.
The tree outgrows the bud's suggestive grace
And feels new pride in blossoms fully blown.
But even this to deeper joy gives place
When bending boughs 'neath blushing burdens groan.
And feels new pride in blossoms fully blown.
But even this to deeper joy gives place
When bending boughs 'neath blushing burdens groan.
Life's rarest moments are derived from change,
The heart outgrows old happiness, old grief,
And suns itself in feelings new and strange.
The most enduring pleasure is but brief.
The heart outgrows old happiness, old grief,
And suns itself in feelings new and strange.
The most enduring pleasure is but brief.
Our tastes, our needs, are never twice the same.
Nothing contents us long, however dear.
The spirit in us, like the grosser frame,
Outgrows the garments which it wore last year.
Nothing contents us long, however dear.
The spirit in us, like the grosser frame,
Outgrows the garments which it wore last year.
Change is the watchword of Progression. When
We tire of well-worn ways, we seek for new.
This restless craving in the souls of men
Spurs them to climb, and seek the mountain view.
We tire of well-worn ways, we seek for new.
This restless craving in the souls of men
Spurs them to climb, and seek the mountain view.
So let who will erect an altar shrine
To meek-browed Constancy, and sing her praise;
Unto enlivening Change I shall build mine,
Who lends new zest, and interest to my days.
To meek-browed Constancy, and sing her praise;
Unto enlivening Change I shall build mine,
Who lends new zest, and interest to my days.
461
AT ELEUSIS
I, at Eleusis, saw the finest sight,When early morning's banners were unfurled.
From high Olympus, gazing on the world,
The ancient gods once saw it with delight.
Sad Demeter had in a single night
Removed her sombre garments! and mine eyes
Beheld a 'broidered mantle in pale dyes
Thrown o'er her throbbing bosom. Sweet and clear
There fell the sound of music on mine ear.
And from the South came Hermes, he whose lyre
One time appeased the great Apollo's ire.
The rescued maid, Persephone, by the hand,
He led to waiting Demeter, and cheer
And light and beauty once more blessed the land.
COURAGE
There is a courage, a majestic thingThat springs forth from the brow of pain, full-grown,
Minerva-like, and dares all dangers known,
And all the threatening future yet may bring;
Crowned with the helmet of great suffering,
Serene with that grand strength by martyrs shown,
When at the stake they die and make no moan,
And even as the flames leap up are heard to sing.
462
It wears its sorrows like a coat of mail;
And Fate, the archer, passes by dismayed,
Knowing his best barbed arrows needs must fail
To pierce a soul so armoured and arrayed
That Death himself might look on it and quail.
THE WHEEL OF THE BREAST
Through rivers of veins on the nameless quest
The tide of my life goes hurriedly sweeping,
Till it reaches that curious wheel o' the breast,
The human heart, which is never at rest.
Faster, faster, it cries, and leaping,
Plunging, dashing, speeding away,
The wheel and the river work night and day.
The tide of my life goes hurriedly sweeping,
Till it reaches that curious wheel o' the breast,
The human heart, which is never at rest.
Faster, faster, it cries, and leaping,
Plunging, dashing, speeding away,
The wheel and the river work night and day.
I know not wherefore, I know not whither
This strange tide rushes with such mad force;
It glides on hither, it slides on thither,
Over and over the selfsame course,
With never an outlet and never a source;
And it lashes itself to the heat of passion
And whirls the heart in mill-wheel fashion.
This strange tide rushes with such mad force;
It glides on hither, it slides on thither,
Over and over the selfsame course,
With never an outlet and never a source;
And it lashes itself to the heat of passion
And whirls the heart in mill-wheel fashion.
I can hear in the hush of the still, still night,
The ceaseless sound of that mighty river;
I can hear it gushing, gurgling, rushing,
With a wild, delirious strange delight,
And a conscious pride in its sense of might,
As it hurries and worries my heart for ever.
The ceaseless sound of that mighty river;
463
With a wild, delirious strange delight,
And a conscious pride in its sense of might,
As it hurries and worries my heart for ever.
And I wonder oft as I lie awake,
And list to the river that seethes and surges
Over the wheel that it chides and urges,—
I wonder oft if that wheel will break
With the mighty pressure it bears, some day,
Or slowly and wearily wear away.
