Poems and Sonnets :: :: University of Virginia Library

That must have been the reason, that yesterday I heard
What made the hope of seeing you a hope for months deferred,
Why, though before I fancied I had conquered and was strong,
I went to bed—and dreamed of you the whole night long;

I had wooed an abstract Goddess, I had bowed before the feet
Of art, the marble Lady, and had found her worship sweet,

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But night brought back reality, by day I did thee wrong,
Avenged thou art—I dreamed of thee the whole night long;

In the clash of arms, so hath it our Tennyson, forgets
A man love's early savours and the younger years' regrets,
I doubt it—when the lull came, and ceased the cannons' song,
I think that I should dream of you the whole night long;

What do I care for Progress, the triumphant “march of mind?”
My eyes keep backward looking into eyes long left behind,
By day I fail to reach them, when sleep-lit fancies throng
They shine upon me tenderly the whole night long;

107

To merge oneself in action is well enough by day,
It's not so very hard then to drive a thought away,
How will it be when darkness puts a point to memory's prong?
Why—I shall lie and dream of you the whole night long;

“Come be a man,” they say to one, “assert the inborn strength
Of manhood, why should any love become a love of length?”
I know not—but when silence slays the clatter of the gong
Of daytime, I shall dream of you the whole night long.

110

A DREAM OF ROSES.

He dreamed a dream of roses,
And bowers of delight
Where rosy love reposes
Through soft sweet hours of night,
Till eyes of his uncloses
The coming of the light;

He dreamed of faces never
Seen save in depth of dreams,
When hours of darkness sever
What is from that which seems,
And raptures gone for ever
Return in rainbow gleams;

111

He dreamed that he was walking
By side of maiden fair,
A happy twain were talking,
And breath of evening air
Was sweet, and moths were hawking
Around them everywhere;

And sweet the scent of clover,
And smiles of flowers around,
And odours wafted over
Their heads, and o'er the ground—
Queen Loveliness a lover
At eventide has found;

The summer seems to bear them
Aloft in arms of love,
As if from earth to tear them
And carry them above,
All pain henceforth to spare them,
Brooding with wings of dove

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Over sweet souls united
In silken love-spun bond,
Their separate beings plighted
By oath of kisses fond,
When lips that blush delighted,
Cling eager, and beyond

The veil seems half uplifted
And meaning of the world
Made plain, the curtain shifted,
The drop-scene upward furled,
And cloud-wreaths sidelong drifted,
And fog-banks backward hurled;

For many a misty season
Clears up with love beside,
Truth is too much for treason
When two together ride,
And bright the reign of Reason
Beneath the sway of bride;

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Four eyes can pierce a cloud-veil
That baffles two alone,
What seemed to be a shroud pale
In rainbow colours shown
Shines, as a suit of proud mail
Behind a monarch's throne!

The loneliness that slays us
Is over, and instead
From brokenness to raise us
A downward bending head
Hangs over us, and sways us
With smiles from heaven shed;

And, were it not a dream, love,
My very soul would leap,
In rosy lips that gleam, love,
Like flowers from out a deep
Dim summer-scented sea, love,
Its utmost self to steep,

114

Pressing from out the roses
All odours strong to save,
The ecstasy that closes
One's eyes as in a grave
Dug deep in seas of posies
Whose lips about one wave!

115

WHEN WE ARE LEFT ALONE!

Love shall mount to his throne, my sweet,
Love shall mount to his throne,
Soon, when friends that abide
To say good-bye by our side
Have finally farewell cried,
When we are left alone, my sweet,
When we are left alone!

Now you are all my own, my sweet,
Now you are all my own,
But many a kiss must wait
Till we sit by ourselves in our state,
Gone, given up to our fate,
When we are left alone, my sweet,
When we are left alone!

116

Sweet to me now is your tone, my sweet,
Sweet to me now is your tone,
But sweeter far will it be
When, spoken alone to me,
Its silvery notes are free,
When we are left alone, my sweet,
When we are left alone!

When we have wings and are flown, my sweet,
When we have wings and are flown,
Joy we will have, you and I,
Soaring aloft in the sky
As twittering twin swallows fly,
When we are left alone, my sweet,
When we are left alone!

