 | Poems and Sonnets |  |
187
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
188
189
THE FIRST.
As dreams at morning fly
And leave no trace behind,
When we draw up the blind,
To the limbo of mists consigned,
So when to thee I sigh
Cleared are the clouds of my mind—
And leave no trace behind,
When we draw up the blind,
To the limbo of mists consigned,
So when to thee I sigh
Cleared are the clouds of my mind—
Cleared are the clouds of my mind,
Breaks forth and shines the blue
Wet dismal fog-damps through,
Slays fancies false the true,
And faces false I find
Fly before thought of you.
Breaks forth and shines the blue
Wet dismal fog-damps through,
Slays fancies false the true,
And faces false I find
Fly before thought of you.
190
O darling do not leave
My side, or I shall die,
To you my soul doth cry,
To you my heart doth fly,
For loss of you I grieve
As the flowers at sunset sigh;
My side, or I shall die,
To you my soul doth cry,
To you my heart doth fly,
For loss of you I grieve
As the flowers at sunset sigh;
Come back at least in dreams,
And let me see your face,
If but for some short space,
And let my fancy trace
Deep hair of thine that gleams,
Ringlets that interlace;
And let me see your face,
If but for some short space,
And let my fancy trace
Deep hair of thine that gleams,
Ringlets that interlace;
Come to me when you can—
As sighs for the scent of the rose
Air where a rosebud blows
I sigh, my wings I close,
They hang down weak and wan,
My life-stream stagnant flows,
As sighs for the scent of the rose
Air where a rosebud blows
I sigh, my wings I close,
They hang down weak and wan,
My life-stream stagnant flows,
191
O sweet, come, quicken the life
In my veins, make roses blow,
Melt sad white widths of snow,
Bid gladsome streamlets flow
Till all the air is rife
With melody, freed from woe;
In my veins, make roses blow,
Melt sad white widths of snow,
Bid gladsome streamlets flow
Till all the air is rife
With melody, freed from woe;
As for me I am weary,
I lie and think of you
And paint a likeness true,
As songbirds love the blue
Bright skies I love you dearie,
Each dawn my love is new;
I lie and think of you
And paint a likeness true,
As songbirds love the blue
Bright skies I love you dearie,
Each dawn my love is new;
As songbirds hate the winter,
Short days and nights that freeze,
No flowers and leafless trees,
As songbirds cease the breeze
With shafts of song to splinter,
So am I ill at ease,
Short days and nights that freeze,
No flowers and leafless trees,
As songbirds cease the breeze
With shafts of song to splinter,
So am I ill at ease,
192
Sick, silent, when we're parted,
Unhappy till we meet,
Till sound of some one's feet
Is heard, and hands that greet
Make whole the heart that smarted,
Rebuild the broken street;
Unhappy till we meet,
Till sound of some one's feet
Is heard, and hands that greet
Make whole the heart that smarted,
Rebuild the broken street;
Sweet love, I cannot say
Though I try the things I would—
Ah! if I only could,
If at your feet I stood
The gift of a voice one day
Made mine, sweet, then you should
Though I try the things I would—
Ah! if I only could,
If at your feet I stood
The gift of a voice one day
Made mine, sweet, then you should
Know what your Beauty means,
And how my heart is riven,
And how in vain I've striven
To reach the heights of Heaven
With pen that only gleans
Stray ears, through Earth's fields driven;
And how my heart is riven,
And how in vain I've striven
To reach the heights of Heaven
With pen that only gleans
Stray ears, through Earth's fields driven;
193
I find my life flow sadly,
And many a stagnant pool
Is there, and breezes cool
Are absent, 'tis the rule
It seems for daytime badly
And night to use their tool;
And many a stagnant pool
Is there, and breezes cool
Are absent, 'tis the rule
It seems for daytime badly
And night to use their tool;
But if your life flows gladly
Something that is to know,
Then all things are not woe,
And grass beneath the snow
Is green yet, and less madly
Our pulses come and go;
Something that is to know,
Then all things are not woe,
And grass beneath the snow
Is green yet, and less madly
Our pulses come and go;
If Beauty is, and you, sweet,
Are Beautiful, 'tis well!
The cold and fires of hell
Have not sufficed to quell
All things, and your white feet,
Unsinged, the good news tell;
Are Beautiful, 'tis well!
The cold and fires of hell
Have not sufficed to quell
All things, and your white feet,
Unsinged, the good news tell;
194
Be perfect; let your Beauty
Bud, blossom, like a rose,
Straight as a rose-tree grows
Rise, proud and pure as snows,
The sons of men for booty
To you Fate, smiling, throws;
Bud, blossom, like a rose,
Straight as a rose-tree grows
Rise, proud and pure as snows,
The sons of men for booty
To you Fate, smiling, throws;
And all I claim—I do claim
This much—is right of place;
I was the first to trace
In dust before your face
My form, the first that came,
The foremost in the race,
This much—is right of place;
I was the first to trace
In dust before your face
My form, the first that came,
The foremost in the race,
First lover of them all,
The first to speak your praise,
The first a psalm to raise
With heart and lips a-blaze
Fast bound in Beauty's thrall,
The first your Beauty slays!
The first to speak your praise,
The first a psalm to raise
With heart and lips a-blaze
Fast bound in Beauty's thrall,
The first your Beauty slays!
195
ONE TRESS.
I should have liked one tress—one—only one—
One sea-soft ripple of the black-brown hair,
One ray from off the circle of the sun,
One leaf from out a flowering forest fair,
Surely, sweet lady mine, 'twere no harm done
Of wealth so wide a mite with me to share;
One sea-soft ripple of the black-brown hair,
One ray from off the circle of the sun,
One leaf from out a flowering forest fair,
Surely, sweet lady mine, 'twere no harm done
Of wealth so wide a mite with me to share;
One drop from out the Great Wide World of Water,
One crystal blade from fields of ether torn,
One distant dimple of a smile, O daughter,
One blush from off the crimson face of morn,
One soft sweet echo of thy low love-laughter,
One pearl-pink petal pouted from a rose,
One wingèd word of answer, silence after,
One star from all the galaxies of snows,
One look of love, one pressure of a hand,
One sparkle flashed from out an answering eye,
One grain from all the silted seas of sand,
One point of light from blue expanse of sky,
One rosy foam-flower flung from out the Ocean
Fair as Queen Venus, when she rose, new-born,
One gentle message of a hand in motion
All fraught with hopefulness for love forlorn,
One whisper of the wind on summer mornings
Waking a glad re-echo in the leaves,
One ripple of laughter rung from under awnings
Merry maidens shading on soft summer eves,
One moonbeam shining silvery o'er the billows
Amid the bewildering witchery of the night,
One delicate dream-tune played about our pillows,
One ray, one pure white shaft of morning light,
One echo of a symphony suggesting
Delicious dreams in rainbow raiments dressed,
One glimpse of hope of somewhere, sometime, resting
And sinking into sleep, and being blest,
One distant tiny tinkle of remembrance,
Preserved through all the sights and sounds of morn,
Of some fair vision, without form or semblance,
Amid the misty dim dream-valleys born,
One flame plucked off the pyre of sunset fires,
One feather fallen from out an eagle's wing,
One waft of melody seized from off the lyres
Of all the Universe of Birds that sing,
One flake of foam blown off the ocean ridges,
One rattle in the rowlocks of an oar,
One winglet waving in a mist of midges,
One shell from all the lone Atlantic shore,
One silent memory of seasons golden
When life and love went hand in hand together,
One glance a fearful follower to embolden,
One whistle of wind aloft in winter weather;
One rosy flush a fair face overflowing,
One honeysuckle-scented wave of air,
One lightning flash the landscape sudden showing,
One look, its owner only half-aware,
Right to the heart of hearts of some one going,
For him a life or death-doom to declare—
One crystal blade from fields of ether torn,
One distant dimple of a smile, O daughter,
One blush from off the crimson face of morn,
One soft sweet echo of thy low love-laughter,
One pearl-pink petal pouted from a rose,
One wingèd word of answer, silence after,
One star from all the galaxies of snows,
196
One sparkle flashed from out an answering eye,
One grain from all the silted seas of sand,
One point of light from blue expanse of sky,
One rosy foam-flower flung from out the Ocean
Fair as Queen Venus, when she rose, new-born,
One gentle message of a hand in motion
All fraught with hopefulness for love forlorn,
One whisper of the wind on summer mornings
Waking a glad re-echo in the leaves,
One ripple of laughter rung from under awnings
Merry maidens shading on soft summer eves,
One moonbeam shining silvery o'er the billows
Amid the bewildering witchery of the night,
One delicate dream-tune played about our pillows,
One ray, one pure white shaft of morning light,
One echo of a symphony suggesting
Delicious dreams in rainbow raiments dressed,
One glimpse of hope of somewhere, sometime, resting
And sinking into sleep, and being blest,
197
Preserved through all the sights and sounds of morn,
Of some fair vision, without form or semblance,
Amid the misty dim dream-valleys born,
One flame plucked off the pyre of sunset fires,
One feather fallen from out an eagle's wing,
One waft of melody seized from off the lyres
Of all the Universe of Birds that sing,
One flake of foam blown off the ocean ridges,
One rattle in the rowlocks of an oar,
One winglet waving in a mist of midges,
One shell from all the lone Atlantic shore,
One silent memory of seasons golden
When life and love went hand in hand together,
One glance a fearful follower to embolden,
One whistle of wind aloft in winter weather;
One rosy flush a fair face overflowing,
One honeysuckle-scented wave of air,
One lightning flash the landscape sudden showing,
One look, its owner only half-aware,
198
For him a life or death-doom to declare—
All these seem small things, lady—I ask less,
For I only ask of thee one tiny tress.
For I only ask of thee one tiny tress.
199
MY LOVE.
My love is waiting by the sea—
By sloped long hillocks of dun sand
With grey-green grasses clothed, a land
Most lonely, there she chose to stand—
Most grievous, there she chose to be—
My love is waiting by the sea!
By sloped long hillocks of dun sand
With grey-green grasses clothed, a land
Most lonely, there she chose to stand—
Most grievous, there she chose to be—
My love is waiting by the sea!
My love is waiting in the wood—
Beneath her feet the flowers are red
And yellow, over her sweet head
The falling fluttered leaves are shed,
She wears her hair, she wears no hood,
My love is waiting in the wood!
Beneath her feet the flowers are red
And yellow, over her sweet head
The falling fluttered leaves are shed,
She wears her hair, she wears no hood,
My love is waiting in the wood!
200
My love is waiting at the gate—
A rose she holds between her hands,
And, silent, smiling down she stands,
Her hair in braids of golden bands
Hangs downward by its own glad weight,
My love is waiting at the gate!
A rose she holds between her hands,
And, silent, smiling down she stands,
Her hair in braids of golden bands
Hangs downward by its own glad weight,
My love is waiting at the gate!
My love is waiting in the lane—
The honeysuckle stoops inclined
To kiss her, of an equal mind
With me, the roses blush to find
Their rivalry of redness vain,
My love is waiting in the lane!
The honeysuckle stoops inclined
To kiss her, of an equal mind
With me, the roses blush to find
Their rivalry of redness vain,
My love is waiting in the lane!
My love is waiting on the shore—
The waves are plashing at her feet,
Soft music this, but not so sweet
As low desire of lips that meet,
Once having met to meet the more,
My love is waiting on the shore!
The waves are plashing at her feet,
Soft music this, but not so sweet
As low desire of lips that meet,
Once having met to meet the more,
My love is waiting on the shore!
201
My love is waiting by the stream—
Ah, sweet o ne, fast the waters flow,
Our joy is fleeting even so,
A moment's mute delight we know,
A moment's wild ecstatic dream,
And—love's no longer by the stream!
Ah, sweet o ne, fast the waters flow,
Our joy is fleeting even so,
A moment's mute delight we know,
A moment's wild ecstatic dream,
And—love's no longer by the stream!