And list to the river that seethes and surges
Over the wheel that it chides and urges,—
I wonder oft if that wheel will break
With the mighty pressure it bears, some day,
Or slowly and wearily wear away.
For little by little the heart is wearing,
Like the wheel of the mill, as the tide goes tearing
And plunging hurriedly through my breast,
In a network of veins on a nameless quest,
From and forth, unto unknown oceans,
Bringing its cargoes of fierce emotions,
With never a pause or an hour for rest.
Like the wheel of the mill, as the tide goes tearing
And plunging hurriedly through my breast,
In a network of veins on a nameless quest,
From and forth, unto unknown oceans,
Bringing its cargoes of fierce emotions,
With never a pause or an hour for rest.
A PICTURE
I strolled last eve across the lonely down,One solitary picture struck my eye,
A distant ploughboy stood against the sky—
How far he seemed, above the noisy town!
464
Laid its bruised cheek, as he moved slowly by,
And, watching him, I asked myself if I
In very truth stood half as near to God.
DAWN
Day's sweetest moments are at dawn;Refreshed by his long sleep, the Light
Kisses the languid lips of Night,
Ere she can rise and hasten on.
All glowing from his dreamless rest
He holds her closely to his breast,
Warm lip to lip and limb to limb,
Until she dies for love of him.
SUNSET
I saw the day lean o'er the world's sharp edge,
And peer into night's chasm, dark and damp.
High in his hand he held a blazing lamp,
Then dropped it, and plunged headlong down the ledge.
And peer into night's chasm, dark and damp.
High in his hand he held a blazing lamp,
Then dropped it, and plunged headlong down the ledge.
With lurid splendour that swift paled to grey,
I saw the dim skies suddenly flush bright.
'Twas but the expiring glory of the light
Flung from the hand of the adventurous day.
I saw the dim skies suddenly flush bright.
'Twas but the expiring glory of the light
Flung from the hand of the adventurous day.
465
A MEETING
Quite carelessly I turned the newsy sheet;
A song I sang, full many a year ago,
Smiled up at me, as in a busy street
One meets an old-time friend he used to know.
A song I sang, full many a year ago,
Smiled up at me, as in a busy street
One meets an old-time friend he used to know.
So full it was, that simple little song,
Of all the hope, the transport, and the truth,
Which to the impetuous morn of life belong,
That, once again, I seemed to grasp my youth.
Of all the hope, the transport, and the truth,
Which to the impetuous morn of life belong,
That, once again, I seemed to grasp my youth.
So full it was of that sweet, fancied pain
We woo and cherish ere we meet with woe.
I felt, as one who hears a plaintive strain
His mother sang him in the long ago.
We woo and cherish ere we meet with woe.
I felt, as one who hears a plaintive strain
His mother sang him in the long ago.
Up from the grave, the years that lay between
That song's birthday and my stern present, came
Like phantom forms, and swept across the scene,
Bearing their broken dreams of love and fame.
That song's birthday and my stern present, came
Like phantom forms, and swept across the scene,
Bearing their broken dreams of love and fame.
Fair hopes and bright ambitions that I knew
In that old time, with their ideal grace,
Shone for a moment, then were lost to view,
Behind the dull clouds of the commonplace.
In that old time, with their ideal grace,
Shone for a moment, then were lost to view,
Behind the dull clouds of the commonplace.
With trembling hands I put the sheet away;
Ah, little song! the sad and bitter truth
Struck like an arrow when we met that day!
My life has missed the promise of its youth.
Ah, little song! the sad and bitter truth
Struck like an arrow when we met that day!
My life has missed the promise of its youth.
466
TWIN-BORN
He who possesses virtue at its best,Or greatness in the true sense of the word,
Has one day started even with that herd
Whose swift feet now speed, but at sin's behest.
It is the same force in the human breast
Which makes men gods or demons. If we gird
Those strong emotions by which we are stirred
With might of will and purpose, heights unguessed
Shall dawn for us; or if we give them sway
We can sink down and consort with the lost.
All virtue is worth just the price it cost.
Black sin is oft white truth, that missed its way.
And wandered off in paths not understood.
Twin-born I hold great evil and great good.