Pleasant it is to have known, my sweet,
Pleasant it is to have known
Friendship and pressure of hands,
But brighter the bloom that expands
On the spot where Loveliness stands,
When we are left alone, my sweet,
When we are left alone!

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Pleasant it is to have sown, my sweet,
Pleasant it is to have sown
Seeds of friendship on earth,
Sweeter by far is the birth
Of Beauty's smile, and the mirth
Of lips that are left alone, my sweet,
Of lips that are left alone!

Many a nice old crone, my sweet,
Many a nice old crone
Has a sweet dim sort of a smile,
But the thought of old age is a vile
Thing, a sin, a blasphemy, while
Young lovers are left alone, my sweet,
Young lovers are left alone!

Half of it is not known, my sweet,
Half of it is not known,
Of the happiness that for us waits
When the bars are drawn, and the gates
Closed, and the hubbub abates,
When we are left alone, my sweet,
When we are left alone!

118

Pleasant it is to have known, my sweet,
Pleasant it is to have known
Life and the light of the skies,
But sweeter the sight of the eyes
Of each other, and soft replies,
When we are left alone, my sweet,
When we are left alone!

Pleasant it is to have grown, my sweet,
Pleasant it is to have grown
Into the strength of a man,
But sweeter than shouts in the van
Of the battle the lisp of your fan
Waved when we are left alone, my sweet,
When we are left alone!

Pleasant it is to have thrown, my sweet,
Pleasant it is to have thrown
Pallor and pain to the winds,
Quick drawing up the blinds,
Letting in the sun that finds
Us when we are left alone, my sweet,
When we are left alone!

119

Lone are the birds that moan, my sweet,
Lone are the birds that moan,
Twain are the birds that sing
Making woods and the copses ring
Back again with the notes that they fling
When two are left alone, my sweet,
When two are left alone!

Joyful enough to have shown, my sweet,
Joyful enough to have shown
To ourselves some savours of love
Already, but gladness above
What She dreams, the wings of my Dove
Shall anoint once we are alone, my sweet,
Once we are left alone!

Once was a time to groan, my sweet,
Once was a time to groan
When you and I were apart,
Severed the halves of our heart,
These, they shall cease to smart
When we are left alone, my sweet,
When we are left alone!

120

Had I a heart of stone, my sweet,
Had I a heart of stone,
Surely my heart would melt
At the thought of the joys we felt,
The kisses that each soul dealt
When we were left alone, my sweet,
When we were left alone!

Kisses before were blown, my sweet,
Kisses before were blown
From the end of a finger tip,
But out from the flower of a lip
Sweet kisses each shall sip
When we are left alone, my sweet,
When we are left alone!

Know you the source of the Rhone, my sweet,
Know you the source of the Rhone,
Pure as the skies it goes
Till the Arve and its melted snows
Are joined, and muddy it flows
Henceforth, no longer alone, my sweet,
Being left no longer alone!

121

AS ROSES ARE TO JUNE.

As sweet you are to me, my love,
As roses are to June,
As clouds that march in tune
To the fair face of the moon,
As sweet you are to me, my love,
As roses are to June!

As dear you are to me, my love,
As green to eyes of spring,
As boughs of woods that ring
To birds therein that sing,
As dear you are to me, my love,
As green to eyes of spring!

122

As good you are to me, my love,
As showers to thirsty ground
When drops of healing sound
In the summer all around,
As good you are to me, my love,
As showers to thirsty ground!

As fair you are to me, my love,
As morning to the air
And the ringlets of the hair
Of Aurora here and there;
As fair you are to me, my love,
As morning to the air!

As new you are to me, my love,
As every dawn is new
And the sparkle of the dew
Fresh grass that glitters through;
As new you are to me, my love,
As every dawn is new!

123

As old you are to me, my love,
As Beauty to our eyes,
To every child that cries
For a face, a form, that flies;
As old you are to me, my love,
As Beauty to our eyes!

As young you are to me, my love,
As the flush upon the face
Of a winner in a race,
Or your own lips' grace;
As young you are to me, my love,
As your own lips' grace!

As strong you are to me, my love,
As waves are to the sea,
And miles of mist that flee
To the ether where they be;
As strong you are to me, my love,
As waves are to the sea!

124

As kind you are to me, my love,
As the moon to waves at night,
As the radiance of the light
Of the sun to waking sight;
As kind you are to me, my love,
As the moon to waves at night!

As true you are to me, my love,
As the magnet to the pole,
As love to every soul,
As stars to seas that roll;
As true you are to me, my love,
As the magnet to the pole!

As white you are to me, my love,
As snows upon the heights,
And the dazzle of the lights
Of Aurora in the nights;
As white you are to me, my love,
As snows upon the heights!

125

As pure you are to me, my love,
As ether's softest breath,
Or the gentle hands of Death,
As every word Christ saith;
As pure you are to me, my love,
As every word Christ saith!

As fond you are of me, my love,
As I am fond of you,
Like swallows in the blue
We twitter, two and two;
As fond you are of me, my love,
As I am fond of you!

126

WEEPING ALONE.

I saw a maiden weeping alone—
And the wail of the wind swept by,
And clouds clean covered the sky,
And never a blade was dry
Of the grass by her, weeping alone!

I saw a maiden weeping alone—
Tear-stained face that was fair
Once, wind-waved beautiful hair,
Sad eyes, how came you there
In the wet grass, weeping alone?

127

I saw a maiden weeping alone—
Head upon hands and knees
Huddled up to the head one sees,
Look close, and wonderment flees,
And pity is left alone!

I saw a maiden weeping alone—
Hair that a man might stroke
Strayed, trailed from under a cloak
That covers her head from the folk
That laugh at a maiden alone!

I saw a maiden weeping alone—
Where is he, what is he like,
Has he lifted a sword to strike
In the wars, or a ploughboy's pike,
And left his sweetheart alone?

128

I saw a maiden weeping alone—
Where is he, perhaps he is dead,
Buried in blood for a bed,
With the sod for a pillow instead
Of her breast, and she is alone!

I saw a maiden weeping alone—
Where is he, yet it may be
He lives, and has left her, and she
Will never his false face see
Any more, so she weepeth alone!

129

AUGUST—AN IDYLL.

Young they were, and hand in hand
Across the fields they wandered,
Swiftly passing through the land
A wealth of love they squandered
That afternoon, when hand in hand
They loved, and laughed, and pondered!

The August sun across the sheaves
Shot slantwise bolts of light,
Beneath the nodding golden eaves
They sat, till hint of night,
With cool hand laid upon the leaves,
Brought back to them their sight;

130

Sight gone astray a weary way,
The world long left behind
That afternoon of August day—
We know that love is blind,
And eyes of those who own his sway
The best thing blindness find.

Now cooler lips the dews caress,
And gentle shadows fall,
And fold around the maiden's dress,
And homeward lovers call,
And back they go, two hearts a-glow,
Beside the low grey wall;

I do not think that either will
In time to come forget
One single whisper of the rill,
One single leaflet wet
That night with dew they wandered through,
One waft of mignonette!

131

I think that many a kiss will stay
On brow, and eyes, and hand,
That many a blithesome breeze will play,
And many a wintry strand
Be white with snow before they go,
These, into Lethe's land!

For one such day is brighter far
Than years that slowly crawl,
And single sight of one such star,
Such sight as did befall
These two to see, will better be
Than constellations all.

132

A SERENADE.

Wake, sweet, look to the life of the air,
And the scent of the winds below,
The moonlit night is in love with the light
Of a half-seen shimmer of snow!

Draw back the curtain—thy true love stands
With eyes that climb and aspire,
As the tendrils wind convolvulus-twined,
To Beauty on high to be nigher;

The scent of the flower-beds all night long
Has leave, you know it, to play
By your bedside, and why should you chide
Feet low on the ground that stay?

133

Let the light of the moon fall soft on an arm
By the window-sill sweet shining,
Like ivory white set in jet-black bright
Stray tresses of hair for a lining;

I thought you were fair, I thought you a queen,
When I looked on you, love, by day,
But little I thought of the radiance brought
By night when the sun is away!

Your eyes were deep, and I sank therein,
But never I thought to swim
In a sea so deep, my soul to steep
In ecstasy up to the brim!

Sweet, blow me a kiss—O flowers on high
Stretch petals of hands and down
To my lips “with care” bring its fragrance fair,
In love of it life I drown!

134

THRICE!

Kiss me once to wash away the past,
All the dark and dreary time between
Now and when I sadly saw you last
Disappear behind the bushes green,
Garment fluttering out of eyeshot fast,
Kiss me for forgiveness sake, my queen!

Kiss me twice, to emphasize the new,
This new, blessed, happier, holier time,
Clouds have parted, shines again the blue,
Rings again the old triumphant rhyme,
Peals in either heart a merry chime,
Kiss me twice to show that it is true!

135

Kiss me thrice, yea, sweetheart, once again,
Think of all I've suffered far away,
Think of all the panting and the pain,
Bleeding feet that 'mid the briars stray
Seeking sight of you from day to day,
Signify that I may here remain!

136

SISTERS.

YOUNGER SISTER.
What is he like, sweet sister mine?
I prithee talk to me
Of the face and form of that lover of thine,
His image I long to see!

ELDER SISTER.
O sweet my love, he has bonny brown hair,
And his eyes are of glistening grey,
And his face is a rose, and his feet are fair,
And his glance is as bright as day!

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YOUNGER.
And how does he smile, this lover of thine,
I have seen you smile at the thought,
I have seen you smile, sweet sister mine,
Somebody that smile taught!

ELDER.
He smiles, little bird, as the great Sun smiles
In the morning drying the dew,
And the glance of his eye falls soft and beguiles
An answering eye glance too!

YOUNGER.
So his hair is brown, sweet sister mine,
Does it curl? . . . and his eyes are grey . . .
Has he rose-red lips, that lover of thine,
Like mine, sweet sister, say?

ELDER.
Oh sweet, he has lips that I love right well,
As rosy, and stronger than thine,
For his could be set to encounter hell,
Or . . . parted to meet . . . perhaps . . . mine!

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YOUNGER.
And what does he say, sweet sister mine,
Does he talk, does he prattle at all,
Can he say soft things, this lover of thine,
Can he thoughts of thine own forestall?

ELDER.
Ah! sweet, you should hear him, 'tis not for me
To show you, I can't, how he talks . . . .
But his voice is as soft as the fall of the sea
As close by my side he walks!

YOUNGER.
And oh! can he kiss, sweet sister mine . . . .
I remember at school we agreed
That nobody should be a lover of thine
If he couldn't . . . in this succeed!

ELDER.
Ah! love, one day you will know for yourself
What a kiss from a hero means . . . .
Why, sister mine, you sly little elf,
You are not yet in your teens!

139

YOUNGER.
Shall I have, do you think, sweet sister mine,
When I grow as tall as you,
And as pretty . . . perhaps . . . such a lover as thine,
A lover shall I have too?

ELDER.
Yes, little sister, keep you still
And be content to abide,
Eyes now full of fun one day shall fill
With tears when he walks by your side.

YOUNGER.
What is it like, sweet sister mine,
What they call being in love?
Was he in love, that lover of thine,
When he kissed . . . I saw . . . your glove?

ELDER.
Sweet, it is fair beyond all our dreams,
And gentle as airs at night,
And softer than wave of a symphony seems
That lulls one asleep with delight.

140

YOUNGER.
Can he laugh, can he smile, sweet sister mine,
Or is he stern, does he frown,
This bearded man, this lover of thine,
As he bends his high head down?

ELDER.
Aye, he can laugh, little sister mine,
He can laugh, and his laugh is sweet,
Thrilling the veins as a draught of wine,
As the wild wind thrills the wheat.

YOUNGER.
And aren't you sorry, sweet sister mine,
From me, from us all to part,
To leave us all for that lover of thine,
To give to him your young heart?

ELDER.
Sorry, my sweet, as the flowers that give
To the sun their scents in the morn,
As the crimson clouds that for one thing live
Their colour to give to the dawn.

141

YOUNGER.
But is he worth it, sister mine,
Is he worthy . . . worthy of you . . .
If he is the sun, that lover of thine,
You are something better than dew!

ELDER.
Worthy . . . aye . . . we will not talk, sweet,
Of worth, if you please, any more,
Precious to me is the print of his feet,
And the sound of his step at the door.

YOUNGER.
Has he ever told you, sister mine,
That he loved you, loved you at all,
Has he spoken out, that lover of thine,
Did he ever at your feet fall?

ELDER.
Never, love, but he said, “My own,”
And I . . . I knew what he meant . . .
I . . . why I know each turn of his tone . . .
And . . . home together we went!

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YOUNGER.
Ah! together . . . sweet sister mine,
I remember now very well
How you and he, that lover of thine,
Came home as the night mists fell.

ELDER.
Ah! I remember too, little love,
And the dews and the darkening trees,
And pale clear skies and a sparkle above
Of the stars, and the balm of the breeze.

143

THE SONG OF THE LONELY SOUL.

I live my life in a lonely land
Without the sound of a smile,
Pacing a desolate twilight strand,
Gnawing my heart with a file
Of memories iron, a heaped-up band,
Like waves that the wild winds pile

All together, en masse, pell-mell,
Writhing like crested snakes,
Opening depths of a foam-flecked hell,
Filling the air with flakes
That ride, like witches, right out of the well
Where each upon each wave breaks;

144

Such are the miseries strong to assail
Heart and being of mine,
Thrashing the wheat of one's mind with a flail
That leaves no time to repine,
For blows are rapid, and coats of mail
Would be only as twisted twine

Before the force of it; not to kill
Outright are the blows of it bent,
Only to torture, only to spill
Warm blood from the veins of us rent
As runs from a rock rod-stricken a rill,
It seems as if it were sent!

If there is Purpose what care we?
What matter if there is none?
For then, as it seems, the sooner the sea
Drowns out the light of the sun,
And swamps in water all things that be
The sooner will Death be done!

145

If there is Love, though not for us,
Yet it is well to abide—
If there is Beauty, we'll not discuss
Result of our own life's ride,
But cease, like waves from foam, from the fuss
Of the ages and calm subside;

If there is none there is nothing at all,
All things that are, are not,
The Universe crumbles beneath a pall
Of rottenness, silences hot
To blast with their breath us weak worms fall
On us, being from being to blot.

146

IT'S ALL GONE AWAY.

It's all gone away,
The light of the day,
Now skies are gray,
And closed are the eyes
Of Love, hope flies,
But miseries stay!

Never again
Shall it be as when
Strength as of ten
Was ours in the flower
Of life, and the power
Of manifold men!

147

Weak as the grass
Limbs of us pass
Brittle as glass
To the grave that waits
With a grin on its gates—
Life is a farce,

Only without
Laughter, and shout
Of delight, and the pout
Of lips that admire
The actors' fire,
And sparkle about;

Left of the fun
Of the play there is none,
Never a pun
In the drama of life
To lighten the strife
With a ray of the sun;

148

Slowly we go
All of a row,
Roses that blow,
And flowers that are faded,
To the churchyard shaded
By tombs that grow;

What does it matter?
Earth is the fatter,
Beauty we scatter
All over the ground,
Soon to be found
In the worms' wet platter;

Lips are in bloom
Ripe for the gloom
Of a sunless tomb,
And flowers are fair—
We fix them there
For decay to consume;

149

The younger the better
For death the setter
Of plants, the abettor
Of grey grave-mists
And skeletons kissed
By the clank of a fetter;

Bloom upon cheeks
For a time—till leaks
Life's can, and he seeks
With slow sad strides
Like a ghost that glides
Death's pitiless peaks;

Upon these he sits,
And Loveliness flits,
And they are at quits,
Sad Life and Death—
Life gives us breath,
Our throats Death slits!

150

MY LOVE.

MEDIÆVAL.

My Love is as the rose, her lips
Are sweeter than the buds the bee
In booming condescension sips,
Each stray of hair that sideways slips,
Is dearer than ten crowns to me.

My Love is as the lily, white
And pure and passionate, lithe and tall,
I dream of her the livelong night,
And see her towering, golden bright,
Beside the old grey garden wall.

151

My Love is as the violet,
Most fair and modest, in the shade
She sits, 'tis long since we have met,
Aud therefore both my eyes are wet,
And all my heart in motion made.

My Love is as the meadow-sweet,
The odour of her hair is good,
And round about her passing feet
Enchanted flowers you may meet,
The grass is green where she hath stood.

My Love is as the golden corn,
Her hair it waveth in the wind,
Before her face delight is born;
Attendant roses of the dawn
Behind her footstep you may find.

152

ACROSS THE SEA.

Across the sea, across the strand,
My Lady waved a snow-white hand,
A farewell token to the land,
A farewell gift to me,

Across the strand, across the sea,
My Lady sent a sign to me,
Twain lovers that should parted be,
My lady sent a hand!

Across the waves, across the foam,
She hurled a hasty hand-shake home,
About to rove, about to roam,
About to leave my side,

153

Across the foam, across the waves,
White intermediate heaving graves,
A look the wind and water braves,
The last glance of my bride!

Across the sea, across the strand,
My Lady waved a snow-white hand,
By backward breezes forward fanned,
By blithesome breezes home,

Across the strand, across the sea,
She sent a joyous sign to me,
A sign that shortly she would be
Returned, no more to roam!

Across the waves, across the waste,
My Lady came in gladsome haste,
Blown kisses each the other chased,
Blown kisses sent to me,

154

Across the waste, across the waves,
Across the lapping sea that laves
The ship's keel, comes my Queen and saves,
Praise Heaven, my memory!

155

THREE—ONLY THREE.

Oh, love, give me a kiss,
One—only one,
To be the beginning of bliss,
The first soft ray of the sun,
The last wave wind being done,
Last step a race being run,
Grant me, sweetheart, this,
One—only one!

Two—only two,
To kiss each other, and be
Twin kisses clinging to me
Like seaweed washed in the sea,
Or drops of delicate dew,
Two—only two!

156

Three—only three,
That I may remember, sweet,
How your heart with my heart beat,
And the rapid pulse of your feet
When you came to give to me
Three—only three!

157

VICTOR HUGO INSIDE PARIS.

“I pity you who are with the kings who kill;”
So said he, Victor Hugo, and prepared
In the arms of that sweet city they had dared
To threaten, aged blood of his to spill,
As if her kisses, youthful, he had shared.

“I pity you who are with the kings who kill,
But me to minister to a people dying
It suits, and in the rear of Terror flying,
And in the van of Hope that forward will
Advance, to end a life of absent sighing;

158

“Of lonely sighing far apart from her
My own sweet city, yea, my love, my queen,
I come to end the years that rolled between
Us, and my body to inter
Within the walls where long my soul hath been.

“At a most supreme moment I return
When Freedom re-established on the throne
A chant triumphant ending in a groan
Is singing, one hand pointing to an urn,
The other to a despotism flown!

“One hand is pointing to the sunset skies
Where sinks, but not this time in seas of blood,
Napoleon's sun that high in heaven stood
But yesterday, and held her for a prize—
And here my Lady hath the thing she would;

“But with the other to the raging hordes
Of mad barbarians marching to her gates
To wreak on lips inviolate their hates
She points, and summons garniture of swords,
And lovers' breasts to meet the fickle fates.

159

“And shall she make to any one in vain,
To any one of us, her last appeal,
Crowned with a kiss to each for woe or weal,
A kiss that either lips of Death retain,
Or else that rosy Victory's mouth may seal?”

160

AT NIGHT.

Come to where the waters play
Underneath the moon,
See the honeysuckle spray
Beckons softly, answer “yea,”
You will be obedient, eh,
You will join me soon?

Come to where the sands are light
And the breezes cool,
O, my sweet one, shining white
At the window, we will write
Names upon the beach to-night,
We will play at “school!”

161

Come to where I wait for you,
Where I wait and sing,
Breathe upon me as the dew
Gently fans the grasses through,
Strength exhausted to renew,
Health of heaven to bring.

I had, when I wrote this, the exquisite love-scene in poor Robertson's drama of “School” in my mind.

ANSWER.

No, Sir, you were cross to-day,
Ah, I saw you frown,
'Tis too cold to-night to play,
Listen honeysuckle spray,
Hear my answer, take my “Nay,”
Winding woodwork down.

I am cross to-night as well—
Sir, what did you mean
Praising so that faded belle,
Really I can hardly tell—
Here a pouting rosebud fell
Lifted eyes between;

162

Played the waters, played the pair
On the shining sands.
He was handsome, she was fair,
Love was rosy, he was there,
Well the three contented were,
Closely clasped their hands.

163

BREAKERS THREE.

The bells are chiming loud to-night,
A sight they suggest to me
Of a foam-flecked ocean surface white,
A passionate heaving sea,
And a boat with wings to flee
The following waters' glee
To the harbour beacon bright;

Or, a wood with one beside,
Dear, very dear to me,
In a leafy, laughing, deep green tide
The boughs and twigs of a tree
Wave over us graciously
As I upon bended knee
Beseech her to be my bride;

164

Or, a sandy desolate shore
With pale grey thistles to me
Face turning evermore,
Low green cliffs on our lee,
And a heart that seems to be
As heavy as breakers three
That follow and burst and roar.

165

TWO TOGETHER!

Easy 'tis for two together
Rainy skies to face,
Roughest bursts of windy weather,
All alone to pace
Needs a heart as hard as leather,
'Tis a sorry case!

I have seen the clouds unfolding
When four eyes were there,
Clouds that only now were holding
Over one poor pair
Pitiless thunder-symptoms, scolding
Copper sheets of air.

166

I have seen the scent of flowers
Freshen and expand,
Glad to greet united powers,
Glad to greet a hand
Robbing blossom-laden bowers
At a soft command.

I have seen a shower hurry,
Haste to leave the skies,
Cloudy masses in a flurry,
Thunderstorm that flies,
All for fear a crash might worry,
Drown two lovers' sighs!

I have seen the ether brighten
All from side to side,
And the sunshine smile and lighten
Like as if it tried
All the universe to whiten
For some bonny bride!

167

I have seen the roses blushing
Into deeper red,
Beauty over lilies rushing,
Bloom intenser shed
When two lovers' cheeks were flushing
Over every head,

Every gentle head of flower,
'Faith they seem to share
With us some mysterious power,
Hand in hand to fare
Along with us, glad gifts to shower
Upon a happy pair!

168

ALONE!

Alone! alone!
What does it mean?
Has any one seen
The last rose-queen
Of the Autumn blown?
She is left alone.

Alone! alone!
The last brave man
In the rear, in the van
The foremost, can
Tell, must have known,
What it is to be lone.

169

Alone! alone!
A love-sick maid
Who fingers a braid
Of hair that he played
With often, is shown
The grief of the lone.

Alone! alone!
A mother, whose sons
In the war by the guns
Are standing, stuns
The trumpet's tone,
For, she is alone.

Alone! alone!
An old man grey
Who has lived his day
Who has played his play,
Now feeble grown
Sits sadly alone.

170

Alone! alone!
A bird in its nest
Who misses the breast
That it loves the best,
For a mate makes moan,
Is indeed alone.

Alone! alone!
A lover who sighs
For the light of the eyes
Of his mistress, cries
With a vehement groan
I am alone.

171

WHEN SUNS ARE BRIGHT.

When suns are bright,
And life's before you,
And breezes o'er you
Are floating light,
Nor miseries gnaw you,

Launch forth your bark,
And sail the seas,
Inhale the breeze,
Till dawn of dark
And nights that freeze;

172

Sing in the blue,
Like happy birds,
And leap as herds
Are wont to do
When morning girds

Her belt of beauty—
Soon to pass
Like gathered grass
Some hot hand's booty,
Or broken glass;

Love while you may,
It is not long
That lasts a song,
An hour of play,
A life of wrong,

A gaze in eyes,
A broken heart,
An æon's smart,
And shattered lies
Life's every part,

173

A sigh, a kiss,
And all is gone
And hope is borne
On wings of bliss
To lands forlorn:

Where desert sands
Stretch dreary plains,
And flower of pains
Alone expands,
Alone remains!

Was this thing meant
For us to see
And not to flee,
When we were sent
Alive to be?

That we should sigh
The livelong day,
And weep for play,
For gladness cry,
Nor wish to stay;

174

That we should love
The life of flowers,
And rose-hung bowers,
And clouds above,
And summer showers,

And softest airs
Of twilight lands,
And lonely sands
Where Beauty fares,
And Mystery stands,

And inland scenes,
And wealth of woods
With waving hoods
Of varied greens
That reach for roods,

And moors' expanse,
Where bells of heather
In windy weather
And fern-leaves dance
In joy together,

175

And sweeping hills,
Where winds are free
And kissed in glee
The leaping rills
The breezes flee—

I cannot tell
Why these are glad,
But we are sad—
Why we a hell,
These heaven had?

176

AH, WELL-A-DAY!

Ah, well-a-day!
Man is a worm,
Weak and infirm,
A blossomless germ
Woven of clay—
Ah, well-a-day!

Ah, well-a-day!
Woman is a dream,
A stray rose-beam
From the sunset stream,
One red ray—
Ah, well-a-day!

177

Ah, well-a-day!
Love is the light
Of an hour, in the night
It fails us quite,
Never does it stay—
Ah, well-a-day!

Ah, well-a-day!
What is the bloom
Of youth worth? gloom
And moss on a tomb
Is the end of the way—
Ah, well-a-day!

Ah, well-a-day!
Beauty of lips
The young man sips
Death's hand snips
With his scissors, I say—
Ah, well-a-day!

178

Ah, well-a-day!
Best to be gone,
Not to be born,
To be left forlorn
In the womb of the clay—
Ah, well-a-day!

Ah, well-a-day!
Beauty of a rose
No man knows
Till the best part goes,
Till the cankers slay—
Ah, well-a-day!

Ah, well-a-day!
Best for us all
Like leaves to fall,
And escape from the thrall
Of our garments gray—
Ah, well-a-day!

179

Ah, well-a-day!
Flowers are sweet,
And lips that meet,
But swift are the feet
Of the flails that flay—
Ah! well-a-day!

Ah, well-a-day!
Come, let us turn,
Strong souls that burn,
To the face of the Urn,
Strong souls that stray—
Ah, well-a-day!

Ah, well-a-day!
Sweet was the hair,
And the face was fair
Of Beauty, but where
Is she gone to, pray?
Ah, well-a-day!

180

Ah, well-a-day!
The world is mad,
We are all of us sad,
We are most of us bad,
We are weak to delay—
Ah, well-a-day!

Ah, well-a-day!
There is a child—
See, he has smiled!
Bricks he has piled
In a heap at his play—
Ah, well-a-day!

Ah, well-a-day!
Few men know
Where spring-buds blow,
And the birth of the snow
That blossoms in May—
Ah, well-a-day!

181

Ah, well-a-day!
All men see
Agony, and flee—
Why should we be
At all, if we pay
Such a penalty, eh?

182

GOOD-NIGHT!

Good-night, my sweet one, sleep attend you,
And bear you into dreamland on his wings,
Into a mist of soft sights send you,
Where not a single bird there is but sings,
Happiness higher than the day's is lend you,
And eyes that revel in the midst of things,
From which, alas! the light will rend you
In spite of memory that backward clings.

183

MY LOVE.

MEDIÆVAL.

My Love is of the summer, she
Is bound about her brow with hair
As golden as the sun-lit air
Upon a base of porphyry;

A summer Queen she seems to be,
Her feet caress the grasses fair,
And they in turn obeisance bear,
And blossoms bend before her knee;

She hath a wondrous way with me,
She glances at me, and I wear
A silent mien, content to share
Her sweet complaisant company.

184

My Love is of the autumn, she
Hath black-brown hair and subtle eyes,
Green as the green-grey Northern skies,
Her face is good for man to see;

I strove, alas! I failed to flee,
As effort flutters down and dies
Like a shot swallow, and low lies,
So I succumbèd quietly;

With meadow-sweet and fern did we
In Love's unending Folly wise
Make garlands, weave together ties
That left me shorn of liberty.

My Love is of the spring-time, she
Is gentle as the opening flowers,
And lays a sense of cooling showers
Upon a forehead fever-free;

185

Under an Elm's gigantic lee
We sat and laughed aside the hours
With pouting time-regardless powers,
And tears of changing ecstasy;

She hath blue eyes, she hath the key
To open green May-scented bowers,
She hath the songs of birds for dowers,
And nosegays folded full of glee.

My Love is of the winter, she
Is queen of the dim blue-gray land
Where the auroral streamers stand,
And, roseate, stride across the sea;

The daughter of the winter, he
Her cheeks with bitter frosts hath fanned,
And made my Lady keen-eyed, and
Next beautiful in turn to thee

186

My Goddess of the graces three
Who hast the autumn to command,
And hast the eyes so subtly planned,
Holding three separate shades in fee.