My love is waiting nigh the lake—
Sweet pebbles, rounded water-stones
She stands upon, I would my bones
Were even as ye, I would my groans
A sacrifice her feet might take,
That love would slay me by the lake!
Sweet pebbles, rounded water-stones
She stands upon, I would my bones
Were even as ye, I would my groans
A sacrifice her feet might take,
That love would slay me by the lake!
My love is waiting in the road—
And up and down she looks and weeps,
My coldness at a distance keeps,
For what she, cruel, sowed she reaps,
She mocked me when my own heart glowed,
I leave her weeping in the road!
And up and down she looks and weeps,
My coldness at a distance keeps,
For what she, cruel, sowed she reaps,
She mocked me when my own heart glowed,
I leave her weeping in the road!
202
My love is waiting by the trees—
Those fair four trees where first we met,
I have them in my memory yet,
She waits, she sigheth for regret,
And I burn round her in the breeze,
And breathe upon her through the trees!
Those fair four trees where first we met,
I have them in my memory yet,
She waits, she sigheth for regret,
And I burn round her in the breeze,
And breathe upon her through the trees!
My love is waiting in the street—
We are not rich, we envy not
The wealthy, ours a lowly lot,
But she, she loveth me, God wot!
And therefore are my footsteps fleet
To meet my lady in the street!
We are not rich, we envy not
The wealthy, ours a lowly lot,
But she, she loveth me, God wot!
And therefore are my footsteps fleet
To meet my lady in the street!
My love is waiting by the burn—
A Scottish maiden she, and I
A Scotchman born as such to die
Am steadfast, O the soft blue eye,
The yellow hair, the lips I earn
As greeting, coming nigh the burn!
A Scottish maiden she, and I
A Scotchman born as such to die
Am steadfast, O the soft blue eye,
The yellow hair, the lips I earn
As greeting, coming nigh the burn!
203
My love is waiting by the brook—
The peppermint and forget-me-not
Make sweet and gracious all the spot,
But as for me my lips are hot,
My eyes are eager, and I look
For heaven and her beside the brook!
The peppermint and forget-me-not
Make sweet and gracious all the spot,
But as for me my lips are hot,
My eyes are eager, and I look
For heaven and her beside the brook!
My lady waiteth on the hill—
And I, I weep, I cannot move,
I cannot go to meet my love,
I strive below, she sings above,
Bound fast by fate's remorseless will
I cannot cry, nor climb the hill!
And I, I weep, I cannot move,
I cannot go to meet my love,
I strive below, she sings above,
Bound fast by fate's remorseless will
I cannot cry, nor climb the hill!
My love is waiting in the glade—
And over her the branches bow
And make a green cathedral now
With waving aisles, across her brow
A soothing shadow next have laid,
And so she waits within the glade!
And over her the branches bow
And make a green cathedral now
With waving aisles, across her brow
A soothing shadow next have laid,
And so she waits within the glade!
204
My love is waiting on the beach—
High green cliffs on the dexter hand
Enclose us from the inward land,
And on the left the billows band
Together in a foamy reach,
And laugh, as we do, on the beach!
High green cliffs on the dexter hand
Enclose us from the inward land,
And on the left the billows band
Together in a foamy reach,
And laugh, as we do, on the beach!
My love is waiting by the elm—
In France, a lonely sun-struck spot
With poplars lined that waver not
In straightness, in the mid-day hot
She chose with fire to overwhelm
My parched pale soul beside the elm!
In France, a lonely sun-struck spot
With poplars lined that waver not
In straightness, in the mid-day hot
She chose with fire to overwhelm
My parched pale soul beside the elm!
My love is waiting by the bridge—
A country bridge with mosses grown
Across a babbling streamlet thrown,
And she and I were there alone,
Alone we walked the wooded ridge,
And, after, rested on the bridge!
A country bridge with mosses grown
Across a babbling streamlet thrown,
And she and I were there alone,
Alone we walked the wooded ridge,
And, after, rested on the bridge!
205
My love is waiting far away—
In Italy underneath the blue
A sculptor's work I have to do
But I can only image you,
For you possess me, night or day,
Although you are so far away!
In Italy underneath the blue
A sculptor's work I have to do
But I can only image you,
For you possess me, night or day,
Although you are so far away!
My love is waiting in the town—
In London, and I try to write
“Dramatic Poems,” failing quite,
She lays her hands across my sight,
And what she wills I must put down,
My queen, and queen of London town!
In London, and I try to write
“Dramatic Poems,” failing quite,
She lays her hands across my sight,
And what she wills I must put down,
My queen, and queen of London town!
My love is waiting on the heath—
Sweet upland, would that I were there,
That nostrils drank the scented air
Of furze, and feet the fingering fair
Of heather felt, a foxglove wreath
I'd weave for love upon the heath!
Sweet upland, would that I were there,
That nostrils drank the scented air
Of furze, and feet the fingering fair
Of heather felt, a foxglove wreath
I'd weave for love upon the heath!
206
My love is waiting in the vale—
I have not seen her since I went
On fame's achievement strongly bent
To the wars, my soul in sunder rent,
One half she holds, that maiden pale,
Of a soldier's heart hid in the vale!
I have not seen her since I went
On fame's achievement strongly bent
To the wars, my soul in sunder rent,
One half she holds, that maiden pale,
Of a soldier's heart hid in the vale!
My love is waiting on the mount—
Beneath the rocks, above the vines
That grow in green trim-trellised lines
She sits, and slowly sadly pines,
As I pine, and the hours count
Until I stand on that Swiss mount!
Beneath the rocks, above the vines
That grow in green trim-trellised lines
She sits, and slowly sadly pines,
As I pine, and the hours count
Until I stand on that Swiss mount!
My love is waiting in the night—
Dark-eyed, a sweet signora face,
With the old unequalled southern grace
Of figure, in the market place
Against the carven pillar, white
She leans and shineth through the night!
Dark-eyed, a sweet signora face,
With the old unequalled southern grace
Of figure, in the market place
Against the carven pillar, white
She leans and shineth through the night!
207
My love is waiting by the bay—
The Ganges rolls long brown-lipped waves,
And her bare feet their whisper laves,
Their broken whisper, just as saves
Each kiss a keener word to say,
A closer lip-caress next day!
The Ganges rolls long brown-lipped waves,
And her bare feet their whisper laves,
Their broken whisper, just as saves
Each kiss a keener word to say,
A closer lip-caress next day!
My love is waiting in the North—
I see her, she hath green-grey eyes,
And something of the serpent lies
Within those deep bewildering skies,
Whence witchery lightens, ceaseless, forth
The Auroral lustre of the North!
I see her, she hath green-grey eyes,
And something of the serpent lies
Within those deep bewildering skies,
Whence witchery lightens, ceaseless, forth
The Auroral lustre of the North!
My love is waiting—fond of me
She is, at least she was last year,
Who knows, I may not now be dear,
We are parted, shall I shed a tear?
Come, sweet one, if I weep for thee
At least a half tear drop for me!
She is, at least she was last year,
Who knows, I may not now be dear,
We are parted, shall I shed a tear?
Come, sweet one, if I weep for thee
At least a half tear drop for me!
208
My love is waiting where I left
Her last—and let her wait awhile,
For when I wept she did but smile,
Now let her sorrow and beguile
As best she may, from love's lips reft,
The time, for laughed-at love has left!
Her last—and let her wait awhile,
For when I wept she did but smile,
Now let her sorrow and beguile
As best she may, from love's lips reft,
The time, for laughed-at love has left!
My love is waiting—is it so,
And doth she wait and look for me?
As seeks an old sweet flower a bee,
So will I flutter unto thee,
The unforgotten lips to know
Again I tasted long ago!
And doth she wait and look for me?
As seeks an old sweet flower a bee,
So will I flutter unto thee,
The unforgotten lips to know
Again I tasted long ago!
My love is waiting in a dream—
Come, sleep, and close the daylight gates,
And where my golden-haired one waits
Robed in the delicate mystic states
Of dreamland, let my presence seem,
And let me join her in a dream!
Come, sleep, and close the daylight gates,
And where my golden-haired one waits
Robed in the delicate mystic states
Of dreamland, let my presence seem,
And let me join her in a dream!
209
My love is waiting in the morn—
Her face is in the rosy flush,
The beatific sunrise blush,
And out the gay-eyed memories gush,
The tinted clouds night left forlorn,
To meet my mistress in the morn!
Her face is in the rosy flush,
The beatific sunrise blush,
And out the gay-eyed memories gush,
The tinted clouds night left forlorn,
To meet my mistress in the morn!
My love is waiting at the eve—
The golden sunset gleams away
Its glory into simple gray,
The rose-hued raptures where are they,
Is nought left but to sigh and grieve,
And mourn our midday merged in eve?
The golden sunset gleams away
Its glory into simple gray,
The rose-hued raptures where are they,
Is nought left but to sigh and grieve,
And mourn our midday merged in eve?
My love is waiting in the breeze—
A fairy she, with wings outspread
She hovers round about my head,
And in each shower of leaves is shed
Upon me, sighs from out the trees,
And rustles gently in the breeze!
A fairy she, with wings outspread
She hovers round about my head,
And in each shower of leaves is shed
Upon me, sighs from out the trees,
And rustles gently in the breeze!
210
My love is waiting by the boat—
The ripples rise, advance, and flee,
My lady's foot is stayed for me,
And golden all across the sea
The sunset splendours fall and float,
My love is waiting by the boat!
The ripples rise, advance, and flee,
My lady's foot is stayed for me,
And golden all across the sea
The sunset splendours fall and float,
My love is waiting by the boat!
My love is waiting at the mound—
Grey, desolate, in a lonely place,
With granite boulders leaving space
For fern and heaths that interlace,
A witch-like, strange, enchanted ground,
With Fairy Love upon the mound!
Grey, desolate, in a lonely place,
With granite boulders leaving space
For fern and heaths that interlace,
A witch-like, strange, enchanted ground,
With Fairy Love upon the mound!
My love is waiting by the hedge—
Under her feet the laughing blue
Wild speedwell peep the grasses through,
And white stars glisten two and two
Along the ivy-tangled edge
Of that sweet spring-time trysting hedge!
Under her feet the laughing blue
Wild speedwell peep the grasses through,
And white stars glisten two and two
Along the ivy-tangled edge
Of that sweet spring-time trysting hedge!
211
My love is waiting in the sky—
At sunrise towards her face I turn,
At sunset towards her lips I yearn,
And all the livelong day I burn
To win me wings of death, and fly
To her I long for in the sky!
At sunrise towards her face I turn,
At sunset towards her lips I yearn,
And all the livelong day I burn
To win me wings of death, and fly
To her I long for in the sky!
My love is waiting far behind—
One kiss, one whisper, only one,
And with the setting slanting sun
Her life—my life as well—was done,
And henceforth here death's face I find,
Love's warm embrace being left behind!
One kiss, one whisper, only one,
And with the setting slanting sun
Her life—my life as well—was done,
And henceforth here death's face I find,
Love's warm embrace being left behind!
My love is waiting in a cloud—
A cloud of memory, mute and wet
With raindrops of grey gone regret,
That shall be slashed with rainbow yet,
As the sun turns a winter shroud
Of mist into a red-lipped cloud!
A cloud of memory, mute and wet
With raindrops of grey gone regret,
That shall be slashed with rainbow yet,
As the sun turns a winter shroud
Of mist into a red-lipped cloud!
212
My love is waiting where the moon
Casts all across a dim grey waste
Of waves and sand by waters chased
A pale-gold shimmer, and I haste
To wake her from that cold sad swoon
Beneath the unsympathizing moon!
Casts all across a dim grey waste
Of waves and sand by waters chased
A pale-gold shimmer, and I haste
To wake her from that cold sad swoon
Beneath the unsympathizing moon!
My love is waiting where the sun
Burns vehement, and the distant hills
With azure mist-enchantment fills,
I wait to learn the thing she wills,
She waits to see her work well done,
She in the shade, I 'neath the sun!