HIDDEN GEMS
We know not what lies in us, till we seek.
Men dive for pearls—they are not found on shore;
The hillsides, most unpromising and bleak,
Do sometimes hide the ore.
Men dive for pearls—they are not found on shore;
The hillsides, most unpromising and bleak,
Do sometimes hide the ore.
Go, dive in the vast ocean of thy mind,
O man! far down below the noisy waves,
Down in the depths and silence thou mayst find
Rare pearls and coral caves.
O man! far down below the noisy waves,
Down in the depths and silence thou mayst find
Rare pearls and coral caves.
467
Sink thou a shaft into a mine of thought;
Be patient, like the seekers after gold,
Under the rocks and rubbish lieth what
May bring thee wealth untold.
Be patient, like the seekers after gold,
Under the rocks and rubbish lieth what
May bring thee wealth untold.
Reflected from the vasty Infinite,
However dulled by earth, each human mind
Holds somewhere gems of beauty and of light
Which, seeking, thou shalt find.
However dulled by earth, each human mind
Holds somewhere gems of beauty and of light
Which, seeking, thou shalt find.
A FABLE
Some cawing Crows, a hooting Owl,
A Hawk, a Canary, an old Marsh Fowl,
One day all met together,
To hold a caucus and settle the fate
Of a certain bird (without a mate),
A bird of another feather.
A Hawk, a Canary, an old Marsh Fowl,
One day all met together,
To hold a caucus and settle the fate
Of a certain bird (without a mate),
A bird of another feather.
“My friends,” said the Owl, with a look most wise,
“The Eagle is soaring too near the skies,
In a way that is quite improper;
Yet the world is praising her, so I'm told,
And I think her actions have grown so bold
That some of us ought to stop her.”
“The Eagle is soaring too near the skies,
In a way that is quite improper;
Yet the world is praising her, so I'm told,
And I think her actions have grown so bold
That some of us ought to stop her.”
“I have heard it said,” quoth Hawk, with a sigh,
“That young lambs died at the glance of her eye,
And I wholly scorn and despise her.
This, and more, I am told they say—
And I think that the only proper way
Is never to recognise her.”
“That young lambs died at the glance of her eye,
And I wholly scorn and despise her.
468
And I think that the only proper way
Is never to recognise her.”
“I am quite convinced,” said Crow, with a caw,
“That the Eagle minds no moral law,
She's a most unruly creature.”
“She's an ugly thing,” piped Canary Bird;
“Some call her handsome—it's so absurd—
She hasn't a decent feature.”
“That the Eagle minds no moral law,
She's a most unruly creature.”
“She's an ugly thing,” piped Canary Bird;
“Some call her handsome—it's so absurd—
She hasn't a decent feature.”
Then the old Marsh Hen went hopping about,
She said she was sure—she hadn't a doubt—
Of the truth of each bird's story;
And she thought it a duty to stop her flight,
To pull her down from her lofty height,
And take the gilt from her glory.
She said she was sure—she hadn't a doubt—
Of the truth of each bird's story;
And she thought it a duty to stop her flight,
To pull her down from her lofty height,
And take the gilt from her glory.
But, lo! from a peak on the mountain grand
That looks out over the smiling land
And over the mighty ocean,
The Eagle is spreading her splendid wings—
She rises, rises, and upward swings,
With a slow, majestic motion.
That looks out over the smiling land
And over the mighty ocean,
The Eagle is spreading her splendid wings—
She rises, rises, and upward swings,
With a slow, majestic motion.
Up in the blue of God's own skies,
With a cry of rapture, away she flies,
Close to the Great Eternal:
She sweeps the world with her piercing sight—
Her soul is filled with the infinite
And the joy of things supernal.
With a cry of rapture, away she flies,
Close to the Great Eternal:
She sweeps the world with her piercing sight—
Her soul is filled with the infinite
And the joy of things supernal.
469
Thus rise forever the chosen of God,
The genius-crowned or the power-shod,
Over the dust-world sailing;
And back, like splinters blown by the winds,
Must fall the missiles of silly minds,
Useless and unavailing.
The genius-crowned or the power-shod,
Over the dust-world sailing;
And back, like splinters blown by the winds,
Must fall the missiles of silly minds,
Useless and unavailing.
| Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox | |