 | East and west : the discovery of America and other poems |  |
57
MINOR POEMS.
59
PASTORAL.
'Neath the hill, beside the stream
Stands a lowly shepherd's cot.
But contented doth he seem
In his humble lot.
Stands a lowly shepherd's cot.
But contented doth he seem
In his humble lot.
Seldom strays the traveller here.
No one helps him sow and reap.
He, as our Redeemer dear,
Loves to tend the sheep.
No one helps him sow and reap.
He, as our Redeemer dear,
Loves to tend the sheep.
Fragrant is his simple life,
Earthly sin to him unknown;
All his friends the flock and fife,
Otherwise alone.
Earthly sin to him unknown;
All his friends the flock and fife,
Otherwise alone.
Innocent devoted one,
Would my heart could be as thine!
Sweet the crown for service done.
Lord, like his be mine!
Would my heart could be as thine!
Sweet the crown for service done.
Lord, like his be mine!
60
DECEMBER.
The crafty wind
Doth now unbind
The giant of the winter blind.
With cold slow breath
A curse he saith,
And softly wraps the earth with death.
Doth now unbind
The giant of the winter blind.
With cold slow breath
A curse he saith,
And softly wraps the earth with death.
The hills make moan.
The birds are flown.
The leaves on barren graves are strewn.
Or hanging sere
They mock and leer,—
The charnel spirits of the year.
The birds are flown.
The leaves on barren graves are strewn.
Or hanging sere
They mock and leer,—
The charnel spirits of the year.
And thus we die.
Our hopes are high;—
But Time shall turn his wintry sky.
O bliss! O grief!
To be a leaf,
And flutter for a moment brief!
Our hopes are high;—
But Time shall turn his wintry sky.
O bliss! O grief!
To be a leaf,
And flutter for a moment brief!
61
THE HOUR.
Soft the purple night is falling
Over moor and dell.
Whispered prayers of love recalling,
Chants the evening bell.
Over moor and dell.
Whispered prayers of love recalling,
Chants the evening bell.
Cool the hour when dear ones hieing
Seek a well-known spot,
There to one another sighing
Of they know not what.
Seek a well-known spot,
There to one another sighing
Of they know not what.
But the wood-thrush sighs and knows it
Where the glow-worms peep,
And the drowsy west wind blows it
Where the marsh buds sleep.
Where the glow-worms peep,
And the drowsy west wind blows it
Where the marsh buds sleep.
There on tiptoe moonlight listens
To the cooing dove;
There the silent dew-drop glistens
For my waiting love.
To the cooing dove;
There the silent dew-drop glistens
For my waiting love.
62
REQUIEM.
Speak softly and low
Of the dead that are laid 'neath the willows asleep.
They have felt their last pain; they have dealt their last blow,—
Tread softly and weep.
Of the dead that are laid 'neath the willows asleep.
They have felt their last pain; they have dealt their last blow,—
Tread softly and weep.
No murmur or sigh
Comes up from the grave with a thrill or a shiver—
We listen in vain for a moan or a cry
From over the river.
Comes up from the grave with a thrill or a shiver—
We listen in vain for a moan or a cry
From over the river.
But soon we shall tread
The path that they trod; and the mantle of sleep
Shall cover us all as it covers the dead.—
Speak softly and weep!
The path that they trod; and the mantle of sleep
Shall cover us all as it covers the dead.—
Speak softly and weep!
63
THE DRYAD.
I wooed the gentle spirit from a tree,
And asked her, “What art thou that thou shouldst be
So patient in thy green eternity?
And asked her, “What art thou that thou shouldst be
So patient in thy green eternity?
“Why dost thou brood upon the mountain lone,
Where mortal ne'er may hear thy plaintive moan,
Hear thy sweet sigh, and blend it with his own?”
Where mortal ne'er may hear thy plaintive moan,
Hear thy sweet sigh, and blend it with his own?”
She answered like a zephyr soft and low,
“The cause of my estate I do not know.
I live—am happy—God hath willed it so.
“The cause of my estate I do not know.
I live—am happy—God hath willed it so.
“Think not, proud soul, that all is planned for you.
Where men come not bloom flowers of fairest hue,
And Heaven unfolds the same ethereal blue.”
Where men come not bloom flowers of fairest hue,
And Heaven unfolds the same ethereal blue.”
64
ON OPENING AN ALBUM.
Your flowers are dead:—the fair sweet flowers
You gave me in the days gone by.
Not all the cooling summer showers
Could save them. They were born to die.
You gave me in the days gone by.
Not all the cooling summer showers
Could save them. They were born to die.
These roses on their withered stem
Hang crushed and brown that bloomed so red.
How fragrant when you gathered them!
And still their perfume is not fled.
Hang crushed and brown that bloomed so red.
How fragrant when you gathered them!
And still their perfume is not fled.
No:—and the scented heliotrope,
Blue-eyed and pure as maiden's breath,
Dear token of our love and hope,
Lies faintly sweet though wan in death.
Blue-eyed and pure as maiden's breath,
Dear token of our love and hope,
Lies faintly sweet though wan in death.
So like the flowers we droop! Like these
The pink-veined hope of youth decays;
And maytimes from the apple trees
Snow down dead sweets upon the ways.
The pink-veined hope of youth decays;
And maytimes from the apple trees
Snow down dead sweets upon the ways.
Yet lingers in this vale of tears
Some fragrance death may not remove;
Yea, from a spirit crushed with years
One perfume sweet whose name is love.
Some fragrance death may not remove;
Yea, from a spirit crushed with years
One perfume sweet whose name is love.
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So now to you, though far apart,
In song like scented leaf, I pray,
O press these verses to your heart
As you would me if I were they!
In song like scented leaf, I pray,
O press these verses to your heart
As you would me if I were they!
66
THE SOUL QUESTIONS.
The voice of the Present unheeded
Is drowned in a tempest of sighs,
Those sighs that the fancy hath breeded.
The Past is the beam in our eyes.
We look o'er a garden unweeded
For rapture of bloom to arise.
Is drowned in a tempest of sighs,
Those sighs that the fancy hath breeded.
The Past is the beam in our eyes.
We look o'er a garden unweeded
For rapture of bloom to arise.
Alas, for humanity's error,
The self that bewilders the brain,
The pleasure that whirls in the vein,
And brings on the phantoms of terror,
The terrible demons of pain!
The self that bewilders the brain,
The pleasure that whirls in the vein,
And brings on the phantoms of terror,
The terrible demons of pain!
The cities are buried in gloom.
The temple of man is a waste;
A shaft on a desolate waste.
He laughs like a ghost in the tomb
To which he is starred. In his haste
He prays for the curse of his doom
As if it were gold of the graced.
The temple of man is a waste;
A shaft on a desolate waste.
He laughs like a ghost in the tomb
To which he is starred. In his haste
He prays for the curse of his doom
As if it were gold of the graced.
On the beacon of hills is a breath,
But a gasp, of the life-giving air,
As it flees from the rising mist, death,
That blows through the valleys its hair,
The thoughts of its pestilent hair;
And soft to the universe saith,
“Behold me, ye fools, and despair.”
But a gasp, of the life-giving air,
As it flees from the rising mist, death,
67
The thoughts of its pestilent hair;
And soft to the universe saith,
“Behold me, ye fools, and despair.”
O God, if delusion is all,
If fancy and pleasure are cheating
And luring on man to his fall,
If beauty be fickle and fleeting,
If thought be the worm in the sweeting,
If truth be a loosely built wall
Where doubt like an ocean is beating:—
If fancy and pleasure are cheating
And luring on man to his fall,
If beauty be fickle and fleeting,
If thought be the worm in the sweeting,
If truth be a loosely built wall
Where doubt like an ocean is beating:—
O, why didst Thou give us to be?
Not crush the dark seed of creation?
Why suffer each doomed constellation?
Why foam in thy querulous sea;
If all be not blessing from thee,
And crowned with thine utter salvation?
Not crush the dark seed of creation?
Why suffer each doomed constellation?
Why foam in thy querulous sea;
If all be not blessing from thee,
And crowned with thine utter salvation?
68
THE GOLDEN AGE.
This world was not
As it now is seen.
It once was clothed
With a deeper green;
And rarer gems
Than the ice-caves hold
The sea brought up
On the sands of gold.
As it now is seen.
It once was clothed
With a deeper green;
And rarer gems
Than the ice-caves hold
The sea brought up
On the sands of gold.
But rust of ages,
The breath of Time,
The meadows covered
With early rime.
And the wild grass faded,
The gems were gone,
And the wave fell cold
As it thundered on.
The breath of Time,
The meadows covered
With early rime.
And the wild grass faded,
The gems were gone,
And the wave fell cold
As it thundered on.
In bygone ages
The world was fair,
And the moon-god played
With her golden hair;
And the paling stars
With love-white arms
Bent down to welcome
A sister's charms.
The world was fair,
And the moon-god played
With her golden hair;
69
With love-white arms
Bent down to welcome
A sister's charms.
The air lay sweet
With the breath of pines,
The hill-tops glowed
With their wealth of mines.
And sweet, and low,
And rich, and free,
The wild dark music
Stole over the sea.
With the breath of pines,
The hill-tops glowed
With their wealth of mines.
And sweet, and low,
And rich, and free,
The wild dark music
Stole over the sea.
And the sea-waves laughed
At the saffron moon.
And the musk rose smiled
With her soul of June.
And the golden age
Of nature's years
No warning heard
Of her coming tears.
At the saffron moon.
And the musk rose smiled
With her soul of June.
And the golden age
Of nature's years
No warning heard
Of her coming tears.
But the hand of man
Was the sword of death.
A poison lurked
In his savage breath.
And the wealth of years
And the glow of years
Were drowned in a flood
Of swelling tears.
Was the sword of death.