Burns vehement, and the distant hills
With azure mist-enchantment fills,
I wait to learn the thing she wills,
She waits to see her work well done,
She in the shade, I 'neath the sun!
My love is waiting, and I go
To lay upon her lips a kiss
Including all the passion this
My song hath seized, no note I miss,
No pang of the melody, tear or throe,
When my own mistress' mouth I know!
To lay upon her lips a kiss
Including all the passion this
My song hath seized, no note I miss,
No pang of the melody, tear or throe,
When my own mistress' mouth I know!
213
YET HOW FAIR!
God saw the world that he had made, and its beauty swept across his soul like a sudden scent of summer in the air, like the sound of distant music, like the melody of the wings of the wind, and he leaned his head upon his hands and wept.
Yet how fair!
For all the sweeping agony of rain
That bars the windows of the day with pain
At night, behold! the moon peeps forth again
With golden hair,
This world of ours is woeful, yet how fair!
For all the sweeping agony of rain
That bars the windows of the day with pain
At night, behold! the moon peeps forth again
With golden hair,
This world of ours is woeful, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
To-day her words are cruel, and her eyes
Shake all the summer glory of the skies
Into the sieve of sadness, and low lies
Her lover in despair,
Wicked is she who wounds him, yet him fair!
To-day her words are cruel, and her eyes
Shake all the summer glory of the skies
Into the sieve of sadness, and low lies
Her lover in despair,
Wicked is she who wounds him, yet him fair!
214
Yet how fair!
In all the reckless splendour of his youth
He rides his horse-hoofs over trampled truth,
And gives for gladness to a maiden ruth,
And sorrow for her share,
Ignoble is his presence, yet how fair!
In all the reckless splendour of his youth
He rides his horse-hoofs over trampled truth,
And gives for gladness to a maiden ruth,
And sorrow for her share,
Ignoble is his presence, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The long melodious laughter of the storm
Across a seething waste of billows borne
When shipwrecked heart from heart asunder torn
Shrieks everywhere,
Wild is the winter weather, yet how fair!
The long melodious laughter of the storm
Across a seething waste of billows borne
When shipwrecked heart from heart asunder torn
Shrieks everywhere,
Wild is the winter weather, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The simple lines of softly smiling lips
That hold a rosebud unto him that sips
Their sweetness, that a sudden shudder nips
And freezeth there,
Thrice treacherous are they, brother, yet how fair!
The simple lines of softly smiling lips
That hold a rosebud unto him that sips
Their sweetness, that a sudden shudder nips
And freezeth there,
Thrice treacherous are they, brother, yet how fair!
215
Yet how fair!
The burning flow of vowels that deceive,
That wrap a heart in flames they mean to leave,
And such a marvellous web of witchery weave,
So soft a lair,
Kindled at hell the words are, yet how fair!
The burning flow of vowels that deceive,
That wrap a heart in flames they mean to leave,
And such a marvellous web of witchery weave,
So soft a lair,
Kindled at hell the words are, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
When on some sick St. Anthony peepeth in
A face whose fire might tempt a saint to sin,
Braided with sighs of souls she seeks to win,
She seeks to tear,
Wicked is she who tempts him, yet how fair!
When on some sick St. Anthony peepeth in
A face whose fire might tempt a saint to sin,
Braided with sighs of souls she seeks to win,
She seeks to tear,
Wicked is she who tempts him, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The world is heavy with the weight of snows,
And only here and there we find a rose,
And up and down the wheel of fortune goes,
And hard to bear
Her folly, she is fickle, yet how fair!
The world is heavy with the weight of snows,
And only here and there we find a rose,
And up and down the wheel of fortune goes,
And hard to bear
Her folly, she is fickle, yet how fair!
216
Yet how fair!
The summer morning wet with woven dews
On all the grass not one of us can choose
But love, though unto him the day refuse
A flower to wear,
The summer day is selfish, yet how fair!
The summer morning wet with woven dews
On all the grass not one of us can choose
But love, though unto him the day refuse
A flower to wear,
The summer day is selfish, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The gentle moonlight cast across the sheaves,
Though in the midst there sits a soul that grieves,
Whose heart is shaken like the autumn leaves,
To blossom ne'er
Again in this world, bitter, yet how fair!
The gentle moonlight cast across the sheaves,
Though in the midst there sits a soul that grieves,
Whose heart is shaken like the autumn leaves,
To blossom ne'er
Again in this world, bitter, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The silvery night that takes a maid away
For whom a mother somewhere strives to pray,
The silvery night in arms of which they stray
A passionate pair,
The night it is that wiles them, yet how fair!
The silvery night that takes a maid away
For whom a mother somewhere strives to pray,
The silvery night in arms of which they stray
A passionate pair,
The night it is that wiles them, yet how fair!
217
Yet how fair!
An early morning in the woods of spring
When like young leaves so easily they cling—
Those kisses—and the afternoons that sting,
That would repair
With sadness over-gladness, yet how fair!
An early morning in the woods of spring
When like young leaves so easily they cling—
Those kisses—and the afternoons that sting,
That would repair
With sadness over-gladness, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The bloom and pouting petals of a rose,
Though not a man of us there is but knows
That bloom is for a season, after goes,
And goeth where?
Thrice bitter is its beauty, yet how fair!
The bloom and pouting petals of a rose,
Though not a man of us there is but knows
That bloom is for a season, after goes,
And goeth where?
Thrice bitter is its beauty, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
A little hand that waves a man to follow,
A wafted sigh that, foolish, he must swallow,
A glance that leads him over hill and hollow,
Swift to ensnare,
A simple thing is each one, yet how fair!
A little hand that waves a man to follow,
A wafted sigh that, foolish, he must swallow,
A glance that leads him over hill and hollow,
Swift to ensnare,
A simple thing is each one, yet how fair!
218
Yet how fair!
The white face of a hero lying dead,
Over each cheek of his a pale rose shed,
Death's bosom bent to pillow him instead
Of heart of her
Who would have died to save him, yet how fair!
The white face of a hero lying dead,
Over each cheek of his a pale rose shed,
Death's bosom bent to pillow him instead
Of heart of her
Who would have died to save him, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The very rubbing off of early bloom,
Yea, and the threatening terror of the tomb,
Yea, and the steady coming on of gloom
An end to declare
Of all things, bitter is it, yet how fair!
The very rubbing off of early bloom,
Yea, and the threatening terror of the tomb,
Yea, and the steady coming on of gloom
An end to declare
Of all things, bitter is it, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The laughing eyes of maidenhood the while
Their sole success is knowing how to smile,
Although we feel that teeth of time will file,
His fingers pare
The softest apple-blossom, yet how fair!
The laughing eyes of maidenhood the while
Their sole success is knowing how to smile,
Although we feel that teeth of time will file,
His fingers pare
The softest apple-blossom, yet how fair!
219
Yet how fair!
The weary years, the years that come and go
And crown their sad departure, each, with snow,
For each to some gay heart has given a glow,
A kindled glare
Of happiness, they hasten, yet how fair!
The weary years, the years that come and go
And crown their sad departure, each, with snow,
For each to some gay heart has given a glow,
A kindled glare
Of happiness, they hasten, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The softest sighs of air that steal between
Downbending tracery of branches green
Where lovers' feet are often standing seen,
Though frosts should dare
To nip the leaves in winter, yet how fair!
The softest sighs of air that steal between
Downbending tracery of branches green
Where lovers' feet are often standing seen,
Though frosts should dare
To nip the leaves in winter, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The foam flakes showered all across the blue,
On mornings when the wind is wailing through
The rigging, and a pair of lovers true
Their fealty swear,
The sea's an arch deceiver, yet how fair!
The foam flakes showered all across the blue,
On mornings when the wind is wailing through
The rigging, and a pair of lovers true
Their fealty swear,
The sea's an arch deceiver, yet how fair!
220
Yet how fair!
The very ecstasy that drags us down,
The very wild delirium of the crown
A smile can weave, and fling to earth a frown,
A motion scare,
Sweet is it, fleeting is it, yet how fair!
The very ecstasy that drags us down,
The very wild delirium of the crown
A smile can weave, and fling to earth a frown,
A motion scare,
Sweet is it, fleeting is it, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The dreams that wave their sleepy wings at night
And scatter, scared at advent of the light,
To leave us unfledged, after visions bright
Fast held of care,
Deceitful are they, dangerous, yet how fair!
The dreams that wave their sleepy wings at night
And scatter, scared at advent of the light,
To leave us unfledged, after visions bright
Fast held of care,
Deceitful are they, dangerous, yet how fair!
Yet how fair!
The whole of things, the ecstasy that drains
The panting soul till not a drop remains,
Till pleasure's flower ripens into pains,
Till eyelids stare,
Till happiness is heavy, yet how fair!
The whole of things, the ecstasy that drains
The panting soul till not a drop remains,
Till pleasure's flower ripens into pains,
Till eyelids stare,
Till happiness is heavy, yet how fair!
221
Yet how fair!
In spite of all, the Universal Glow,
In spite of all the streets on fire with woe
And faces pale and haggard all-a-row,
Though to prepare
Reaction runs the feeling, yet how fair!
In spite of all, the Universal Glow,
In spite of all the streets on fire with woe
And faces pale and haggard all-a-row,
Though to prepare
Reaction runs the feeling, yet how fair!
222
THE BRIGAND'S LETTER.
“I cherish the sweet hope she will not marry,Marry again, my love, my dark-eyed queen,
It may be memory of a man will tarry
In heart of hers when I am bruised between
The sudden folding doors of violent death;
I charge you, therefore, brother, safe to carry
Words wafted by her husband's dying breath;
If aught there were that yet for me could parry
The silent stress of agony that awaits
My soul approaching close Death's darksome gates
It were to know that she, my love, were true,
The grave being found too feeble to undo
The silken love-knot twined around us two,
Made strong for both by fingers of the Fates;
223
To meet me at Death's lonely garden-gate,
Let it be so— I lay no vows upon her;
Let all my gifts of happy olden time
In such case still be hers, with this my rhyme,
My wreath of death-song, last of all I'd don her!
But take away, sweet brother mine, and keep,
The ring I gave her with my name therein,
If so be she, my queen, should count so cheap
The heart that once she thought it wealth to win,
Because it beats beneath the ground—I love her!
And wings of mine may, who knows, wave above her,
And, if she but be true, we may discover
Some gate by which to Heaven to enter in!”
Founded, literally, on a letter purporting to have been written by one of the Greek Brigands to his wife on the eve of his execution. I do not know whether the reported letter was true or not, but it was quite beautiful enough to be true.
224
A LITANY
FOR THE USE OF THE MEN WHOM THE CHURCHES
HAVE IN THIS AGE CAST OUT.
God, God, what does it all mean,
All this agony of being?
Surely, Thou dost not rejoice
Mankind's misery in seeing?
Send us some sound of a voice,
Send us some avenue of fleeing.
All this agony of being?
Surely, Thou dost not rejoice
Mankind's misery in seeing?
Send us some sound of a voice,
Send us some avenue of fleeing.
If there is Purpose in the pain,
Scourge, till we faint beneath the rod,
Waken us, and scourge us again;
If Thou art our Mother O God,
Not one of us will complain,
Hell we will traverse unshod.
Scourge, till we faint beneath the rod,
Waken us, and scourge us again;
If Thou art our Mother O God,
Not one of us will complain,
Hell we will traverse unshod.
225
Beauty is the thing that we require—
Beautiful if Thou canst make
Us men and women by fire,
Then over us fires rake,
Such is thy children's desire,
They will not blench neither quake.
Beautiful if Thou canst make
Us men and women by fire,
Then over us fires rake,
Such is thy children's desire,
They will not blench neither quake.
Heat we can bear and the pain of it,
Cold of the ice-cold lake,
Are we assured of the gain of it,
Souls in our hands we will take,
If we suspect but the bane of it,
Limbs of us quiver and shake.
Cold of the ice-cold lake,
Are we assured of the gain of it,
Souls in our hands we will take,
If we suspect but the bane of it,
Limbs of us quiver and shake.
One thing Thou lovest and mortals,
Beauty—and Goodness and Truth;
Towards these open Thou the portals,
Spare not, make away with ruth,
So that to us in the end falls
Beauty of Holiness in sooth.
Beauty—and Goodness and Truth;
Towards these open Thou the portals,
Spare not, make away with ruth,
So that to us in the end falls
Beauty of Holiness in sooth.
226
Purposeless pain we outcry at,
He were a Fiend not a God,
He that should issue his fiat
For application of the rod
Only for torture, we sigh at
But love not the might of his nod.
He were a Fiend not a God,
He that should issue his fiat
For application of the rod
Only for torture, we sigh at
But love not the might of his nod.
Nay if He be, we defy Him,
Turning to worship a man,
Some one, the best we can find,
He that is least of us blind,
Strongest, and purest of mind,
With Godhead at once we supply him.
Turning to worship a man,
Some one, the best we can find,
He that is least of us blind,
Strongest, and purest of mind,
With Godhead at once we supply him.
But, if Thou art, O our Lord,
And if Thou lovest us, well—
Lead us through horrors of hell,
World-wide conflagrations to quell,
As sheep follow a bell
We will follow the flame of Thy sword.
And if Thou lovest us, well—
Lead us through horrors of hell,
World-wide conflagrations to quell,
As sheep follow a bell
We will follow the flame of Thy sword.
227
HYMN
AT SUNRISE OF THE THEISTIC ‘PILGRIM FATHERS’ LANDING ON THE SHORE OF A NEW FAITH— THEIR ‘TE DEUM LAUDAMUS.’
At Last, thank God, the watchers on the mountains
Tell us that far off flush the streaks of dawn,
Again are flowing long-forgotten fountains,
From out the ether long-lost sounds are born,
On all sides round about us are appearing
Signs, and faint flowers of Thought not seen before,
And hope there is that we at last are steering
Our Planet Vessel to the looked-for shore,
That all these weary centuries of waiting
At last, it may be, quicken to an end,
And rolls the Race towards its final state in
That groove in which its way it has to wend
Through all the glorious future harvest years
When tree of life of ours its blossom bears;
Tell us that far off flush the streaks of dawn,
Again are flowing long-forgotten fountains,
From out the ether long-lost sounds are born,
On all sides round about us are appearing
Signs, and faint flowers of Thought not seen before,
And hope there is that we at last are steering
Our Planet Vessel to the looked-for shore,
That all these weary centuries of waiting
At last, it may be, quicken to an end,
And rolls the Race towards its final state in
That groove in which its way it has to wend
Through all the glorious future harvest years
When tree of life of ours its blossom bears;
228
When sons of men who long have been enduring,
Waiting the sunrise, bound in bitter thrall,
Eyes bent upon the ground, their heads obscuring
With poured-out ashes, faces to the wall,
These, who endured the agony of anguish,
And all the strain and struggle of the fight,
Sweet pale girl faces, prisoners who languish
Peeping between the prison bars of night,
And all that mighty host in tribulation
Now longing, well nigh hopeless, for the morn,
Shall feel at last a thrill of jubilation
As sounds from out the foremost watcher's horn
Signal that in the east the morning sun
To assail the realms of darkness has begun;
Waiting the sunrise, bound in bitter thrall,
Eyes bent upon the ground, their heads obscuring
With poured-out ashes, faces to the wall,
These, who endured the agony of anguish,
And all the strain and struggle of the fight,
Sweet pale girl faces, prisoners who languish
Peeping between the prison bars of night,
And all that mighty host in tribulation
Now longing, well nigh hopeless, for the morn,
Shall feel at last a thrill of jubilation
As sounds from out the foremost watcher's horn
Signal that in the east the morning sun
To assail the realms of darkness has begun;
229
Shall raise their heads, and looking each to other,
Each holding out to each a happy hand,
Say, “Dreams of ours are over, sister, brother,
At last upon the continent we stand,
Awake, firm-footed, finding things we dreamed of
In daylight wear an even happier hue,
Finding the things our hearts the surer seemed of
Are verily the truest of the true,
Finding that better after all is daylight
And pale blue skies and breezes of the morn
Than dreams engendered by the broken stray light
From clouded moon-rays o'er the ocean borne
To us the humble watchers upon earth
For the Great Planet of the Future's birth;
Each holding out to each a happy hand,
Say, “Dreams of ours are over, sister, brother,
At last upon the continent we stand,
Awake, firm-footed, finding things we dreamed of
In daylight wear an even happier hue,
Finding the things our hearts the surer seemed of
Are verily the truest of the true,
Finding that better after all is daylight
And pale blue skies and breezes of the morn
Than dreams engendered by the broken stray light
From clouded moon-rays o'er the ocean borne
To us the humble watchers upon earth
For the Great Planet of the Future's birth;
230
“The higher were the thoughts of us aforetime
The purer and the truer now they seem,
The sorrows undergone in our sad sore time
Like smoking torches far behind us gleam
Just marking the old margin of the darkness
And making clearer light in which we stand,
Of agony if we had had one spark less
Our lanterns had not lasted to the land
And we had lingered on, for ever moaning
Across the billows of an angry sea,
Wind blowing off the foam of our strong groaning
Without a haven into which to flee,
But now, secure upon the Sacred Shore,
We laugh at waves that mocked at us before;
The purer and the truer now they seem,
The sorrows undergone in our sad sore time
Like smoking torches far behind us gleam
Just marking the old margin of the darkness
And making clearer light in which we stand,
Of agony if we had had one spark less
Our lanterns had not lasted to the land
And we had lingered on, for ever moaning
Across the billows of an angry sea,
Wind blowing off the foam of our strong groaning
Without a haven into which to flee,
But now, secure upon the Sacred Shore,
We laugh at waves that mocked at us before;
231
“And ah God! how we love our friends and brothers
Who, hand in hand together, sailed the seas,
Not resting on the land, content as others
By deputy to inhale the ocean breeze,
But strong to sail alone the ocean spaces
Ploughing the deep blue furrows flecked with foam,
Not crying, like children lost in lonely places,
‘We are lost—where are we—find us—take us home,’
But crying rather, ‘helmsman, we will forward
Where most of all are dangers that devour,
We are not landsmen to be frightened shoreward
In terror at mere mention of a shower,
Where waves are deep, and flies the fiercest spray
There, helmsman, lies for us our lonely way;’”
Who, hand in hand together, sailed the seas,
Not resting on the land, content as others
By deputy to inhale the ocean breeze,
But strong to sail alone the ocean spaces
Ploughing the deep blue furrows flecked with foam,
Not crying, like children lost in lonely places,
‘We are lost—where are we—find us—take us home,’
But crying rather, ‘helmsman, we will forward
Where most of all are dangers that devour,
We are not landsmen to be frightened shoreward
In terror at mere mention of a shower,
Where waves are deep, and flies the fiercest spray
There, helmsman, lies for us our lonely way;’”
232
—Dark nights for these, and long lone hours of watching,
Cold hands upon the tiller through the night,
Like schoolboys counting hours, their knives notching
Slow spaces of approach of morning light,
And backward looking o'er the ocean-spaces
To hearts of friends who stay at home on shore,
And dreary midnight thoughts of lost embraces,
And weary pulling at the weary oar,
And doubts if after all the labour boots them
And wiser after all are those at home,
Doubts which arise though mouth of no man moots them,
Mouths tightly set with stern resolve to roam
Onward, aye ever onward to the end,
Though arms wax feeble, and strong oar-blades bend;
Cold hands upon the tiller through the night,
Like schoolboys counting hours, their knives notching
Slow spaces of approach of morning light,
And backward looking o'er the ocean-spaces
To hearts of friends who stay at home on shore,
And dreary midnight thoughts of lost embraces,
And weary pulling at the weary oar,
And doubts if after all the labour boots them
And wiser after all are those at home,
Doubts which arise though mouth of no man moots them,
Mouths tightly set with stern resolve to roam
Onward, aye ever onward to the end,
Though arms wax feeble, and strong oar-blades bend;
233
Bend wearily, as bend above the handles
Bowed breasts of the once eager-hearted band,
Faint light upon them thrown from lantern candles
That here and there among the benches stand,
Just making visible the outer ocean
Flinging on all sides angry spots of spray,
And shadows, as it were, of hands in motion
To rend the boat in splinters as a prey,
Great giant shadows, flung from out the blackness
Hanging around them, heavy, like a pall,
And walls of water right across their track, less
Easy to climb than cliffs of granite tall,
All these, and other horrors bar the way
Of passengers from twilight unto day;
Bowed breasts of the once eager-hearted band,
Faint light upon them thrown from lantern candles
That here and there among the benches stand,
Just making visible the outer ocean
Flinging on all sides angry spots of spray,
And shadows, as it were, of hands in motion
To rend the boat in splinters as a prey,
Great giant shadows, flung from out the blackness
Hanging around them, heavy, like a pall,
And walls of water right across their track, less
Easy to climb than cliffs of granite tall,
All these, and other horrors bar the way
Of passengers from twilight unto day;
234
But unto these few, in that they still trusted,
And bore their heads up 'mid the seas of scorn,
And kept their helmets bright, and swords not rusted,
And shields untarnished, neither banners torn,
To these is given to see the first faint flushing
Of sunrise ushering in the future day,
And bright cloud-clusters o'er the ether rushing—
Eyes strained to catch the first faint rosy ray,
And lips apart, and nostrils all expanded,
Strung to inhale the savour of the breeze
From off the hay-fields, sweet to men new-landed
From over barren breadths of scentless seas,
Odours of home that bring the hot salt tears
To hardy eyes that have not wept for years;
And bore their heads up 'mid the seas of scorn,
And kept their helmets bright, and swords not rusted,
And shields untarnished, neither banners torn,
To these is given to see the first faint flushing
Of sunrise ushering in the future day,
And bright cloud-clusters o'er the ether rushing—
Eyes strained to catch the first faint rosy ray,
And lips apart, and nostrils all expanded,
Strung to inhale the savour of the breeze
From off the hay-fields, sweet to men new-landed
From over barren breadths of scentless seas,
Odours of home that bring the hot salt tears
To hardy eyes that have not wept for years;
235
For all the old loves in the sweet new morning
Seem stronger still, and better than before,
Besides that many a new love has been born in
The dreary long time since we left the shore,
Loves now are wingèd that before were wingless,
And lips are rosy that were pale of old,
Dost think that any bird of song would sing less
If broken down were bars of cage that hold,
That cheek of maiden would not bloom the fairer
For keen embraces of the rough salt sea,
That rosy flowers of flesh would be the rarer
If torn from out hot flower-pots, fresh and free,
Full free themselves to wander, and explore
Dim visions only seen as yet from shore?
Seem stronger still, and better than before,
Besides that many a new love has been born in
The dreary long time since we left the shore,
Loves now are wingèd that before were wingless,
And lips are rosy that were pale of old,
Dost think that any bird of song would sing less
If broken down were bars of cage that hold,
That cheek of maiden would not bloom the fairer
For keen embraces of the rough salt sea,
That rosy flowers of flesh would be the rarer
If torn from out hot flower-pots, fresh and free,
Full free themselves to wander, and explore
Dim visions only seen as yet from shore?
236
The birds are free, and all the fields and flowers,
And flying clouds, and spaces of the air,
And foam-bells flung from off the seas in showers,
And seaweed floating, like long waving hair,
The insects all are free, the world of creatures
That underlies our own on every side
Have faces fair, with no distorted features,
On wings of nature, fetterless, they ride,
And hard it is to see why man, the noblest,
Should tie himself by senseless iron chains,
Man, who, of all the creatures ought to know best
That Liberty is, truly, She who reigns,
While all the other queens are fitful shades
Their worship only a fond dream that fades;
And flying clouds, and spaces of the air,
And foam-bells flung from off the seas in showers,
And seaweed floating, like long waving hair,
The insects all are free, the world of creatures
That underlies our own on every side
Have faces fair, with no distorted features,
On wings of nature, fetterless, they ride,
And hard it is to see why man, the noblest,
Should tie himself by senseless iron chains,
Man, who, of all the creatures ought to know best
That Liberty is, truly, She who reigns,
While all the other queens are fitful shades
Their worship only a fond dream that fades;
237
Around us, yesterday, the skies were raining,
And we were all enswathed in driving mist,
And eyes were sore, and heavy hearts were straining,
To-day by happiness our souls are kissed;
We stand upon the summit of the mountain,
And see the fair green valleys far below,
And many a silver stream, and many a fountain,
And many a league of blossom white as snow,
Bright spots are here and there, laburnum clusters,
Whose slender fingers drip with yellow rain,
And red and white horse-chestnuts, stalwart musters,
And sheets of purple lilac strew the plain,
For face of morning that upon us gleams
Is wreathed with smiles of spring-time as it seems;
And we were all enswathed in driving mist,
And eyes were sore, and heavy hearts were straining,
To-day by happiness our souls are kissed;
We stand upon the summit of the mountain,
And see the fair green valleys far below,
And many a silver stream, and many a fountain,
And many a league of blossom white as snow,
Bright spots are here and there, laburnum clusters,
Whose slender fingers drip with yellow rain,
And red and white horse-chestnuts, stalwart musters,
And sheets of purple lilac strew the plain,
For face of morning that upon us gleams
Is wreathed with smiles of spring-time as it seems;
238
The world then, after all, is not a medley,
A chaos of twisted snakes that intertwine,
A seething mass of human heads, a deadly
Fermenting flask of every kind of wine
Mixed at haphazard, but a fair great picture,
Complete in every part from side to side,
Open to keenest glance, severest stricture,
Of men within it—many-coloured, wide
Enough to satisfy the largest craving,
With many a nook and corner for the small,
Its floor with inlaid land and water paving,
And roof of ether, stainless, over all,
On all sides round about, beneath, above,
Clasping the whole in soft strong arms of love.
A chaos of twisted snakes that intertwine,
A seething mass of human heads, a deadly
Fermenting flask of every kind of wine
Mixed at haphazard, but a fair great picture,
Complete in every part from side to side,
Open to keenest glance, severest stricture,
Of men within it—many-coloured, wide
Enough to satisfy the largest craving,
With many a nook and corner for the small,
Its floor with inlaid land and water paving,
And roof of ether, stainless, over all,
On all sides round about, beneath, above,
Clasping the whole in soft strong arms of love.
239
RELIGIONISTS.
Let us fix our eyes upon distant skies,
And turn from a world that in wickedness lies,
Let us flee, let us pray, let us hurry away,
For the maw of the devil is big, say they;
And turn from a world that in wickedness lies,
Let us flee, let us pray, let us hurry away,
For the maw of the devil is big, say they;
Let us crucify flesh, the devil's own mesh,
And fly from his states and turn “Secesh,”
'Tis a very bad thing for sinners to sing,
Slow psalms are the tunes that happiness bring;
And fly from his states and turn “Secesh,”
'Tis a very bad thing for sinners to sing,
Slow psalms are the tunes that happiness bring;
Aside let us shove soft savours of love,
Laid up for us all are treasures above,
Rose-lips of delight are not for a knight
Enamoured of flowers of Paradise bright;
Laid up for us all are treasures above,
Rose-lips of delight are not for a knight
Enamoured of flowers of Paradise bright;
240
Bodies of clay were built for a day,
Here upon earth for a minute we stay,
Yet it is true that only a few
Shall pierce to the height of the Heaven of blue;
Here upon earth for a minute we stay,
Yet it is true that only a few
Shall pierce to the height of the Heaven of blue;
All the rest in the fiery nest
Of Gehenna are laid by the devil's behest,
We upon high look down from the sky
Upon neighbours and friends that in agony lie;
Of Gehenna are laid by the devil's behest,
We upon high look down from the sky
Upon neighbours and friends that in agony lie;
Theirs is the blame, they never came
To our Church, and visited now by shame,
Each shall repent that his ears he lent
To temptation, and over the broad way went;
To our Church, and visited now by shame,
Each shall repent that his ears he lent
To temptation, and over the broad way went;
Upon earth in pride these sinners deride—
Poor puffed up people!—saints who have sighed,
Now let them see that happy are we,
From the pit not one of them forth can flee;
Poor puffed up people!—saints who have sighed,
Now let them see that happy are we,
From the pit not one of them forth can flee;
241
Babes are there, the devil to spare
Is seldom wont, and all who dare
To impugn his will the fire shall kill,
And breath of them power of his shall spill;
Is seldom wont, and all who dare
To impugn his will the fire shall kill,
And breath of them power of his shall spill;
Let us all rejoice, let us lift our voice,
We that have made the righteous choice,
We are inside, and these that defied
Our warnings given to the depths have hied;
We that have made the righteous choice,
We are inside, and these that defied
Our warnings given to the depths have hied;
Not to return, for ever to burn,
Each that Religion on earth shall spurn,
In the depths of the pit, by hammering hit
Of the fiends, and fires of agony lit.
Each that Religion on earth shall spurn,
In the depths of the pit, by hammering hit
Of the fiends, and fires of agony lit.
242
THE AGONY OF THE AGE.
Horror of darkness, agony of craving
And straining after what we cannot see,
Bound hand and foot, fast, powerless to flee,
One moment dumb with stupor, wildly raving
The next, a maddening memory still saving
Deep down within some ancient recollection
Of life and love and laughter and affection,
Green fields and flowers and leaves and branches waving;
Pierces the walls of e'en this hideous prison
A ray of light, a memory of the sea
Dancing beneath a summer sun new-risen,
Risen for all things else, not risen for me,
A dream, a vain mirage, a vanishing vision,
That leaves the dark a deeper dark to be;
And straining after what we cannot see,
Bound hand and foot, fast, powerless to flee,
One moment dumb with stupor, wildly raving
The next, a maddening memory still saving
Deep down within some ancient recollection
Of life and love and laughter and affection,
Green fields and flowers and leaves and branches waving;
Pierces the walls of e'en this hideous prison
A ray of light, a memory of the sea
Dancing beneath a summer sun new-risen,
Risen for all things else, not risen for me,
A dream, a vain mirage, a vanishing vision,
That leaves the dark a deeper dark to be;
243
A consciousness of misery, and of gladness
A pale faint shadow that seemeth æons old,
A dream that's talked about, a tale that's told,
A dim delusion, echo of all men's madness,
Their refuge from the pelting storms of sadness,
A hut, a furze-bush on a lonely wold;
Short time it shields them for the walls are rolled
Asunder, and reality that had less
Pity than foe that waits to gather force,
Beats hard upon them, and they fold their arms,
And take it as the merest matter of course,
And close their eyes, and see the wondrous charms
Of Beauty fade and fall without remorse,
And all the might of men, and war's alarms,
And warrior's ecstasy, and love that strengthens,
And strainèd hour of battle life that lengthens,
And sink beneath a weight of windless calms;
A pale faint shadow that seemeth æons old,
A dream that's talked about, a tale that's told,
A dim delusion, echo of all men's madness,
Their refuge from the pelting storms of sadness,
A hut, a furze-bush on a lonely wold;
Short time it shields them for the walls are rolled
Asunder, and reality that had less
Pity than foe that waits to gather force,
Beats hard upon them, and they fold their arms,
And take it as the merest matter of course,
And close their eyes, and see the wondrous charms
Of Beauty fade and fall without remorse,
And all the might of men, and war's alarms,
And warrior's ecstasy, and love that strengthens,
And strainèd hour of battle life that lengthens,
And sink beneath a weight of windless calms;
244
At times they rouse them, rise, and feebly wonder,
“What was it—where is it—can it be true—
The life we lived, the work we used to do,
The open sea, the sky, the clouds, the thunder,
The piled-up heaps by lightning torn asunder
With intermittent glimpses of the blue,
The force of freshness when we rose anew
The purse of each new day's delights to plunder?”
Raising their heads and looking each to other,
Resting a weary brain on weary hand,
Each says to each, “do you believe it, brother,
Is it a dream, or was there such a land,
A land of love, of sister and of mother,
Have we lain here for ever, did we stand
Once fair among the foremost doing battle,
Rejoicing in the roaring and the rattle,
Or is it all a desolate waste of sand?
“What was it—where is it—can it be true—
The life we lived, the work we used to do,
The open sea, the sky, the clouds, the thunder,
The piled-up heaps by lightning torn asunder
With intermittent glimpses of the blue,
The force of freshness when we rose anew
The purse of each new day's delights to plunder?”
Raising their heads and looking each to other,
Resting a weary brain on weary hand,
Each says to each, “do you believe it, brother,
Is it a dream, or was there such a land,
A land of love, of sister and of mother,
Have we lain here for ever, did we stand
Once fair among the foremost doing battle,
Rejoicing in the roaring and the rattle,
Or is it all a desolate waste of sand?
245
“Whose fault is it, why is it we are sleeping
With weary heads upon the yellow sand,
A circle of sleepers, an inactive band,
Stiff as the stony circle that is keeping
Mute watch at Stonehenge, while the world is weeping,
Laughing, enjoying, tasting tears and sorrow,
And mirthfulness to-day and death to-morrow,
And times of birth, of sowing and of reaping?
Were it not well at least to have a part
In action, to immerse oneself in living,
Though action brought with it a keener smart
Than Buddhist feels his conscious life upgiving
To the Infinite Soul, to mingle in the mart,
And drink one's fill of struggling and of striving?
With weary heads upon the yellow sand,
A circle of sleepers, an inactive band,
Stiff as the stony circle that is keeping
Mute watch at Stonehenge, while the world is weeping,
Laughing, enjoying, tasting tears and sorrow,
And mirthfulness to-day and death to-morrow,
And times of birth, of sowing and of reaping?
Were it not well at least to have a part
In action, to immerse oneself in living,
Though action brought with it a keener smart
Than Buddhist feels his conscious life upgiving
To the Infinite Soul, to mingle in the mart,
And drink one's fill of struggling and of striving?
246
“But who will set us free? the winds are free,
The waters rise and fall for very gladness,
The evening pang, the shadow of sunset sadness
At morning advent fades in infinite glee,
The leaves pass kisses on from tree to tree,
The summer brings a sound of happy lovers,
An everlasting tunefulness that hovers
High on the hills, and shines upon the sea;
The Universe is Happiness—but we,
Striving in vain to tear away the chains
That circle us, the more acutely see
Our own consuming atmosphere of pains,
Long only the more maddeningly to flee,
The more triumphantly the sunshine reigns
Without us, the more ecstasy in the sky,
The more would we weave wings for us and fly,
But back we sink exhausted on the plains;
The waters rise and fall for very gladness,
The evening pang, the shadow of sunset sadness
At morning advent fades in infinite glee,
The leaves pass kisses on from tree to tree,
The summer brings a sound of happy lovers,
An everlasting tunefulness that hovers
High on the hills, and shines upon the sea;
The Universe is Happiness—but we,
Striving in vain to tear away the chains
That circle us, the more acutely see
Our own consuming atmosphere of pains,
Long only the more maddeningly to flee,
The more triumphantly the sunshine reigns
Without us, the more ecstasy in the sky,
The more would we weave wings for us and fly,
But back we sink exhausted on the plains;
247
“Black plains of horror, destitute of greenness,
Brooding above them lowers a lurid sky,
We gasp, and, could we, willingly would die
If but to escape the visions of uncleanness
And tear aside the rags and robes of meanness,
The rags that flutter around us as we lie;
The silence, piled upon us mountains high,
Burns in upon our brainlessness, sereneness
Of Infinite Atmosphere towers above our faces,
We sink into ourselves and fall for ever
And find no footing in the void, endeavour
A something sometimes seen in distant places,
A creature of the fancy, or a star
At times appearing dimly from afar,
While Hope, the Rainbow-Goddess, leaveth never
Of passage of her train the tiniest traces.”
Brooding above them lowers a lurid sky,
We gasp, and, could we, willingly would die
If but to escape the visions of uncleanness
And tear aside the rags and robes of meanness,
The rags that flutter around us as we lie;
The silence, piled upon us mountains high,
Burns in upon our brainlessness, sereneness
Of Infinite Atmosphere towers above our faces,
We sink into ourselves and fall for ever
And find no footing in the void, endeavour
A something sometimes seen in distant places,
A creature of the fancy, or a star
At times appearing dimly from afar,
While Hope, the Rainbow-Goddess, leaveth never
Of passage of her train the tiniest traces.”
248
A NINETEENTH-CENTURY “EPITHALAMION.”
IN THREE PARTS.
“My darling, do you care for me at all?”
“I only love you, sweet,” the maiden said,
He answered not, but slowly sank his head
Upon the breast his being held in thrall;
“I only love you, sweet,” the maiden said,
He answered not, but slowly sank his head
Upon the breast his being held in thrall;
A time of sacred silence, and of rapture,
And giant thoughts that round the planet roll
And dance from star to star, and chase and capture
Echoes of the Universal Soul,
Of race-horse thoughts that pant from pole to pole,
And skim the ages, and returning pour
The wealth they've gathered on time's shelving shore
At feet of her their master bends before;
The cup of ecstasy can hold no more,
It groans for very fulness, seething o'er
It floods with flowers the encircling floor,
Passion the chrysalis must find a door
To free herself, and now the kisses rain,
Till pleasure sinks into the lap of pain,
Thence to arise, strong to receive, again;
And giant thoughts that round the planet roll
And dance from star to star, and chase and capture
Echoes of the Universal Soul,
Of race-horse thoughts that pant from pole to pole,
And skim the ages, and returning pour
The wealth they've gathered on time's shelving shore
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The cup of ecstasy can hold no more,
It groans for very fulness, seething o'er
It floods with flowers the encircling floor,
Passion the chrysalis must find a door
To free herself, and now the kisses rain,
Till pleasure sinks into the lap of pain,
Thence to arise, strong to receive, again;
250
Rejoice ye stars and heights of windy ether,
And pass the message on from hand to hand,
The Queen of air has stooped to wed beneath her,
Love leads the Goddess of the sea to land,
With hair of hers she weaves a silken band
To link the seas of sunrise and of sunset,
By no one has such sovereignty been won yet
Of sister nymphs that haunt the ocean strand!
And pass the message on from hand to hand,
The Queen of air has stooped to wed beneath her,
Love leads the Goddess of the sea to land,
With hair of hers she weaves a silken band
To link the seas of sunrise and of sunset,
By no one has such sovereignty been won yet
Of sister nymphs that haunt the ocean strand!
Take up the message, wind, and waft it over
The waste of waters, hearken waves of blue,
Babble about the secret of a lover,
And bear a name to coasts and countries new,
The name of her to whom a reckless rover
Resigns himself, henceforth strong, steadfast, true!
The waste of waters, hearken waves of blue,
Babble about the secret of a lover,
And bear a name to coasts and countries new,
The name of her to whom a reckless rover
Resigns himself, henceforth strong, steadfast, true!
251
Resigns himself, resigning each to other
With loss of self the essence of the soul,
Commingling into one white wondrous whole
Embracing love of father, love of mother,
With all the ancient love of sister, brother,
The carpet of the future they unroll,
Before them love lies outlined in a scroll,
And live delights the laughing days to smother;
They see before them traced in wondrous fashion
A shadowy record of what is to be,
Vales of endeavour, sunlight, heights of passion,
Ecstatic glimpses, raging of the sea,
While all the further end beyond unrolled,
Melts mistlike into one wild wave of gold;
With loss of self the essence of the soul,
Commingling into one white wondrous whole
Embracing love of father, love of mother,
With all the ancient love of sister, brother,
The carpet of the future they unroll,
Before them love lies outlined in a scroll,
And live delights the laughing days to smother;
They see before them traced in wondrous fashion
A shadowy record of what is to be,
Vales of endeavour, sunlight, heights of passion,
Ecstatic glimpses, raging of the sea,
While all the further end beyond unrolled,
Melts mistlike into one wild wave of gold;
252
And hand in hand together they will wander
Through all the shady roadways of the land,
Till hand in hand together they shall stand
Upon the snowy summits that are yonder,
Now pressing onward, pausing now to ponder,
At times she stoops to pluck for him a flower,
The fairest she can find, a gift, a dower,
A dower that each of other leaveth fonder;
As mind, and love, and life of each expands,
While individual passion groweth stronger,
It widens, reaching out to other lands,
And, not the less intense, becometh longer,
With eyes of light that look beyond “the yonder,”
High as the hills, a wealth too great to squander,
Binding the earth together in broad bands.
Through all the shady roadways of the land,
Till hand in hand together they shall stand
Upon the snowy summits that are yonder,
Now pressing onward, pausing now to ponder,
At times she stoops to pluck for him a flower,
The fairest she can find, a gift, a dower,
A dower that each of other leaveth fonder;
As mind, and love, and life of each expands,
While individual passion groweth stronger,
It widens, reaching out to other lands,
And, not the less intense, becometh longer,
With eyes of light that look beyond “the yonder,”
High as the hills, a wealth too great to squander,
Binding the earth together in broad bands.
253
Words fail me; would that I could paint the wonder
Of young souls met together on the earth,
The growth of Giant passion, and the birth
Of Love, that I could clothe my pen with thunder,
That I could tear the sunset robes asunder,
And paint with every colour of the sky
The splendour of young love before I die
And face the dark, and pass Death's gateway under;
I faint, I fade, I cannot reach the meaning
Of earth or air, of sea, or sky, or land,
Bewildered in the centre, drowsily dreaming,
While all the air with countless colours streaming
Intoxicates with ecstasy, I stand,
Afraid to move, afraid to raise a hand,
Lest I disturb the Incense cloud around me slowly steaming!
Of young souls met together on the earth,
The growth of Giant passion, and the birth
Of Love, that I could clothe my pen with thunder,
That I could tear the sunset robes asunder,
And paint with every colour of the sky
The splendour of young love before I die
And face the dark, and pass Death's gateway under;
I faint, I fade, I cannot reach the meaning
Of earth or air, of sea, or sky, or land,
Bewildered in the centre, drowsily dreaming,
While all the air with countless colours streaming
Intoxicates with ecstasy, I stand,
Afraid to move, afraid to raise a hand,
Lest I disturb the Incense cloud around me slowly steaming!
254
The joy that trembles at itself, the rapture,
The keen pursuit, the glimpses of the goal,
The more than mad delirium of the soul
Realizing possibility of capture,
The dreams at night as gorgeous as stories
Of old Arabia, visions, sunset glories,
The thought that after all it may be true,
That woman's love may yet be left for you,
—And dim delights of dark and morning rapture—
The Past and Present on for ever flowing
Towards a Future time more glorious still,
With speed of light the lightsome minutes going,
With speed of sound the hours that work their will,
A Righteous Willing, one with inclination,
And Universe of Life, and world's rotation,
And every sunlight shaft, and wandering rill!
The keen pursuit, the glimpses of the goal,
The more than mad delirium of the soul
Realizing possibility of capture,
The dreams at night as gorgeous as stories
Of old Arabia, visions, sunset glories,
The thought that after all it may be true,
That woman's love may yet be left for you,
—And dim delights of dark and morning rapture—
The Past and Present on for ever flowing
Towards a Future time more glorious still,
With speed of light the lightsome minutes going,
With speed of sound the hours that work their will,
A Righteous Willing, one with inclination,
And Universe of Life, and world's rotation,
And every sunlight shaft, and wandering rill!
The notion runs throughout of the whole Universe of Things partaking, with an almost conscious sympathy, in the happiness of the happy lovers.
255
PANTHEISTIC EFFUSIONS.
WHAT THE DEAD MAN SAW.
I am lying dead, deep down beneath the ground,Choked out from hope of loving, or of living,
Hope of achieving aught, receiving, giving,
Cold, motionless, alone, in graveclothes bound,
All voiceless in a realm without a sound,
A flash of memory at times reminding
My soul with bitterness, black, biting, blinding,
Of joys that once alive on earth I found;
I sometimes seem to see the sky as clearly
As ever, a happy child, I used to do,
The birds and flies and flowers I loved so dearly,
The broad green seas of grass, the arch of blue,
The dream, departing, grazes me so nearly
'Tis hard to believe it baseless, bald, untrue;
256
Can still delight me in the life of others,
Warm souls upon the earth, my moving brothers,
In love the bubble, beautiful but brittle,
Can still take pleasure in the thought that ever
Life streameth onward, hurrying, loitering never,
Its surface bearing fair white lily kisses,
And sound of sighs and songs, and woes and blisses,
Fierce flame of battle, failure, strong endeavour,
Meetings that madden, partings souls that sever,
Glimpses of heaven, weeping, wild embraces,
Horrors of hell beneath, pale praying faces,
And gleams of light from distant dazzling places,
Glories that beckon onward, rainbow traces,
Free heights of ether, snowy mountainous spaces,
And Hope with wings, and eyes that smile for ever;
257
Flows over, under, through the conscious me,
Expanded, widened out upon the tide,
Free from encumbrance, fetterless, I ride,
And float towards the universal sea,
I feel the life of leaves, the grasses growing,
One with the sower, in the seed he's sowing,
Fulfilled with joy of harvest and of mowing,
Partaker of the May-fly's dance of glee,
I sip the honey with the humble bee,
An antelope, I leap along the sands,
And, like a lion, pace the lonely strands,
In death I've found at last to life the key,
One mighty blood pulse beats throughout the whole,
One Central Heart, one Universal Soul,
One Vital Force of all the lives that be;
258
In harmony the planets run their race,
And tides of suns and starry clusters roll,
The power that runs the race we call Free Force,
Limitless fields of ether form the course,
Each sun and moon a bounding burning horse
Moving melodiously beneath control,
A music sounds across from pole to pole,
Beating a burthen out of sultry sands,
Ringing the changes on the frozen lands,
Dissolving, forming, joining hands in hands,
Bringing the severed sons of men together,
The extreme southern shores of rainless weather,
The regions where the glittering iceberg stands,
In one soft silken Universal Tether
To link the scattered skeins of separate nations,
Their planet homes, their lands, their several stations,
Convolving into one triumphant whole,
As seethes the rich red wine within the bowl,
And foaming, flashing, slowly settles down;
The end is worthy, such an end shall crown
259
The many-volumed roll of history's pages,
Smoothing right out at last creation's frown!
II.
I wonder whether I shall ever arise,
And join the ranks of men that work and fight,
And reach again the region of delight?
Far off from me the land of labour lies,
Hope faints, and, fading into daylight, dies,
Once rosy as the sunset, and as bright
As the May moon that sails the seas of night,
At morn before the great sun frigate flies;
And join the ranks of men that work and fight,
And reach again the region of delight?
Far off from me the land of labour lies,
Hope faints, and, fading into daylight, dies,
Once rosy as the sunset, and as bright
As the May moon that sails the seas of night,
At morn before the great sun frigate flies;
Though I am dead life flows around, above me,
I find some comfort in its ceaseless flow,
I hear the voices of the men that love me,
They reach me lying, silent, far below,
The grasses wave above my funeral mound,
And love bears blossoms even underground.
I find some comfort in its ceaseless flow,
I hear the voices of the men that love me,
They reach me lying, silent, far below,
The grasses wave above my funeral mound,
And love bears blossoms even underground.
260
A COOL WET RIPPLE.
I lose myself in all the life around me,A cool wet ripple adown the stream I go,
I widen out to meet the hills that bound me,
The horizon hills that bound my being's flow,
Softly I melt me out into the ether
All bathed about, without, within, with air,
And sink into the earth, and dive beneath her
Green surface-garden, blossoming, broad and fair,
Along the branches brown I stretch my fingers,
My finger tips pervade the points of leaves,
Awake, aware of the warm life that lingers
In the midst, the leafy soul that sings and grieves,
Stirring the sap within the various veins
With vegetable rapture, pangs and pains.
261
THE HOME OF LOVE.
Where is the home of Love? Upon the mountains
Amid the icy peaks and slopes of snow,
Or in the soft green valleys far below,
Where willows' tresses trail in crystal fountains?
Haunts he the homes that stud the sandy reaches,
The white-washed walls where fisher-folk abide,
Shaken at every rising of the tide,
The dim expanse of shore, the gravelly beaches?
Men seem uncertain; one there is that teaches
That “Love is of the valley,” I think rather
To every place and person he is father,
Though diverse are his forms, and ways, and speeches;
He dwells, methinks, in every bower of roses,
And peeps from out each petal of a flower,
Into the essence of the scent his power
Impressed pervades the waves and widths of air,
From point to point his balmy breath to bear,
Laden with sweets of all the world of posies;
Along the winding paths of woods he walks,
And with the strawberry gatherers he talks,
And hides himself within the yellow stalks
Of corn, in seas of grass his head reposes,
In petals of pimpernel his eyes he closes,
Atween the curtains red secure he dozes,
And all his panting pale pursuers balks;
I've seen him seated all the livelong day
Astride upon a scented seat of May
Thrilling right out from thence his roundelay,
And heard him in the night upon the seas
Laugh in the blithesome laughter of the breeze,
And shout a-sailing on the watery way,
When he will shine upon us none can say,
Nor where, 'tis “as his majesty doth please;”
Sometimes, upon some merry summer morn
From out a night of silvery silence born,
The hills are startled with his hunting horn
And all the crimson spaces of the dawn
With sounds of life and light are sudden filled,
While all the strings of melody are thrilled
That right across creation's gulf are drawn,
Like gossamer spiders' threads across a plain,
Or air-dividing tiny threads of rain,
Or streaks the canvas of the sky that stain
When sunset's scarlet flames have riven and torn
Its smooth white surface; sometimes in the night
When all the waves are dancing, laughing light
Melodious music underneath the moon,
Ripple after ripple melting into tune,
Love sends upon the soul a sudden swoon,
And, losing self, across the seas one goes,
While all the life of love about one flows,
Along the veins in giant throbs and throes
The hot blood pulsing, at one gasp of sight
This Universe of mute mysterious might
Flaming across one's vision, all the ages
Read by the light of lightning, history's pages
An open scroll, all wisdom of all sages,
The sources whence pale Passion's river rages,
The roots of that Great Tree whose leaf assuages
Our mortal agonies, and for ever wages
With evil one continual winning war;
Amid the icy peaks and slopes of snow,
Or in the soft green valleys far below,
Where willows' tresses trail in crystal fountains?
Haunts he the homes that stud the sandy reaches,
The white-washed walls where fisher-folk abide,
Shaken at every rising of the tide,
The dim expanse of shore, the gravelly beaches?
Men seem uncertain; one there is that teaches
That “Love is of the valley,” I think rather
To every place and person he is father,
Though diverse are his forms, and ways, and speeches;
262
And peeps from out each petal of a flower,
Into the essence of the scent his power
Impressed pervades the waves and widths of air,
From point to point his balmy breath to bear,
Laden with sweets of all the world of posies;
Along the winding paths of woods he walks,
And with the strawberry gatherers he talks,
And hides himself within the yellow stalks
Of corn, in seas of grass his head reposes,
In petals of pimpernel his eyes he closes,
Atween the curtains red secure he dozes,
And all his panting pale pursuers balks;
I've seen him seated all the livelong day
Astride upon a scented seat of May
Thrilling right out from thence his roundelay,
And heard him in the night upon the seas
Laugh in the blithesome laughter of the breeze,
And shout a-sailing on the watery way,
When he will shine upon us none can say,
Nor where, 'tis “as his majesty doth please;”
263
From out a night of silvery silence born,
The hills are startled with his hunting horn
And all the crimson spaces of the dawn
With sounds of life and light are sudden filled,
While all the strings of melody are thrilled
That right across creation's gulf are drawn,
Like gossamer spiders' threads across a plain,
Or air-dividing tiny threads of rain,
Or streaks the canvas of the sky that stain
When sunset's scarlet flames have riven and torn
Its smooth white surface; sometimes in the night
When all the waves are dancing, laughing light
Melodious music underneath the moon,
Ripple after ripple melting into tune,
Love sends upon the soul a sudden swoon,
And, losing self, across the seas one goes,
While all the life of love about one flows,
Along the veins in giant throbs and throes
264
This Universe of mute mysterious might
Flaming across one's vision, all the ages
Read by the light of lightning, history's pages
An open scroll, all wisdom of all sages,
The sources whence pale Passion's river rages,
The roots of that Great Tree whose leaf assuages
Our mortal agonies, and for ever wages
With evil one continual winning war;
In slow procession through our eyelid portals
The story of the loves and hates of mortals
Streams endlessly, and all the loves that are
And shall be, piercing through the silent spaces
Our eyes behold at once the world's embraces,
The hands that pray, the passion of all faces,
The circle of caresses, tear-drop traces,
Hope's chariot around the world that chases
The steeds of dark Despair, the wars of races,
We hear the sound of kisses in all places;
And, hand in hand with Love, from star to star
We dance along the railroad rays of light,
Cleaving, as if with arrow's fiery flight,
The abysmal sacred silences of Night,
Finding in every moon the self-same story,
With golden sheaf of similar human glory
The glorious heads of solar systems crowned,
We span the spaces star from star that sunder,
And all the cloudy home of Monarch Thunder
And bright-eyed Lady Lightning his fair spouse,
[The Queen of those that kiss—her kisses slay,]
Lies bare before us, in the air around
Mighty orchestral choruses resound,
From off the surfaces of spheres that bound
Alive along the windy ways of space
Flung loudly and triumphantly; they rouse
The sleeping white-enfolded form of Day,
Who casts aside with rosy fluttering fingers
The star-bespangled robe of Night that lingers
Still here and there about the western sky,
And, opening wide his single sunny eye,
Across the fields of ether far and nigh
Sends glances hot the dews of dark to dry,
And gladden into scent the flowers that sigh
For his sweet coming, into song the birds,
And into motion musical the herds,
Smiling upon them with his festive face.
The story of the loves and hates of mortals
Streams endlessly, and all the loves that are
And shall be, piercing through the silent spaces
Our eyes behold at once the world's embraces,
The hands that pray, the passion of all faces,
The circle of caresses, tear-drop traces,
Hope's chariot around the world that chases
The steeds of dark Despair, the wars of races,
We hear the sound of kisses in all places;
265
We dance along the railroad rays of light,
Cleaving, as if with arrow's fiery flight,
The abysmal sacred silences of Night,
Finding in every moon the self-same story,
With golden sheaf of similar human glory
The glorious heads of solar systems crowned,
We span the spaces star from star that sunder,
And all the cloudy home of Monarch Thunder
And bright-eyed Lady Lightning his fair spouse,
[The Queen of those that kiss—her kisses slay,]
Lies bare before us, in the air around
Mighty orchestral choruses resound,
From off the surfaces of spheres that bound
Alive along the windy ways of space
Flung loudly and triumphantly; they rouse
The sleeping white-enfolded form of Day,
Who casts aside with rosy fluttering fingers
The star-bespangled robe of Night that lingers
266
And, opening wide his single sunny eye,
Across the fields of ether far and nigh
Sends glances hot the dews of dark to dry,
And gladden into scent the flowers that sigh
For his sweet coming, into song the birds,
And into motion musical the herds,
Smiling upon them with his festive face.
267
THE POET'S BRIDE.
Pleasant it is beneath a tree to lie
And, gazing upward, see the turquoise sky
Broken across by moving emeralds green,
Emeralds all blazing with the golden sheen
The sunlight casts upon them, every leaf
Of colour, green and gold, a shining sheaf,
Shining against the broad background of blue
That burns above and, parted, glistens through,
As though ten thousand maidens' bright blue eyes
Were peeping through the leaves in soft surprise,
Or eyes of fairies in a virtuous glow
Of anger at the mortal stretched below,
Inquisitive to search the mysteries
Deep hidden within the leafy hearts of trees;
Pleasant again to stretch one's being wide,
Unclothed, unfettered, out from side to side,
And, lengthening long arms, oneself at rest
In some soft, grassy, flower-scented nest,
To embrace the whole wide earth in clasp of love,
And feel her green arms slowly close above
Your sinking head, feeling as if you were
Slow-sinking in some scented sea of air,
Or rosy summer-quiet sunset-sea,
Clothed all about with mists of ecstasy;
And, gazing upward, see the turquoise sky
Broken across by moving emeralds green,
Emeralds all blazing with the golden sheen
The sunlight casts upon them, every leaf
Of colour, green and gold, a shining sheaf,
Shining against the broad background of blue
That burns above and, parted, glistens through,
As though ten thousand maidens' bright blue eyes
Were peeping through the leaves in soft surprise,
Or eyes of fairies in a virtuous glow
Of anger at the mortal stretched below,
Inquisitive to search the mysteries
Deep hidden within the leafy hearts of trees;
268
Unclothed, unfettered, out from side to side,
And, lengthening long arms, oneself at rest
In some soft, grassy, flower-scented nest,
To embrace the whole wide earth in clasp of love,
And feel her green arms slowly close above
Your sinking head, feeling as if you were
Slow-sinking in some scented sea of air,
Or rosy summer-quiet sunset-sea,
Clothed all about with mists of ecstasy;
Yea, the Earth is indeed the poet's bride,
A Queen for ever seated at his side.
Upon the fair broad billow of her breast
His head falls heavily and sinks to rest,
And she bends over him, his hot brow bathing
In her cool ether breath, his limbs enswathing
In wreaths of long-leaved blossoming grass and flowers,
Cooling her hero with the sound of showers
Down-shaken in the distance, breathing rest
In every rising of her gentle breast
And happiness in the downfall, now she twines
About his brow a bower of eglantines,
Or places underneath his sleeping head
Soft cushions woven of roses white and red,
Smoothing with gentle hands his grassy bed,
Now all her art for him the Earth combines
That scents of all her choicest garden flowers
By savour sweet may soothe his sleeping hours,
Building about him misty perfume bowers
From off the universe of blossoms shed;
A Queen for ever seated at his side.