A poison lurked
In his savage breath.
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And the glow of years
Were drowned in a flood
Of swelling tears.
The world was fair
In the days of yore;—
But that golden age
Shall come no more.
The sun may shine,
And wild flowers bloom;—
But the goal of all
Is the open tomb;—
In the days of yore;—
But that golden age
Shall come no more.
The sun may shine,
And wild flowers bloom;—
But the goal of all
Is the open tomb;—
The end of all
Is the silent grave.
And beauty lies
In the cold still wave.
And the world shall harden
The hearts of men
Till it hear the voice
Of its Christ again.
Is the silent grave.
And beauty lies
In the cold still wave.
And the world shall harden
The hearts of men
Till it hear the voice
Of its Christ again.
71
THE SNOWDROP.
Poor snowdrop, early for a snowdrop born;The February sun is high, and winds
Steal from the feigning South with breath of spring.—
But frost-gods only hide. Sweet flower, they wait
To nip thee. See, snow crusts the fallow fields;
And yonder schoolboy cracks the thinning ice.
Behold what gloom of cloud hath chid the West.
Alas, I think I hear the cold wind sigh
In dread March days among the naked trees.
The woodman still doth fell the kitchen log;
And in his winter nest the squirrel hides.
I see no glad spring bird, save chick-a-dee,
Who bravely hops along the leafless bough.
Snowdrop, this night the North King's icy breath
Will blast thy budding hopes. Then, pretty flower,
I'll pluck thee from thy root; and thou shalt lie
Beside the one I love, and wake warm smiles
From her pale face at thought of me and thee.
The sight of thy young life may quicken her
To health and hope. Sweet silent messenger
Of love, I envy while I pity thee!
There:—tremblest in my hand, my hard rude hand?
Thou soon shalt lie upon her gentle breast;
And thou shalt die where I have prayed to die.
74
SONNET. MY PERFECT TRUTH.
Shall love my angel be? Or shall the flameOf wan ambition singe her tender wings?
Why do I scoff at life to say deep things,
And crush my heart to yield a bloodless name?
If thou wert dead, O God! what bitter blame
To yean these thoughts self-barbed with cruel stings!
O let me nest near some warm soul that sings;
Not starve beneath a lone pale shaft of fame!
Yea, were I regent of the potent lore
That lamps chaste sages' swoon, or crowned to see
The white-hot diamond secret at the core
Of winnowed wealth of worlds that yearn to be;—
Then would I scorn these tempters o'er and o'er,
And clasp my perfect truth in only thee.
75
SONNET. MY SACRIFICE.
See how the Northern sky with gauzy greenThe pink pearl blushes of her bosom pales,
And hides her nuns of stars with hasty veils,
Whose wanton eyes wink through the futile screen,
And sparkle kisses to the moon serene
As through cool bays of blue he veers and sails
To lift the rainbow lace in countless trails
That bar the chamber of his midnight queen.
So have I hid when fond desire my breast
Hath stained to crimson. So I veil these sighs
Until some tear that will not be repressed
Speaks through the quivering fringes of mine eyes.—
Then like a god thou comest from the West
To sip the fragrance of my sacrifice.
76
SONNET. FUJI AT SUNRISE.
Startling the cool gray depths of morning airShe throws aside her counterpane of clouds,
And stands half folded in her silken shrouds
With calm white breast and snowy shoulder bare.
High o'er her head a flush all pink and rare
Thrills her with foregleam of an unknown bliss,
A virgin pure who waits the bridal kiss,
Faint with expectant joy she fears to share.
Lo, now he comes, the dazzling prince of day!
Flings his full glory o'er her radiant breast;
Enfolds her to the rapture of his rest,
Transfigured in the throbbing of his ray.
O fly, my soul, where love's warm transports are;
And seek eternal bliss in yon pink kindling star!
77
SONNET. HER LOVE.
I would thou wert a moon, and I thy cloudTo wrap in rifted tangles of my tresses
Thy soul's white naked mirror, lave caresses
Of soft pale pleading lips where thou art browed
With coronets of constellations proud
Meet for thy regal thought; blue wildernesses
Spreading eternal couch where love confesses
Her airy penetrations, where the shroud
Of my translucent bosom kindling gleams,
Melted upon thy flame in blissful swoon,
Fused with the silver passion of thy dreams;
Thy heart's strung harp a-throb with hidden tune
Winged from the primal pulse of God's own themes.
O joy to be a cloud, and thou my moon!
78
REPROACH.
Pleasure has left me,
Happiness gone.
Thou hast bereft me,
I am alone.
Sweetly the summer night
Heard thy farewell;
And the moon's tender light
On thy face fell.
Happiness gone.
Thou hast bereft me,
I am alone.
Sweetly the summer night
Heard thy farewell;
And the moon's tender light
On thy face fell.
Thou hast betrayed me;
Yet I forgive,
For thou hast made me
Thine while I live.
Though my heart 's broken,
Take thou my last
Sorrowful token
Due to the past.
Yet I forgive,
For thou hast made me
Thine while I live.
Though my heart 's broken,
Take thou my last
Sorrowful token
Due to the past.
If it be pleasure
Brightens thy sun,
Let not its measure
Lawlessly run.
Life hath her duties
Stern and unchanged
Moulding her beauties
Sadly estranged.
Brightens thy sun,
Let not its measure
Lawlessly run.
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Stern and unchanged
Moulding her beauties
Sadly estranged.
Think not, thou fair one,
Love hath grown cold.
Still doth he bear one
Thine as of old.
But I shall never
Happiness see
Wedded forever
Lyra, with thee.
Love hath grown cold.
Still doth he bear one
Thine as of old.
But I shall never
Happiness see
Wedded forever
Lyra, with thee.
Life has grown dreary
Since thou art gone,
Lingering weary,
Hopelessly on.
Ne'er will I blame thee,
Ne'er till I die.
Slander may shame thee,
Never will I.
Since thou art gone,
Lingering weary,
Hopelessly on.
Ne'er will I blame thee,
Ne'er till I die.
Slander may shame thee,
Never will I.
Dull was my spirit
To thy young breast
Fluttering near it,
Dove, to thy nest.
Was my emotion
Sombre and cold?
Billow of ocean
Hoary and old?
To thy young breast
Fluttering near it,
Dove, to thy nest.
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Sombre and cold?
Billow of ocean
Hoary and old?
Jollity's glitter
Dazzled thine eye,
Turned from the bitter
Sweetness to try.
One you discover
Fairer to see.
Never a lover
Truer to thee.
Dazzled thine eye,
Turned from the bitter
Sweetness to try.
One you discover
Fairer to see.
Never a lover
Truer to thee.
Soon shall I moulder
Deep in the grave,
Or in the colder
Tomb of the wave.
Lyra, forget not
Passion so true.
False one, regret not
I bade thee adieu.
Deep in the grave,
Or in the colder
Tomb of the wave.
Lyra, forget not
Passion so true.
False one, regret not
I bade thee adieu.
81
THE WOOD DOVE.
Gentle purple-throated dove
Nesting in the bamboo grove,
Cooing, cooing, cooing;
I've a secret for you, dear.
Let me whisper in your ear.
Let no other creature hear;
'T would be my undoing.
Nesting in the bamboo grove,
Cooing, cooing, cooing;
I've a secret for you, dear.
Let me whisper in your ear.
Let no other creature hear;
'T would be my undoing.
Tenderly pressed, pressed, pressed
Soft in your nest, nest, nest,
Carefully list, list, list,
If I be kissed, kissed, kissed,
If I be—
Soft in your nest, nest, nest,
Carefully list, list, list,
If I be kissed, kissed, kissed,
If I be—
There, you know my secret now,
You, too, on the topmost bough
Wooing, wooing, wooing.
Did you tremble when he came?
Did you feel his lips a-flame?
But you shall not know his name;
'T would be my undoing.
You, too, on the topmost bough
Wooing, wooing, wooing.
Did you tremble when he came?
Did you feel his lips a-flame?
But you shall not know his name;
'T would be my undoing.
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Tenderly pressed, pressed, pressed
Close to his breast, breast, breast,
Under your nest, nest, nest,
There shall I rest, rest, rest,
There shall I—
Close to his breast, breast, breast,
Under your nest, nest, nest,
There shall I rest, rest, rest,
There shall I—
83
SEPTEMBER.
The last light of summer hath faded and gone.
The sweet autumn days come enchantingly on.
The breasts of the trees don a joy-colored hue.
The sky is a curtain of mystical blue.
The sweet autumn days come enchantingly on.
The breasts of the trees don a joy-colored hue.
The sky is a curtain of mystical blue.
These airs, they caress like a maiden's soft hand.
The mountains lie purple, and misty, and grand.
And forests are mellow, and gardens sing gay;
And Nature is smiling this fair autumn day.
The mountains lie purple, and misty, and grand.
And forests are mellow, and gardens sing gay;
And Nature is smiling this fair autumn day.
Goodbye to poor summer. No doubt she did good;
Though sentinel birches were scorched in the wood.
Her heart was too warm; but she meant to do well.
And we bade her goodbye as the mercury fell.
Though sentinel birches were scorched in the wood.
Her heart was too warm; but she meant to do well.
And we bade her goodbye as the mercury fell.
Hail, goddess of autumn, I see through the sky
Sweep on in the cloudlets resplendently by.
Thy form is half hid; but I know thou art there
By the sweet-scented breath which is borne in the air.
Sweep on in the cloudlets resplendently by.
Thy form is half hid; but I know thou art there
By the sweet-scented breath which is borne in the air.
Come, apples and peaches, and fall from the trees.
And ripe yellow plums, tumble down at your ease.
And, clusters of grapes hanging blue on the vine,
Come down and be eaten, or pressed for pure wine.
And ripe yellow plums, tumble down at your ease.
And, clusters of grapes hanging blue on the vine,
Come down and be eaten, or pressed for pure wine.
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O sweet the long lashes of sunny-eyed days.
Their bosoms are hid in the mantles of haze.
How cool is their mossy green lap in the shade
Of golden-haired oaks with their rock-maple braid.
Their bosoms are hid in the mantles of haze.
How cool is their mossy green lap in the shade
Of golden-haired oaks with their rock-maple braid.
O lordly September, thou prince of the hills,
The loyal green meadows grow gold with thy thrills.
The mellow sheaves fall for the harvesters blythe.
And I hear the sharp tinkle of whet on the scythe.
The loyal green meadows grow gold with thy thrills.
The mellow sheaves fall for the harvesters blythe.
And I hear the sharp tinkle of whet on the scythe.
Let 's think not of days when this beauty shall pass,
And the splendor fade out from the hills and the grass,
When through the bare tree-tops the wind whistles shrill,
And the hoar frost at morning is white on the sill.
And the splendor fade out from the hills and the grass,
When through the bare tree-tops the wind whistles shrill,
And the hoar frost at morning is white on the sill.
No, no. Torrid summer is over and gone.
The fair autumn days come enchantingly on.
Then bask in the sunshine, or sit in the shade
And watch the bright clouds as they color and fade.
The fair autumn days come enchantingly on.
Then bask in the sunshine, or sit in the shade
And watch the bright clouds as they color and fade.
85
NEW YEAR'S EVE, 1875.
Relentless Time, dear friends, has breathed again
His wintry mood o'er Nature and on men.
Long since the recreant sun's declining power
Has clipped the merry daylight hour by hour.
Long since the feathered tribes on tireless wing
Have sought the regions of perpetual spring.
Now bound in crystal chains the woodland lake
And laughing streamlet hushed to silence lie.
Now earthward softly floats the glittering flake,
And gathering storm-clouds drift across the sky.
Dead in the hollows lie the autumn leaves,
And through the naked tree-tops softly stirs
The spirit of the dying Year, and grieves
In slow, sad moaning to the Universe.
His wintry mood o'er Nature and on men.
Long since the recreant sun's declining power
Has clipped the merry daylight hour by hour.
Long since the feathered tribes on tireless wing
Have sought the regions of perpetual spring.
Now bound in crystal chains the woodland lake
And laughing streamlet hushed to silence lie.
Now earthward softly floats the glittering flake,
And gathering storm-clouds drift across the sky.
Dead in the hollows lie the autumn leaves,
And through the naked tree-tops softly stirs
The spirit of the dying Year, and grieves
In slow, sad moaning to the Universe.
Not so man's soul. Than all the year beside
Dearer his home is when the cold winds blow;
Great his domestic joy in winter tide,
And bright his hearth as piles the drifting snow.
'T is then the happy children hail the day
That Christ a little child like them was born.
'T is then the old are young, and young are gay
With the felicities of New Year's morn.
Dearer his home is when the cold winds blow;
Great his domestic joy in winter tide,
And bright his hearth as piles the drifting snow.
'T is then the happy children hail the day
That Christ a little child like them was born.
'T is then the old are young, and young are gay
With the felicities of New Year's morn.
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We stand indeed 'twixt two eternities
Of Time; and one has vanished like the dew.
Deep in its breast the stellar systems grew;
And in its dead arms now the last sun lies.
A million ages drop from life and mind
As yesterday, when they are past, and all
The planets circle at their central call,
And never note the years they leave behind.
The slow earth cracked and shrank mid rains of fire,
Till through the dull mephitic atmosphere
Young Life arose, and whispered, “I am here!”
And thrilled the Universe with new desire.
Of Time; and one has vanished like the dew.
Deep in its breast the stellar systems grew;
And in its dead arms now the last sun lies.
A million ages drop from life and mind
As yesterday, when they are past, and all
The planets circle at their central call,
And never note the years they leave behind.
The slow earth cracked and shrank mid rains of fire,
Till through the dull mephitic atmosphere
Young Life arose, and whispered, “I am here!”
And thrilled the Universe with new desire.
Far in the sand a sculptured stone appears.
Deep on the halls of kings has grown the mould.
O, Love is ever young, and ever old;
And hand in hand with Time walk hates and fears.
Deep in the wondrous strata of the earth
Bones of successive ages crystallized,
Humanity lies only half-disguised.
A chipped flint tells us of a nation's birth.
From out the mother liquor of events
Precipitates the dim historic tale.
And thou, Old Year, hast passed within the vale,
And night shuts o'er thee with her spangled tents.
Deep on the halls of kings has grown the mould.
O, Love is ever young, and ever old;
And hand in hand with Time walk hates and fears.
Deep in the wondrous strata of the earth
Bones of successive ages crystallized,
Humanity lies only half-disguised.
A chipped flint tells us of a nation's birth.
From out the mother liquor of events
Precipitates the dim historic tale.
And thou, Old Year, hast passed within the vale,
And night shuts o'er thee with her spangled tents.
We stand upon the threshold of an ocean,
And hear hard by the foaming waters break
O'er sunken reefs. We feel the wild commotion;
And the salt wind leaves damp spray in its wake.
But like a magic curtain shuts the mist
That open sea forever from our eyes,
Rich argosies that sail before the East,
The infinite horizon of the skies.
Ho! Captain of yon bark, so stanch and brave!
What noble aim has fortified your sail?
What guide-post have you on the trackless wave?
And points your compass at the moral pole?
Peer long into unknown futurity!
But shallow seas and rocks thou needst not fear
When full equipped; for in that clouded sphere
Thy will alone is master of the sea.
And hear hard by the foaming waters break
O'er sunken reefs. We feel the wild commotion;
And the salt wind leaves damp spray in its wake.
87
That open sea forever from our eyes,
Rich argosies that sail before the East,
The infinite horizon of the skies.
Ho! Captain of yon bark, so stanch and brave!
What noble aim has fortified your sail?
What guide-post have you on the trackless wave?
And points your compass at the moral pole?
Peer long into unknown futurity!
But shallow seas and rocks thou needst not fear
When full equipped; for in that clouded sphere
Thy will alone is master of the sea.
'Twixt two eternities of Time we stand;
But three infinities of Space. Where lives
A human soul, in whatsoever land,
Our heart to him a joyful greeting gives.
Yet on the wearied continents the bounds
Of artificial custom wax and wane,
As war drifts o'er them like a hurricane,
And death's hot hell unleashes all her hounds.
O, then we sadly find, with all our art,
And scientific pride, and conscious boast,
He falls the farthest who has climbed the most,
And man is but a savage yet at heart.
E'en as an earthquake comes unheralded,
Or some volcano splits the trembling skies,
We know not when the giant will arise,
And frighted earth be steeped in gory red.
Then things we held most dear shall pass away,
And life be crushed beneath an iron spell,
And earth shall groan, as when Atlantis fell,
And all creation dreamed of Judgment Day.
But three infinities of Space. Where lives
A human soul, in whatsoever land,
Our heart to him a joyful greeting gives.
Yet on the wearied continents the bounds
Of artificial custom wax and wane,
As war drifts o'er them like a hurricane,
And death's hot hell unleashes all her hounds.
O, then we sadly find, with all our art,
And scientific pride, and conscious boast,
He falls the farthest who has climbed the most,
And man is but a savage yet at heart.
E'en as an earthquake comes unheralded,
Or some volcano splits the trembling skies,
We know not when the giant will arise,
And frighted earth be steeped in gory red.
88
And life be crushed beneath an iron spell,
And earth shall groan, as when Atlantis fell,
And all creation dreamed of Judgment Day.
Poor France! Thou wast the first to feel the blow,
Caught in the specious tyrant's silken net.
Thou hast the ghost of Freedom only yet;
And in thy breast too many hot sparks glow.
Thy Teuton master stands with frowning brow
Like Jove before the Titans. In his hands
He holds the keys of Fate. To his commands
The trembling kings of earth reluctant bow.
An unread mystic obelisk he stands.
But when his shadow on the dial falls,
Grim shouts of death shall shake Valhalla's halls,
And pyramids be crumbled into sands.
Yet, like a crouching monster, in the East
Slowly the Slavic power unfolds its coils;
And effete Asia falls into its toils
A wounded bird, that can no more resist.
Or, like a tidal wave its course shall be
Above the Aryan cradle of the world,
Until, against the vast Himályas hurled,
To Heaven shall rise the spray of that wild sea.
Let Britain now usurp the old domain
Of dread Sesostris and the Ptolemies,
And found that Eastern Empire, which in vain
Napoleon dreamed of and designed for his.
Caught in the specious tyrant's silken net.
Thou hast the ghost of Freedom only yet;
And in thy breast too many hot sparks glow.
Thy Teuton master stands with frowning brow
Like Jove before the Titans. In his hands
He holds the keys of Fate. To his commands
The trembling kings of earth reluctant bow.
An unread mystic obelisk he stands.
But when his shadow on the dial falls,
Grim shouts of death shall shake Valhalla's halls,
And pyramids be crumbled into sands.
Yet, like a crouching monster, in the East
Slowly the Slavic power unfolds its coils;
And effete Asia falls into its toils
A wounded bird, that can no more resist.
Or, like a tidal wave its course shall be
Above the Aryan cradle of the world,
Until, against the vast Himályas hurled,
To Heaven shall rise the spray of that wild sea.
Let Britain now usurp the old domain
Of dread Sesostris and the Ptolemies,
And found that Eastern Empire, which in vain
Napoleon dreamed of and designed for his.
89
Then face to face will meet the mighty foes
For the death grapple. Saintly Pity's knell
Will sound in shrieks. And in that lurid hell
A thousand years will melt away like snows.
As some great continental artery
Empties its flood upon the coming tide,
And in that grand collision far and wide
Tiptoe to Heaven stands up the frothing sea,
So shall the struggle of the nations be
When flood-gates burst by press of passion high.
The earth's wild wail shall plash against the sky,
Yea, shake the dwellers of the galaxy.
And can we, children of the Island race,
Stand far aloof, like eagles in a cloud,
And hear the rushing of the conflict loud
Like some dull echo off in shoreless space?
Nay, in the network of Atlantic coasts
The ties of brotherhood too close are knit;
And when the trial comes, prepared for it
America shall marshal all her hosts.
For the death grapple. Saintly Pity's knell
Will sound in shrieks. And in that lurid hell
A thousand years will melt away like snows.
As some great continental artery
Empties its flood upon the coming tide,
And in that grand collision far and wide
Tiptoe to Heaven stands up the frothing sea,
So shall the struggle of the nations be
When flood-gates burst by press of passion high.
The earth's wild wail shall plash against the sky,
Yea, shake the dwellers of the galaxy.
And can we, children of the Island race,
Stand far aloof, like eagles in a cloud,
And hear the rushing of the conflict loud
Like some dull echo off in shoreless space?
Nay, in the network of Atlantic coasts
The ties of brotherhood too close are knit;
And when the trial comes, prepared for it
America shall marshal all her hosts.
90
GOD'S FORESTS.
Let us give thanks for friendly solitudes
Of dark primeval woods,
Where jaded kings of men
As at a shrine may charge themselves again
With rays magnetic
Of fire prophetic,
Currents of inspiration
That circulate through God's unspoiled creation.
Of dark primeval woods,
Where jaded kings of men
As at a shrine may charge themselves again
With rays magnetic
Of fire prophetic,
Currents of inspiration
That circulate through God's unspoiled creation.
'T is well the human soul
Is nature's final goal;
That worlds dissolve in time's relentless void,
And suns should be destroyed
To yield one drop of penitential bliss,
Or the sweet perfume of Christ's pardoning kiss.
Is nature's final goal;
That worlds dissolve in time's relentless void,
And suns should be destroyed
To yield one drop of penitential bliss,
Or the sweet perfume of Christ's pardoning kiss.
Yet flesh-spun bodies
Dim not the sphere where God is.
Nor are these care-worn streets the places
Where fall the gentlest dews of spiritual graces.
The fevered pulse of over-nourished wealth
Bodes not of health.
Nor is it Christian life
To glory in the elemental strife,
Inherited from birth,
'Twixt man and earth.
Or why
Boast of our eagerness to multiply
These sense-distracted strings,
That sound no newborn note of hopeful things,
But as in dreams
Babble the self-same themes?
O pity! that our toil
Sunk in this precious acreage of soil
Should feed, ere harvest day begins,
The wasting conflagration of our sins!
Better the unripe times
Of pregnant Tertiary climes
Where the slow-ebbing waters lay
Upon rich mines of vegetable clay!
Dim not the sphere where God is.
Nor are these care-worn streets the places
Where fall the gentlest dews of spiritual graces.
The fevered pulse of over-nourished wealth
Bodes not of health.
Nor is it Christian life
To glory in the elemental strife,
91
'Twixt man and earth.
Or why
Boast of our eagerness to multiply
These sense-distracted strings,
That sound no newborn note of hopeful things,
But as in dreams
Babble the self-same themes?
O pity! that our toil
Sunk in this precious acreage of soil
Should feed, ere harvest day begins,
The wasting conflagration of our sins!
Better the unripe times
Of pregnant Tertiary climes
Where the slow-ebbing waters lay
Upon rich mines of vegetable clay!
Is there no flaw
In title of a self-consuming law?
Play we the tyrant less
In thin disguise of democratic dress?
Who gave the right
To disinherit man for revels of a night?
And am I free to desecrate my home,
As Nero burned his Rome?
In title of a self-consuming law?
Play we the tyrant less
In thin disguise of democratic dress?
Who gave the right
To disinherit man for revels of a night?
And am I free to desecrate my home,
As Nero burned his Rome?
God made the mountains lone
Crowned with the nimbus of a cooler zone
For evening worship of the weary plain;
And tilted up their sides
To give the impulse to His founts of rain;
And clothed them with His robe of living green,
And folded them in gauze of misty sheen,
As lovers deck their brides:
Full-orbed, and mellow in their juicy youth;
Not swept by sudden flood
Of hot intemperate blood,
Nor wan with limp distress
And quick exhausted by their bald excess;
But fresh and moist like ever vernal truth:
Yielding a sympathetic tear
For every crisis of the tragic year,
Saving earth's tidal flow
For daily bounty to the fields below,
Or spreading kindly wing of storm superb
To shield each parching herb,
Even as planes of unseen spirit brood
O'er thirsty deserts of our human mood.
Crowned with the nimbus of a cooler zone
For evening worship of the weary plain;
92
To give the impulse to His founts of rain;
And clothed them with His robe of living green,
And folded them in gauze of misty sheen,
As lovers deck their brides:
Full-orbed, and mellow in their juicy youth;
Not swept by sudden flood
Of hot intemperate blood,
Nor wan with limp distress
And quick exhausted by their bald excess;
But fresh and moist like ever vernal truth:
Yielding a sympathetic tear
For every crisis of the tragic year,
Saving earth's tidal flow
For daily bounty to the fields below,
Or spreading kindly wing of storm superb
To shield each parching herb,
Even as planes of unseen spirit brood
O'er thirsty deserts of our human mood.
Caught in their net of roots, as in a cloud,
The small drops slip
With many a sob and drip
Down the draped bosoms of the granite-browed;
Till with shy looks
Of fairies gliding from a hundred nooks
They leap together
In swift cool plashing of the hidden brooks.
Now bolder-hearted,
Skipping from dewy fringes of the heather,
As tears of joy escape in clearing weather
The soft lids parted,
Or children who should roam
Unconscious of their long deserted home,
So hand in hand,
A happy laughing band,
They dance upon the gardens of the land.
The small drops slip
With many a sob and drip
Down the draped bosoms of the granite-browed;
Till with shy looks
Of fairies gliding from a hundred nooks
They leap together
In swift cool plashing of the hidden brooks.
Now bolder-hearted,
93
As tears of joy escape in clearing weather
The soft lids parted,
Or children who should roam
Unconscious of their long deserted home,
So hand in hand,
A happy laughing band,
They dance upon the gardens of the land.
So shall the gladsome music of their bliss
Breathe life upon man's wearied industries.
No laggards they,
Or careless drones upon a wanton way,
But ever helpful in their lightest play.
Whether in moments still
Of dreamy mood on heaven-reflecting lawn,
Or racing like a startled fawn
At whistle of the mill,
Or in the frenzy of their maddest reels
Churning the curds of froth from circling wheels,
Or far, far down
Lightening with laughter of their lips
The stately march of heavy-laden ships
Toward the town;—
Gladly they water every hopeful soil
Of honest human toil,
Till blended with the elemental seas
God grants them well-earned peace.
Breathe life upon man's wearied industries.
No laggards they,
Or careless drones upon a wanton way,
But ever helpful in their lightest play.
Whether in moments still
Of dreamy mood on heaven-reflecting lawn,
Or racing like a startled fawn
At whistle of the mill,
Or in the frenzy of their maddest reels
Churning the curds of froth from circling wheels,
Or far, far down
Lightening with laughter of their lips
The stately march of heavy-laden ships
Toward the town;—
Gladly they water every hopeful soil
Of honest human toil,
Till blended with the elemental seas
God grants them well-earned peace.
94
So let us thank Him for these hills of pine,
The voice divine
That echoes in His plan
For self-bound man;
And from His purer ways
In nature's sweet unbroken peace
May we behold the law of our release
In life of thankful use and reverential praise.
The voice divine
That echoes in His plan
For self-bound man;
And from His purer ways
In nature's sweet unbroken peace
May we behold the law of our release
In life of thankful use and reverential praise.
95
LOVE AND MUSIC.
God spoke!
His breath upon cold planes of space congealed,
Like morning's rising wreath of smoke
Above a vernal field!
His breath upon cold planes of space congealed,
Like morning's rising wreath of smoke
Above a vernal field!
It was the piercing Word
That the long shining coils of Chaos stirred!
It blossomed like a snowdrop from a frozen sod—
The word was God!
That the long shining coils of Chaos stirred!
It blossomed like a snowdrop from a frozen sod—
The word was God!
Yet in the very bosom of this Law
A blazing star I saw,
Whose sympathetic glow
Melted the crystals of that universal snow
Into one blinding human mood of thaw.
It was the message of the Holy Dove,
The unity of Love!
A blazing star I saw,
Whose sympathetic glow
Melted the crystals of that universal snow
Into one blinding human mood of thaw.
It was the message of the Holy Dove,
The unity of Love!
So in our crowns of praise
Woven in soulful moments of our earthly days
I know the circling secret of a joy transcends
The ministry of thought for colder, clearer ends!
Ah, Music, thine
The throbbing, bleeding, unifying heart
That burns within the central shrine
Of perfect Art!
Woven in soulful moments of our earthly days
I know the circling secret of a joy transcends
The ministry of thought for colder, clearer ends!
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The throbbing, bleeding, unifying heart
That burns within the central shrine
Of perfect Art!
And speech,—O, speech!—
Lies like a pure white maiden out of reach—
Farther and farther down
She circles like a falling crown.
And from this sensitive and rare
Harp of the unarticulated air
A soft rose-scented cloud of beauty swells,
As from a myriad nodding fairy bells
By breath of morning rung,
As if each ether-atom had a tongue.
Lies like a pure white maiden out of reach—
Farther and farther down
She circles like a falling crown.
And from this sensitive and rare
Harp of the unarticulated air
A soft rose-scented cloud of beauty swells,
As from a myriad nodding fairy bells
By breath of morning rung,
As if each ether-atom had a tongue.
Ah, Music, tell us
Harmonious secrets that shall make speech jealous.
Let poets crawl
Over the dusty mountains of yon ball!
Let utmost fire of verses run
With hiss of rockets to the absorbing sun!
They have no words
To match the spontaneous eloquence of birds.
Their whispers vainly drift like trees
Upon the torrents of the astral seas.
Harmonious secrets that shall make speech jealous.
Let poets crawl
Over the dusty mountains of yon ball!
Let utmost fire of verses run
With hiss of rockets to the absorbing sun!
They have no words
To match the spontaneous eloquence of birds.
Their whispers vainly drift like trees
Upon the torrents of the astral seas.
And when the Sun in moody frowns and smiles
The universe inbreathes,
Or shoots coronal wreaths
In maddening radiance through a million miles,
The master of the lyre alone shall hear that spell
Like some rapt maiden listening to a white reverberating shell.
Thought leaps beyond
The painful cycle of a finite bond,
Swept to a hot magnetic plane,
Like smoke of burning worlds caught in a hurricane.
The universe inbreathes,
Or shoots coronal wreaths
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The master of the lyre alone shall hear that spell
Like some rapt maiden listening to a white reverberating shell.
Thought leaps beyond
The painful cycle of a finite bond,
Swept to a hot magnetic plane,
Like smoke of burning worlds caught in a hurricane.
So, Music, thine the deeper, truer word
God in the temple of His silence heard
When sense was born.
No outward broken symbol angels knew.
With one harmonious throb of Love they flew
Upon the pearly bosom of that primal morn.
God in the temple of His silence heard
When sense was born.
No outward broken symbol angels knew.
With one harmonious throb of Love they flew
Upon the pearly bosom of that primal morn.
98
AT HER TOMB.
The forests hang sober,
The winds mutter dread.
They speak to my heart,
But my heart it is dead.
Like breath of a spirit
They sigh through the trees,
But my sorrow is deaf
To the grief of the breeze.
The winds mutter dread.
They speak to my heart,
But my heart it is dead.
Like breath of a spirit
They sigh through the trees,
But my sorrow is deaf
To the grief of the breeze.
Far off in the woodland
Is dug a new grave.
My soul is there buried;
No saviour to save!
There violets murmur
A fragrant farewell;
And the cricket's low chanting
Resounds through the dell.
Is dug a new grave.
My soul is there buried;
No saviour to save!
There violets murmur
A fragrant farewell;
And the cricket's low chanting
Resounds through the dell.
I lie on my bosom,
And sob to their sound;
My cheek in the grass,
And my lips to the ground.
O hearts may be broken,
And bitter tears come;
But the dead cannot hear thee.
They sleep and are dumb.
And sob to their sound;
My cheek in the grass,
And my lips to the ground.
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And bitter tears come;
But the dead cannot hear thee.
They sleep and are dumb.
Hang out thy red lantern
O star in the East,
That the morning may break
And my soul be released!
But the mist only hangs
Thicker yet on the night;
And I hear a low sob
As it stifles thy light.
O star in the East,
That the morning may break
And my soul be released!
But the mist only hangs
Thicker yet on the night;
And I hear a low sob
As it stifles thy light.
Is it winds that I fancy
Are lisping my name?
On the cross at her head
Seems to burn a pale flame.
And a horror has seized me,
A fear and a thrill,
That the souls of the buried
Are nigh to us still.
Are lisping my name?
On the cross at her head
Seems to burn a pale flame.
And a horror has seized me,
A fear and a thrill,
That the souls of the buried
Are nigh to us still.
Ah no, hollow chamber!
Farewell, thou dear gleam!
'T was a fancy deranged
By the lull of a dream.
But I call thee, and shudder,
I writhe, and I moan
That thy spirit should vanish
And leave me alone.
Farewell, thou dear gleam!
'T was a fancy deranged
By the lull of a dream.
But I call thee, and shudder,
I writhe, and I moan
That thy spirit should vanish
And leave me alone.
100
TELEPATHY.
O would we were downy white feathers,
Or gossamer fabrics of laces,
To float through the stratum of weathers
To the calm of the infinite spaces;
To linger like stars which the peaks at morn
Compel to receive their caresses
On the low gray couch where the day is born,
And wrapped in the gold of Aurora's tresses!
O, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
Or gossamer fabrics of laces,
To float through the stratum of weathers
To the calm of the infinite spaces;
To linger like stars which the peaks at morn
Compel to receive their caresses
On the low gray couch where the day is born,
And wrapped in the gold of Aurora's tresses!
O, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
On the breasts of the snowy Himályas
Firm rounded in virginal fashion,
We 'd burn like the crimson of dahlias
At the twin pink foci of passion;
You with a rainbow arch beneath
And the Milky Way to lie on,
With the Zodiac for a bridal wreath,
And the diamond brooch of the great Orion.
Ah, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
Firm rounded in virginal fashion,
We 'd burn like the crimson of dahlias
At the twin pink foci of passion;
You with a rainbow arch beneath
And the Milky Way to lie on,
With the Zodiac for a bridal wreath,
And the diamond brooch of the great Orion.
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We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
Away from the curses and crazes
And deserts of vulgar desire!
To know the impalpable mazes
Are the exquisite centres of fire!
Where the spirit can doff the world's deceit,
And stand in its naked glory,
And woo in the white of a native heat,
And not in the vows of a lying story.
There, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not the snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
And deserts of vulgar desire!
To know the impalpable mazes
Are the exquisite centres of fire!
Where the spirit can doff the world's deceit,
And stand in its naked glory,
And woo in the white of a native heat,
And not in the vows of a lying story.
There, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not the snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
A fig for the standard ascetic!
We 'd crave no intangible blisses.
On the ray of a current magnetic
I could feel the throb of your kisses;
I could hold you close as a sweet pea vine
With twisted tendrils a-quiver,
I could drink your breath as a spicy wine,
As a thirsty desert absorbs a river.
So, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
We 'd crave no intangible blisses.
On the ray of a current magnetic
I could feel the throb of your kisses;
I could hold you close as a sweet pea vine
With twisted tendrils a-quiver,
I could drink your breath as a spicy wine,
As a thirsty desert absorbs a river.
So, whether the world be weary
We 'd care not a snap of a finger;
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
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Were not this the proof of divinity
To love without limit or measure,
To raise to the bliss of infinity
The Tantalus torture of pleasure?
For the new-blown rose of your cheek shall pale,
And buds dry up with their juices.
But this fountain of youth shall never fail.
The angels know its immortal uses.
Come, whether the world be weary
Let 's care not a snap of a finger,
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
To love without limit or measure,
To raise to the bliss of infinity
The Tantalus torture of pleasure?
For the new-blown rose of your cheek shall pale,
And buds dry up with their juices.
But this fountain of youth shall never fail.
The angels know its immortal uses.
Come, whether the world be weary
Let 's care not a snap of a finger,
You on Dhawalagiri,
And I on Kunchinjinga.
103
REVERIE.
Where moonlight is stealing
Through juniper branches, I stand;
And my heart
Is wrapped in the feeling
That falls from some wonderful land
Where thou art.
Through juniper branches, I stand;
And my heart
Is wrapped in the feeling
That falls from some wonderful land
Where thou art.
I mirror thy sweetness
In fancy upon the blue heaven
Afar;
And sigh for the fleetness
Beside thee to float that is given
A star.
In fancy upon the blue heaven
Afar;
And sigh for the fleetness
Beside thee to float that is given
A star.
Cold mist like a spirit
Blown in from the East settles over
The sea.
Sweet music:—I hear it
Borne far from some wingéd sea-rover
To me.
Blown in from the East settles over
The sea.
Sweet music:—I hear it
Borne far from some wingéd sea-rover
To me.
Like hope in the distance,
To silver the sorrow of night
With her ray,
A ghostly existence
The beacon is glimmering bright
On the bay.
To silver the sorrow of night
With her ray,
104
The beacon is glimmering bright
On the bay.
Yet little I reckon
Of music or moonlight redeeming
The sea;
Of starlight or beacon.
My loved one, I only am dreaming
Of thee.
Of music or moonlight redeeming
The sea;
Of starlight or beacon.
My loved one, I only am dreaming
Of thee.
105
IN THE AURA.
In the marble crypts of the clouds I would lay me to sleep.Enwrapped in their foaming shrouds I would laugh, I would weep
At the floating dance of my soul like a buoyant feather,
Where far above in the fire-blue dome of the weather
Uptossed on the ample pools of its deep-dyed spaces
Would eddy the maple leaves of the passionate faces
Who kissed their hearts away in a burnt-out Past;
And ashen motives of deeds in a stare aghast
Upthrown to this world of shades from their astral tombs.
Like wreaths of a curling smoke shall their faint perfumes
Expand to the rarified hem of the atmosphere,
And play with its crystal balls; or in anguish peer
O'er the pale impalpable rim of their magnet globe,
As they cling with the clutch of fate like a thin silk robe
Round the maddening curve of its limb. And an angel star,
Shot down through the film from nebulous realms afar
To the central court of the sun, with a long lost fire,
Would swoon in the white hot tides of the mad desire
106
From my cold calm bier I would snatch at his robe, and pray:
“Dear ray of the cosmic grace like a pale Christ dying!
O mated dove of my soul in thy terror flying!
Come rest in the down of my nest till the world burns up,
And drink the draft of sin in her whirling cup
Till the soulless dance dies out for the lack of breath;—
For thought, and love, and pity shall outlive Death!”
107
SONG OF THE WIND.
Cheerily,Merrily
Dancing along
The crest of my song
Breaks over the lines,
And foams as it reaches
The marvellous beaches
Of dark tossing pines.
Here I go rushing
Down into valleys
Half shadowed over;
Brooklets are hushing
Themselves in the clover
That laughs at my sallies.
Here
Like a deer
Let me race
On the prairies,
With dews for the flowers,
And diamonds in showers
To gem the blue face
Of the delicate fairies.
Down in the grass
108
Slipping,
Or dipping
As a wild bird
In the trough of a sea,
Or as a herd
When bushes are stirred
Merrily skipping
Over the lea.
Kiss me, you wild rose,
While I embrace.
Thou art a child, rose!
Why should the rush
Of a pink in a blush
Come over thy face?
Darling, but this is
The joy of thy kisses:—
That I may bear
Thy sweetness of breath
In a blast of fresh air
To a chamber of death.—
Ho! little swallow,
Let us both follow
Into the West
The car of Apollo
That rolls to its rest!—
Good-night, birch-tree,
Hie thee to sleep
Wrapped in thy leaves.
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Why dost thou weep
Where the nightingale lingers?
Why wring thy white fingers
As a maiden who grieves?—
Here is a city.
The lamps are all lighted.
Poor folks are sighted
Only by me;
Shivering,
Quivering
Down by the corners,
Querulous mourners.
O what a pity
Such sadness to see!—
Out on the road again.
Down in the grassy lane,
There is a country lass
Milking her cows.
Plump are her arms.
Shall I arouse
Her love or alarms
By greeting her brows
With a kiss as I pass?
Ha! There's the moon
Reigning so lonely!—
Let the wench go;
She 's in her teens.—
This is the only
110
Better to know
The kisses of queens.
What do I care
For the wrath of the fair?
Must I bow to her light?
Shall I hush in a swoon
For this lady of air?
Nay:—cloudlets grasp her.
Stars try, but miss her.
Let me go kiss her.
I too will clasp her.—
Rogue of a star,
You queer little eye
Of an angel whose gaze
Is fixed in amaze
Over the sky;
Out with thy gleaming!
Wink now, and bellow,
And turn thyself yellow
To hear the blaspheming
Of such a bold fellow!—
Good-night, heaven!
Farewell, flowers!
The clerk of the hours
Is ringing eleven.
Earth, good-night!
May dreams of pearl
Weave starry numbers
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Sweet young girl
In thy robe of white!
All things sleep.
Now to my rest,
Rocked on the breast
Where the wild songs creep
Of old nurse Ocean.
Soft be thy motion,
Wrinkled dame Deep!
112
THE CAPTIVE.
Have you seen a captive warbler in his gilded cage in MayWith his tiny bursting heart against the grating?
Have you set him where the shadows of the garden branches play,
In whose silken bowers the busy birds are mating?
On what joyous cradles of the giddy tossing crests
Doth he mark them weave their nests!
How they chuckle and they snuggle with their little glossy breasts,
Violet scents
Wafting shy delicious blessings to their leafy bridal tents!
Ah, but he
Beats against the cruel mesh his shattered wing in agony;
A wild melodic ecstasy of anguish utters;
And like a flaming spirit flutters
To be free.
And one tiny yellow maiden on a spray of lilac poises.
From her little throbbing throat what luscious noises
Warble love, and promise of a summer's bliss for him,
Chirp a dainty kiss for him,
As she turns her pretty head askance with supple coquetry.
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Doth she not tremble at the elemental grandeur of his rage?
Dear, sweet, unconscious brutes!
Unhappy singers!—
But weep thou tears of blood, my heart, for distant phantom fingers
Fore'er in vain outstretched to pluck thee from thy roots!
114
KARMA.
You never will give me the credit
For half of the passion I feel.
My manner was cool when I said it.
You mistook my refusal to kneel.
Well, the master of courtlier phrases
You may have for a beck of your hand.
But I never shall sell you my praises,
And I mean when I woo you—to stand.
For half of the passion I feel.
My manner was cool when I said it.
You mistook my refusal to kneel.
Well, the master of courtlier phrases
You may have for a beck of your hand.
But I never shall sell you my praises,
And I mean when I woo you—to stand.
What on earth is the use of a lover
With rose-scented kerchief and breath?
Is he bagged like a bevy of plover?
Will he swear to adore you till death?
Ah, till death!—He 's a coward, my mistress!
It is death he should first have defied!
Here I claim you through eons of histories
Incarnate forever my bride!
With rose-scented kerchief and breath?
Is he bagged like a bevy of plover?
Will he swear to adore you till death?
Ah, till death!—He 's a coward, my mistress!
It is death he should first have defied!
Here I claim you through eons of histories
Incarnate forever my bride!
Can you dimly remember, I wonder,
On the tremulous breast of the Nile,
How once you committed a blunder?
How your captain was won by a smile?
How you lay in a bower of spices,
And maddened his eyes with your charms,
Till, praying forgiveness of Isis,
He sank in your passionate arms?
On the tremulous breast of the Nile,
How once you committed a blunder?
How your captain was won by a smile?
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And maddened his eyes with your charms,
Till, praying forgiveness of Isis,
He sank in your passionate arms?
Well, I clearly recall you at Florence,—
'T was a cycle of centuries after,—
How you faced me with eye of abhorrence,
How you stormed at the scorn of my laughter,
When you reckoned in impotent fashion
I would welcome you back to my cottage;
You, who bartered a genuine passion
For a mess of the ducal pottage!
'T was a cycle of centuries after,—
How you faced me with eye of abhorrence,
How you stormed at the scorn of my laughter,
When you reckoned in impotent fashion
I would welcome you back to my cottage;
You, who bartered a genuine passion
For a mess of the ducal pottage!
O, I'm fickle? No doubt, since you know it!
Each honey-sweet blossom to enter
Perhaps is becoming a poet,
To revolve as a disc on its centre.
But the heart of a sphere has no motion.
'T is an ultimate atom, serene
As the depths of a turbulent ocean.—
That heart I reserve for my queen.
Each honey-sweet blossom to enter
Perhaps is becoming a poet,
To revolve as a disc on its centre.
But the heart of a sphere has no motion.
'T is an ultimate atom, serene
As the depths of a turbulent ocean.—
That heart I reserve for my queen.
There, how would you like me to woo you?
Shall I prate of the wonders of science?
Shall I come with a summons to sue you,
Just to see your eyes sparkle defiance?
Shall I buy you an exquisite jewel?
Shall I swear to obey your behest?
Shall I damn you as icy and cruel,
Then weep like a fool on your breast?
Shall I prate of the wonders of science?
Shall I come with a summons to sue you,
Just to see your eyes sparkle defiance?
Shall I buy you an exquisite jewel?
Shall I swear to obey your behest?
Shall I damn you as icy and cruel,
Then weep like a fool on your breast?
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No doubt you deserve all my damning!
I only wish you would damn me,
And be done with this pitiful shamming.
I would like you as fierce and as free
As a tigress, as supple and fearless,
To dare you, and hold you, and shake you;
Or a Mexican mustang peerless.—
I swear I would mount you, and break you!
I only wish you would damn me,
And be done with this pitiful shamming.
I would like you as fierce and as free
As a tigress, as supple and fearless,
To dare you, and hold you, and shake you;
Or a Mexican mustang peerless.—
I swear I would mount you, and break you!
Nay; I'll pluck you a star from its setting,
And fling it with scorn at your feet.
I'll exasperate Mars with my fretting
Till he lend you the glow of his heat.
Then I'll come like a double-ringed Saturn;
And congeal you with polar embrace
Till you spit in your rage at the pattern
My frost shall imprint on your face.
And fling it with scorn at your feet.
I'll exasperate Mars with my fretting
Till he lend you the glow of his heat.
Then I'll come like a double-ringed Saturn;
And congeal you with polar embrace
Till you spit in your rage at the pattern
My frost shall imprint on your face.
Ah, enough! For I dare you to sever
That intricate fabric of meshes
You have woven for once and forever.
No cycle of spirits or fleshes
Can stay that insidious leaven.
It draws us like Fate to its level.
I will lie on your bosom in heaven;—
Or, you'll go with me to the devil!
That intricate fabric of meshes
You have woven for once and forever.
No cycle of spirits or fleshes
Can stay that insidious leaven.
It draws us like Fate to its level.
I will lie on your bosom in heaven;—
Or, you'll go with me to the devil!
117
MAYA.
Where the willow meshes tremble
On the bosom of the night;
And the fire-flies reassemble,
And in happy dance delight
With their golden skein a-tangle
To deceive the stars that spangle,
Like a universe a-quiver,
All the surface of the river;—
Have I seen the subtle vision
Of a strange unearthly thing
Peering forth as in derision,
And an eye as of a creature
That was crouching for a spring.
Be it fiend or be it human,
I could feel each hidden feature
Had the semblance of a woman.
On the bosom of the night;
And the fire-flies reassemble,
And in happy dance delight
With their golden skein a-tangle
To deceive the stars that spangle,
Like a universe a-quiver,
All the surface of the river;—
Have I seen the subtle vision
Of a strange unearthly thing
Peering forth as in derision,
And an eye as of a creature
That was crouching for a spring.
Be it fiend or be it human,
I could feel each hidden feature
Had the semblance of a woman.
For I hear in sudden hushes
Rustling like the sound of dresses,
And I see among the rushes
Lines like tangled coils of tresses,
And I press upon my eyes
Where a veil of cobweb lies;
And my vision seems to dance
In the mazes of a trance,
And I tremble like a deer;
Is it love, or is it fear?
For the wind comes by and grieves
Through its harp of summer leaves.
Where it lifts the willow laces
Not a sign my fancy traces
Of the something that I dread
In the hollow of their bed;—
Then I pray it to appear,
When it answers with a leer;
And the leaves a-laughing shake
Like the ripples on a lake;
And it may be curse or kiss,
But I hear its mocking hiss.
Rustling like the sound of dresses,
And I see among the rushes
Lines like tangled coils of tresses,
And I press upon my eyes
Where a veil of cobweb lies;
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In the mazes of a trance,
And I tremble like a deer;
Is it love, or is it fear?
For the wind comes by and grieves
Through its harp of summer leaves.
Where it lifts the willow laces
Not a sign my fancy traces
Of the something that I dread
In the hollow of their bed;—
Then I pray it to appear,
When it answers with a leer;
And the leaves a-laughing shake
Like the ripples on a lake;
And it may be curse or kiss,
But I hear its mocking hiss.
Once I could not bear the passion
Which it burned into my soul
Like an eye of living coal.
And I cried to it with ashen
Lips apart, and husky breath,
“O thou messenger of death,
Cease this wily necromancy
Which has spun about my fancy
Like a web of cruel mesh
Chains that eat into my flesh!
O thou seraph, or thou fiend,
By thy boughs of willow screened,
I conjure thee to unveil.
In the sheen of moonlight pale
I must see thee, I must know
All thy hidden bliss or woe!”
Which it burned into my soul
Like an eye of living coal.
And I cried to it with ashen
Lips apart, and husky breath,
“O thou messenger of death,
Cease this wily necromancy
Which has spun about my fancy
Like a web of cruel mesh
Chains that eat into my flesh!
O thou seraph, or thou fiend,
By thy boughs of willow screened,
119
In the sheen of moonlight pale
I must see thee, I must know
All thy hidden bliss or woe!”
Then a perfume as of musk
Seemed to permeate the dusk.
And I heard the willow whispers
Sighing like a nun at vespers,
Like a nun who knows her breath
Is as sweet as love and death.
And their leaflets seemed to linger
Like a soft caressing finger,
And they tempted me with tips
Of their passionate young lips.
Seemed to permeate the dusk.
And I heard the willow whispers
Sighing like a nun at vespers,
Like a nun who knows her breath
Is as sweet as love and death.
And their leaflets seemed to linger
Like a soft caressing finger,
And they tempted me with tips
Of their passionate young lips.
Then their branches slowly parted,—
In the blackness of their space
Lay a dim uncertain face,
And its eyes were diamond-hearted.—
Then I heard a plash and scream
From the bosom of the stream,
And the vision paled almost
To the blankness of a ghost.
But I shrieked, “Thou shalt not go,
Thing of evil, child of woe!
See, the moon has half-way ploughed
Through the curtain of yon cloud—
She shall see thee, she shall tell
If thy message be from hell!”
In the blackness of their space
Lay a dim uncertain face,
And its eyes were diamond-hearted.—
Then I heard a plash and scream
From the bosom of the stream,
And the vision paled almost
To the blankness of a ghost.
But I shrieked, “Thou shalt not go,
Thing of evil, child of woe!
See, the moon has half-way ploughed
Through the curtain of yon cloud—
She shall see thee, she shall tell
If thy message be from hell!”
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Then a perfume sweeter, thicker,
Made the starlight faint and flicker;
And the dim uncertain feature
Took the semblance of a creature
That was beautiful and human.
For its breath came fast and warm,
Like a rising summer storm.
And its spirit turned to mine
For the madness of a second
Like the lighting on a pine.
And its pallid finger beckoned
Where the willows purred and pressed
On the lilies of its breast.
God! It was living woman.
Made the starlight faint and flicker;
And the dim uncertain feature
Took the semblance of a creature
That was beautiful and human.
For its breath came fast and warm,
Like a rising summer storm.
And its spirit turned to mine
For the madness of a second
Like the lighting on a pine.
And its pallid finger beckoned
Where the willows purred and pressed
On the lilies of its breast.
God! It was living woman.
Now the sap of spring a-bud
Leaped like fire in my blood;
And in broken voice I cried,
“O my gentle willow bride,
I have felt thee, I have known
That my soul was thine alone.
I have bartered hope of grace
For this vision of thy face.
Now the night-mist hardly dims
All the splendor of thy limbs,
All this witchery that swerves
With the passion of its curves!”
Leaped like fire in my blood;
And in broken voice I cried,
“O my gentle willow bride,
I have felt thee, I have known
That my soul was thine alone.
I have bartered hope of grace
For this vision of thy face.
Now the night-mist hardly dims
All the splendor of thy limbs,
All this witchery that swerves
With the passion of its curves!”
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Then I saw no more, or cared;
For I threw myself possessed
On the marble of that breast:—
When I felt against my ear
Like a snake her icy cheek,
And the sting as of a jeer,
Half in sob and half in hissing;
And the moon came forth and stared
Like a white nun pitiful
At the beauty I had bared,
At the bosom I was kissing.—
For I threw myself possessed
On the marble of that breast:—
When I felt against my ear
Like a snake her icy cheek,
And the sting as of a jeer,
Half in sob and half in hissing;
And the moon came forth and stared
Like a white nun pitiful
At the beauty I had bared,
At the bosom I was kissing.—
O 't was horrible, my shriek!
I caressed an empty skull!
And the ripeness of those charms
Fell to ashes in my arms!—
I caressed an empty skull!
And the ripeness of those charms
Fell to ashes in my arms!—
Weeping willows, soft your plaint
Sweeps the moss whereon I faint.
River rushes, creep and crouch
O'er the madness of my couch.
Kiss and curse me once again.
I forsake the way of men!
Rock me sadly in the spell
Of your witchery of hell.
For, although I know the worst,
Still I love that thing accursed!
Sweeps the moss whereon I faint.
River rushes, creep and crouch
O'er the madness of my couch.
Kiss and curse me once again.
I forsake the way of men!
Rock me sadly in the spell
Of your witchery of hell.
For, although I know the worst,
Still I love that thing accursed!
122
MAYTIME.
What are the small birds saying?That I should go a-Maying?
“Ah May, May, May,
Sweet May, sweet May!
Do you love May?”
Thus they forever chirp in carol gay.
Prithee why should not I,
Marking their rapturous flight across the sky,
Echo to thee their spring-tide harmony?
Do I love May? Sweet birds,
A blessing for your sympathetic words!
Yea: more, far more than you or I can say.
Tell me, why is it that the name of June
Hath no such sweet associated tune?
Is it the hopeful play
Of possibilities in that coy “May”?
Perchance June's summer dust
Would soil the freshness of that “May” with “Must.”
That 's the mistake
We mortals ever make.
The shy wild-rose new-blown
We covet for our own;
And yet she droops when tied
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No hot-house flower
Should share my true love's dower!
Give me the anxious thrill
That hangs upon an undetermined will!
Let May be ever “May,”
And in her girlish freedom laugh and play,
Nor doff the dainty mien
Of innocent sixteen.—
Then shall my pained heart flutter
Like a sweet bird with love it may not utter;
Nor know what blossoms hath
The gracious goddess showered in my path.
Ah, May dear, draw the curtain
Over thy smile uncertain.
For, be it tears that come,
My sorrow shall be dumb.—
Yet may I find
Perchance in some shy nook,
Betrayed of soft sweet-scented wind,
A violet by a brook;
Or one rare trembling white anemone
No other favored soul shall ever see.
No one but me
To catch in fairy dells
The tinkling of thy highland-lily bells,
Or watch the pure surprise
That shimmers in the blue-tipped grasses' eyes.
Shall I not press my cheek
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And let my soul be kissed
By furry, lithesome things,
The elemental spirits of the mist,
That float upon the dandelion's wings?
O May, if I should woo,
Not as a bee
With noisy minstrelsy,
If I should come to you
As comes a timid white-winged butterfly
Smiling to live, or smiling still to die,
What would you do?—
Nay sweet, haste not to tell.
I would not have you solve the mystic spell,
The pleasing riddle which the birds are singing,
In sweet reiteration ringing,
“O May, May, May,
Dost love me, May?”
Ah lack-a-day!
What is it I am saying?
I must be off if I would go a-Maying.
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WITH DEATH.
When the lamplight dims in a mist of hymns,
And your sad, sweet glance in a glad trance swims,
When the tramp of the charging steeds is nigh,
And my pulse beats faint like a lullaby,
And I know I must die:—
In that last sweet sigh, on that vast high brink,
Where the stainless fly and the sinful shrink,
What shall my innermost eye descry?
What shall I think?
And your sad, sweet glance in a glad trance swims,
When the tramp of the charging steeds is nigh,
And my pulse beats faint like a lullaby,
And I know I must die:—
In that last sweet sigh, on that vast high brink,
Where the stainless fly and the sinful shrink,
What shall my innermost eye descry?
What shall I think?
Shall the sad thoughts rush in a mad warm gush?
Shall they stand aghast in the chamber's hush?
And the ghosts of the past creep out and in,
Bone of my bone, and kin of my kin?
Shall I see you start with your first warm blush?
Shall I feel you smart like a wounded thrush?
Can I draw the dart? Can I heal you? Hush!
What is done is done; and the shadow of sin
Lies low with the sun; and they all troop in
Pitiful visitors one by one.
Let them crowd to my bedside—let them come.
They are mine; I shall face them, dumb.
When the flickering glimmer of the lamp grows dimmer,
And the pale white lines of the curtain shimmer
Like a falling shroud, or a robe of cloud;
When I hear the snort of the chargers loud;
When a strong voice cries like a trumpet clear
“O soul, unveil; for at length I am here!”
With that last weak breath which the hand of Death
Shall snatch from my lip as he listeneth,
What shall I cry, what shall reply
When I know that I die?
Shall they stand aghast in the chamber's hush?
And the ghosts of the past creep out and in,
Bone of my bone, and kin of my kin?
Shall I see you start with your first warm blush?
Shall I feel you smart like a wounded thrush?
Can I draw the dart? Can I heal you? Hush!
What is done is done; and the shadow of sin
Lies low with the sun; and they all troop in
Pitiful visitors one by one.
Let them crowd to my bedside—let them come.
They are mine; I shall face them, dumb.
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And the pale white lines of the curtain shimmer
Like a falling shroud, or a robe of cloud;
When I hear the snort of the chargers loud;
When a strong voice cries like a trumpet clear
“O soul, unveil; for at length I am here!”
With that last weak breath which the hand of Death
Shall snatch from my lip as he listeneth,
What shall I cry, what shall reply
When I know that I die?
Ah, this,—“Sweet bliss, I have lived, I have died for this.
I have dared thee, Death; I have sued for thy frosty kiss.
I have wooed thee in masterful mood; I have sworn to caress
My infinite bride in my spirit's first nakedness.
Out of the mists of my brain, and the storm of my pain,
Web of the flesh, and the mesh of the blood-swept vein!
Free like a feather to fly through the worlds as they crash!
I to be I evermore though they crumble to ash!
Never a wrath to fear: but a path to be won
Straight to the blinding light of a nightless sun!
Whether He cast me to hell, or fell me to earth;
Whether of sin I be shriven, or driven again to rebirth;
Ill is the slave of the will! I shall master it still.
Love shall not kill, though I drink to the fill of its ill.
Nothing shall daunt me:—not taunt of the damned as they chant.
Only weak purpose to fear, and the cold pale fears as they haunt.
This is the self-made sting; this is the cursed thing:—
To mutter the palsied doubt, to flutter with listless wing,
To creep like an icy snake in the grass of a sordid thought;
Never a passion to sin for, never a bliss to be fought,
Never a hell to be welcomed!—Then come to me, Death, though I burn.
Flames shall be quenched in our love, and God, He shall feel how we yearn,
And Mother Mary shall sit like a queen mild-eyed,
And wash the foam from my lips, my merciful bride;—
For gladly She loved Her Beloved, and sadly She loved till He died.”
I have dared thee, Death; I have sued for thy frosty kiss.
I have wooed thee in masterful mood; I have sworn to caress
My infinite bride in my spirit's first nakedness.
Out of the mists of my brain, and the storm of my pain,
Web of the flesh, and the mesh of the blood-swept vein!
Free like a feather to fly through the worlds as they crash!
I to be I evermore though they crumble to ash!
Never a wrath to fear: but a path to be won
Straight to the blinding light of a nightless sun!
Whether He cast me to hell, or fell me to earth;
Whether of sin I be shriven, or driven again to rebirth;
127
Love shall not kill, though I drink to the fill of its ill.
Nothing shall daunt me:—not taunt of the damned as they chant.
Only weak purpose to fear, and the cold pale fears as they haunt.
This is the self-made sting; this is the cursed thing:—
To mutter the palsied doubt, to flutter with listless wing,
To creep like an icy snake in the grass of a sordid thought;
Never a passion to sin for, never a bliss to be fought,
Never a hell to be welcomed!—Then come to me, Death, though I burn.
Flames shall be quenched in our love, and God, He shall feel how we yearn,
And Mother Mary shall sit like a queen mild-eyed,
And wash the foam from my lips, my merciful bride;—
For gladly She loved Her Beloved, and sadly She loved till He died.”
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SPRING BREATH.
Like secret emerald sheens that hide in the froth of a wave,So reincarnate greens from the drifts of their wintry grave
Have felt the breath of a spring as sweet as the pulsing blood
When a maiden plumes her wing, and love swells red in the bud.
The snows shall melt like a cloud, and their ghosts come back in the rain;
And the mountains thunder-browed shall frown on the timid plain.
But the feet of the shy blue maids that hide in the withered leaves
Shall bathe in the brooks of the glades, and dance in the mossy eaves
Of friendly giant rocks with their wonderful blurred gray eyes;
And the curls of the soft fern locks unfold to the kiss of the skies.
And down where a smoke-like smell lies low in the atmosphere
Is heard the song of a bell with the tinkle of silver clear
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Like a naked child afraid, for a draught of the dew looks up.
O rare anemone, like a pale pearl shell from a stream,
With the grace of a maiden free, and a firm green wing like a dream
Of the clustered emerald sprays round the new-born gem of a soul;—
See now through the crystal grays where the heart of an oriole
Hath drowned its orange throbs in the mirror soul of the brook;
And with sympathetic sobs the frightened violets look
Aghast at the sight of blood. But fear is as fragrant as death,
And fairies faint at the flood of this delicate maiden breath.
And the squirrel rubs his eyes, and scans the world from his chinks;
And the mottled wild duck flies from the sly gray lair of the lynx.
130
IN NORWAY.
Soul of my fathers,
Soul of black mountains,
Soul of gnarled forests,
Soul of hoarse trumpets,
Soul of world-thunder;—
Soul, be the fissure
Rent for my gaze!
Soul of black mountains,
Soul of gnarled forests,
Soul of hoarse trumpets,
Soul of world-thunder;—
Soul, be the fissure
Rent for my gaze!
Thence shall I ponder
Midnights of revel,
Wolves of gray hunger,
Flames of salvation's
Martyrdom, triumph,
Churns of mad struggle,
Curses of love.
Midnights of revel,
Wolves of gray hunger,
Flames of salvation's
Martyrdom, triumph,
Churns of mad struggle,
Curses of love.
These are my birthright;—
Here in the northland
Crags of the ice-gods;
Nest of gaunt heroes;
Cradle of sea-hounds,
Serpents of vikings,
Doves of the skalds.
Here in the northland
Crags of the ice-gods;
Nest of gaunt heroes;
Cradle of sea-hounds,
Serpents of vikings,
Doves of the skalds.
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Still doth the North Sea
Hurl on the granite
Helms of thy headlands
Barbs of white thunder.
Still through the blue wave
Dip the gray petrels,
Sea-gulls of ships.
Hurl on the granite
Helms of thy headlands
Barbs of white thunder.
Still through the blue wave
Dip the gray petrels,
Sea-gulls of ships.
Into thy caverns
Hollowed in mountains
Breathless I wander;—
Frosty with jewelled
Drops of the moonlight,
Ghostly with echoes,
Turquoise their floor.
Hollowed in mountains
Breathless I wander;—
Frosty with jewelled
Drops of the moonlight,
Ghostly with echoes,
Turquoise their floor.
Sprays of Aurora
Blaze to the ceiling.
Brackets of jasper
Hold the steel arches,
Rafters of crimson,
Tiles of green lightning,
Studs of gold stars.
Blaze to the ceiling.
Brackets of jasper
Hold the steel arches,
Rafters of crimson,
Tiles of green lightning,
Studs of gold stars.
Harpstrings of sagas
Weird in your passion,
Pulsing with luminous
Snarls of the demons,
Faint with caressing
Breath of white maidens,
Pure in your prayers!—
Weird in your passion,
Pulsing with luminous
Snarls of the demons,
132
Breath of white maidens,
Pure in your prayers!—
You have your power still.
Still do I hear you
Shriek your shrill voices
In the death-grapple,
In the ice cracking,
In the sea moaning,
In the ghosts' cries.
Still do I hear you
Shriek your shrill voices
In the death-grapple,
In the ice cracking,
In the sea moaning,
In the ghosts' cries.
Nurse of the rime-frost;
Gray sky and misty
Skirt of wild she-gods,
They that beheld me
Borne to my cradle
Like a young eagle
From their hoar nests!—
Gray sky and misty
Skirt of wild she-gods,
They that beheld me
Borne to my cradle
Like a young eagle
From their hoar nests!—
Thou hast an infinite
Thirst in thy bosom;
Blood for the daring,
Glimpse of vast values
Toppling for heroes,
Whirls of mad kisses,
Wombs of dark life.
Thirst in thy bosom;
Blood for the daring,
Glimpse of vast values
Toppling for heroes,
Whirls of mad kisses,
Wombs of dark life.
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O when the thunder
Crumbles old mountains'
Craggy gray castles;
O when the lightning
Stabs her red war-blades
Through thy ripe bosom
Shrinking like curds;—
Crumbles old mountains'
Craggy gray castles;
O when the lightning
Stabs her red war-blades
Through thy ripe bosom
Shrinking like curds;—
Then do I know him
Tyrant of Titans,
Thor the god-conqueror,
Twisting the iron
Dome of the elements,
Hurling hot satellites
Chained to his glove.
Tyrant of Titans,
Thor the god-conqueror,
Twisting the iron
Dome of the elements,
Hurling hot satellites
Chained to his glove.
Yea, and he sweepeth
Far to the southward,
Whirling cloud-castles
Down the horizon,
Lit like a rumbling
Crater of ruin
Lost in the sea:—
Far to the southward,
Whirling cloud-castles
Down the horizon,
Lit like a rumbling
Crater of ruin
Lost in the sea:—
While to the zenith
Frosty and quiet
Tips of sharp diamonds
Shatter pale lances,
Shoals of thin nebulæ
Froth with the beakers
Of their star-wine.
Frosty and quiet
Tips of sharp diamonds
Shatter pale lances,
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Froth with the beakers
Of their star-wine.
Halls of the North-dawn
Crusted with garnets,
Sardon, and beryl!—
Into blood-ruby
Foam thy green goblets,
Trail through wan purple
Pearls of milk-blue.—
Crusted with garnets,
Sardon, and beryl!—
Into blood-ruby
Foam thy green goblets,
Trail through wan purple
Pearls of milk-blue.—
[OMITTED]
Hence with these visions:—
Meteor glances
Split by the icy
Spar of the present!
Fling them like dew-drops
Into the ocean,
Whither ye flee!
Meteor glances
Split by the icy
Spar of the present!
Fling them like dew-drops
Into the ocean,
Whither ye flee!
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