Upon the fair broad billow of her breast
His head falls heavily and sinks to rest,
And she bends over him, his hot brow bathing
In her cool ether breath, his limbs enswathing
In wreaths of long-leaved blossoming grass and flowers,
Cooling her hero with the sound of showers
269
In every rising of her gentle breast
And happiness in the downfall, now she twines
About his brow a bower of eglantines,
Or places underneath his sleeping head
Soft cushions woven of roses white and red,
Smoothing with gentle hands his grassy bed,
Now all her art for him the Earth combines
That scents of all her choicest garden flowers
By savour sweet may soothe his sleeping hours,
Building about him misty perfume bowers
From off the universe of blossoms shed;
O great Earth-Goddess, happy indeed is he
That man to whom thy beauties wedded be,
Though all men scorn him, Thou, the Earth, art wide,
And his alone art Thou from side to side,
For him buds, blossoms, flowers and fruits are born,
Wave goldenly for him long leagues of corn,
Forests and rivers, lakes and silent seas,
All shower drops, every whisper of a breeze,
The whole world's wealth of beauty, forms and flowers,
Sweet sounds and scents and sights and woven bowers
Of all fair colours interlaced together,
With all white wild delights of winter weather,
And bare-browed summer revelry, and spring's
Soft ecstasy when all the greenwood rings
With loud love songs of every bird that sings
And happy voices of ten thousand things
Bursting aside their ice-bound wintry tether;
All these are his, the Earth-Queen's bridal dower,
Her secrets all are in the poet's power,
Placed by her gently in his humble hands,
Sweet secrets that he only understands
Of all men, silent secrets of the sea,
Sad secrets some of things that hidden be,
And secrets soft hidden in the hearts of roses,
Others the deep green forest soul discloses,
Others again that smile from out the sky
When sunsets of November seem to dye
The clouds in scarlet, fading with a sigh
Of low wind bitter-breathed across the wold,
Like some bright meteor-life whose tale is told,
Into cold calm-eyed distances of grey,
Hot blue-robed summer secrets of the day,
And secrets of the night his Queen unfolds
To the poet, over him her white hand holds
The great unspeakable silence of the Dark,
Sacred, as some sweet maiden you may mark
From sunlight strong to shield her lover's head
Low lying beside her; from his happy bed
At dawn the Queen awakes him, from her breast
Raising him, right content therein to rest
For ever, and across the world she takes
His soul in great grand glimpses, lonely lakes
He sees beset by snowy mountains tall,
A blue sky burning constant over all,
And wide dim reaches of hot yellow sand,
And flowery visions of a verdant land,
Well watered, smiling, rich from side to side,
Intense in colour, next the dreamers ride
Along the edges of a creeping tide,
Out and away blue distances of sea
Into the infinite ether seem to flee
That sits upon the horizon like a throne
And claims the land and seascape for its own
Brooding above the whole, along the edge
Towers a wave-clomb, black-browed, beetlingledge
Of cliff, kissed here and there by lights of green
And white, deep-carven clefts pierce in between
As where some giant's chisel erst has been
Shining with soothing sound and silver sheen
Of rivulets drawn from out the rocky wedge;
At last he sinks into her arms and sleeps,
And she bends over him, and smiles and weeps,
Soft tears and smiles of Beauty born together
Like rain and sunshine in uncertain weather
Making a beaming rainbow of her face,
White arms she winds about him that embrace
His form as lovingly as arms of roses
Whose wealth of tenderness some wall encloses
With wreaths of flowers and leaves and rich perfume,
Or dark green ivy clusters that entomb
The trunk of some great weary prostrate tree,
She holds her servant safe from harm, and he,
Half conscious of the embraces of his bride,
Floats dimly down the sleepy fast-flowing tide
That runs to meet the quiet dreamful wide
Illimitable haven of the sea.
That man to whom thy beauties wedded be,
Though all men scorn him, Thou, the Earth, art wide,
And his alone art Thou from side to side,
For him buds, blossoms, flowers and fruits are born,
Wave goldenly for him long leagues of corn,
270
All shower drops, every whisper of a breeze,
The whole world's wealth of beauty, forms and flowers,
Sweet sounds and scents and sights and woven bowers
Of all fair colours interlaced together,
With all white wild delights of winter weather,
And bare-browed summer revelry, and spring's
Soft ecstasy when all the greenwood rings
With loud love songs of every bird that sings
And happy voices of ten thousand things
Bursting aside their ice-bound wintry tether;
All these are his, the Earth-Queen's bridal dower,
Her secrets all are in the poet's power,
Placed by her gently in his humble hands,
Sweet secrets that he only understands
Of all men, silent secrets of the sea,
Sad secrets some of things that hidden be,
And secrets soft hidden in the hearts of roses,
Others the deep green forest soul discloses,
271
When sunsets of November seem to dye
The clouds in scarlet, fading with a sigh
Of low wind bitter-breathed across the wold,
Like some bright meteor-life whose tale is told,
Into cold calm-eyed distances of grey,
Hot blue-robed summer secrets of the day,
And secrets of the night his Queen unfolds
To the poet, over him her white hand holds
The great unspeakable silence of the Dark,
Sacred, as some sweet maiden you may mark
From sunlight strong to shield her lover's head
Low lying beside her; from his happy bed
At dawn the Queen awakes him, from her breast
Raising him, right content therein to rest
For ever, and across the world she takes
His soul in great grand glimpses, lonely lakes
He sees beset by snowy mountains tall,
A blue sky burning constant over all,
272
And flowery visions of a verdant land,
Well watered, smiling, rich from side to side,
Intense in colour, next the dreamers ride
Along the edges of a creeping tide,
Out and away blue distances of sea
Into the infinite ether seem to flee
That sits upon the horizon like a throne
And claims the land and seascape for its own
Brooding above the whole, along the edge
Towers a wave-clomb, black-browed, beetlingledge
Of cliff, kissed here and there by lights of green
And white, deep-carven clefts pierce in between
As where some giant's chisel erst has been
Shining with soothing sound and silver sheen
Of rivulets drawn from out the rocky wedge;
At last he sinks into her arms and sleeps,
And she bends over him, and smiles and weeps,
Soft tears and smiles of Beauty born together
Like rain and sunshine in uncertain weather
273
White arms she winds about him that embrace
His form as lovingly as arms of roses
Whose wealth of tenderness some wall encloses
With wreaths of flowers and leaves and rich perfume,
Or dark green ivy clusters that entomb
The trunk of some great weary prostrate tree,
She holds her servant safe from harm, and he,
Half conscious of the embraces of his bride,
Floats dimly down the sleepy fast-flowing tide
That runs to meet the quiet dreamful wide
Illimitable haven of the sea.
274
CHANGES.
It does not take very long
To change the colour of things,
A cloud that a storm-blast brings
Has blue behind, loud sings
The bird who before was strong
To scatter the wet from his wings;
To change the colour of things,
A cloud that a storm-blast brings
Has blue behind, loud sings
The bird who before was strong
To scatter the wet from his wings;
A thunderous afternoon
Is oftentimes light as it grows
Towards eventide, Alpine snows
Gleam rosy on heights and blows
Blue gentian, under the moon
The mad sea softly flows;
Is oftentimes light as it grows
Towards eventide, Alpine snows
Gleam rosy on heights and blows
Blue gentian, under the moon
The mad sea softly flows;
275
Gleams from behind the clouds
At even, suddenly red,
The sun's great glorious head,
And light of his presence is shed,
Fast breaking the dun grey shrouds,
Across the waves that were dead;
At even, suddenly red,
The sun's great glorious head,
And light of his presence is shed,
Fast breaking the dun grey shrouds,
Across the waves that were dead;
Suddenly green and blue
Flecked with breakers of white
Gleams the ocean, a sight
To madden a man with delight
As the wail of the wind whistles through
His brain, and wakes in him might;
Flecked with breakers of white
Gleams the ocean, a sight
To madden a man with delight
As the wail of the wind whistles through
His brain, and wakes in him might;
Falls upon sunburnt sails
A smile of the sun, and they shine,
Shine ruddy, the whole long line
Of fishing boats, mists of the Rhine
Gathered high when the sunlight fails
Scatter, ruins and rocks are fine;
A smile of the sun, and they shine,
Shine ruddy, the whole long line
Of fishing boats, mists of the Rhine
Gathered high when the sunlight fails
Scatter, ruins and rocks are fine;
276
Broad blue breadths of the sea
Change to a sullen grey,
For the light is taken away,
The clear white light of the day,
And the distances darken and flee
Far further, and thickens the spray;
Change to a sullen grey,
For the light is taken away,
The clear white light of the day,
And the distances darken and flee
Far further, and thickens the spray;
But rises the sun in the morn,
And the shoals and the porpoises play,
And the grey mists quicken away,
And the rose-streaks redden and stray
In the east, and Beauty is born,
And rises a glad new day.
And the shoals and the porpoises play,
And the grey mists quicken away,
And the rose-streaks redden and stray
In the east, and Beauty is born,
And rises a glad new day.
277
NORTH AND SOUTH.
Praise we the skies of the North,
And the grey long seas and the foam,
And the slope of the beach by our home,
And the mariners hard to roam,
Most lusty to issue forth!
And the grey long seas and the foam,
And the slope of the beach by our home,
And the mariners hard to roam,
Most lusty to issue forth!
Laud we the sands of the South,
The green sweet shores and the blue,
With a soft light shimmering through
Still waves that float a canoe,
That wash by the harbour mouth!
The green sweet shores and the blue,
With a soft light shimmering through
Still waves that float a canoe,
That wash by the harbour mouth!
278
Praise we the arms of our men,
Most sinewy, muscular, lean,
Lithe bodies shapely and clean,
Long limbs that have wrestled and seen
A fierce hot race now and then!
Most sinewy, muscular, lean,
Lithe bodies shapely and clean,
Long limbs that have wrestled and seen
A fierce hot race now and then!
Laud we our women and eyes
Very lovely, that after the day
Has burned its beauty away
Expand, plead, sparkle, and pray,
When the mists of the evening rise!
Very lovely, that after the day
Has burned its beauty away
Expand, plead, sparkle, and pray,
When the mists of the evening rise!
Praise we our fair-cheeked girls,
Red lips, and roses, and hair
For the most part golden, and rare
Blue glances cast here and there
Upon young unnoticing churls!
Red lips, and roses, and hair
For the most part golden, and rare
Blue glances cast here and there
Upon young unnoticing churls!
279
Laud we the pale clear brow
Of a passionate queen of the land
Where the olives and oranges stand,
And the myrtles, and hand in hand
The milk-white oxen plough!
Of a passionate queen of the land
Where the olives and oranges stand,
And the myrtles, and hand in hand
The milk-white oxen plough!
Praise we a Northern flower,
Upright, strong, lady of light,
With modesty clothed for a might,
And eyes as the stars that are bright
When the long cold nights are in power!
Upright, strong, lady of light,
With modesty clothed for a might,
And eyes as the stars that are bright
When the long cold nights are in power!
Laud we a Southern maid,
With the fire and the sweet firm walk,
And the movements supple, and talk
Of a meeting soon where the cork
Trees furnish a suitable shade!
With the fire and the sweet firm walk,
And the movements supple, and talk
Of a meeting soon where the cork
Trees furnish a suitable shade!
280
POWERLESS!
Sad to see but not
To be able alas! to do,
To see the thing that is new,
And know that this is what
They want, that this is true;
To be able alas! to do,
To see the thing that is new,
And know that this is what
They want, that this is true;
But not to be able to speak,
Though a man may struggle and sigh,
Though fire flash from the eye,
And fire burn on the cheek,
To be passed, inaudible, by;
Though a man may struggle and sigh,
Though fire flash from the eye,
And fire burn on the cheek,
To be passed, inaudible, by;
281
To struggle as one in a dream
To burst the choking bands
Of unreality's lands,
To be and not to seem,
To loose the powerless hands,
To burst the choking bands
Of unreality's lands,
To be and not to seem,
To loose the powerless hands,
But back again to be thrown
Into the old dark place,
We who had known the grace
Of Beauty, we thought, to moan
For a sight of her bright sweet face,
Into the old dark place,
We who had known the grace
Of Beauty, we thought, to moan
For a sight of her bright sweet face,
For a sight of her we adore
Piercing the gloom of the dark,
That we with wings of a lark
May rise the universe o'er
Grown small as a dim small spark,
Piercing the gloom of the dark,
That we with wings of a lark
May rise the universe o'er
Grown small as a dim small spark,
282
And shower down from the skies
Manifold gifts for men,
Light, and fire now and then,
Songs, and melodious cries,
Rocket-like flash of a pen—
Manifold gifts for men,
Light, and fire now and then,
Songs, and melodious cries,
Rocket-like flash of a pen—
Bitter it is, when our work
Is some such as this, to be bound
On earth, and here to be found
Feeble, seeming to shirk
Our duty, giving no sound.
Is some such as this, to be bound
On earth, and here to be found
Feeble, seeming to shirk
Our duty, giving no sound.
| Poems and Sonnets | |