 | A Sculptor and Other Poems |  |
101
A ROSE.
The sweetest rose it was, the loveliest
He could in all his garden find:
He brought it, saying, “Darling, leave your quest
Of knowledge for a little while, and rest
In sweet belief that Nature teaches best.”
Well did he speak for, blind
To deep delight that Nature gives, I was
Unquiet-soul'd a seeker for the cause
Of many a thing and, with cold eyes,
I sought to read close-folden mysteries,
Forgetting Love, not Knowledge, maketh wise.
He could in all his garden find:
He brought it, saying, “Darling, leave your quest
Of knowledge for a little while, and rest
In sweet belief that Nature teaches best.”
Well did he speak for, blind
To deep delight that Nature gives, I was
Unquiet-soul'd a seeker for the cause
Of many a thing and, with cold eyes,
I sought to read close-folden mysteries,
Forgetting Love, not Knowledge, maketh wise.
I took his rose and laid it to my mouth.
For one sweet hour I was a girl again,
Forgot my theories form'd at cost and pain,
And all I had gone through for knowledge' sake.
The soul of Eden fragrancy divine
Enter'd this soul of mine
And quencht its desperate drouth.
It was because I took when Love said “Take.”
My very brow grew smooth
For drops of spray tost from the Fount of Youth.
For one sweet hour I was a girl again,
Forgot my theories form'd at cost and pain,
And all I had gone through for knowledge' sake.
The soul of Eden fragrancy divine
Enter'd this soul of mine
And quencht its desperate drouth.
It was because I took when Love said “Take.”
102
For drops of spray tost from the Fount of Youth.
But, woe is me!
I could not let this light and beauty be!
I pull'd the petals of my rose apart,
With fingers most unkindly tore aside
The crimson veil that veil'd its golden heart.
I saw the gold, but ah! the flower died.
And, all unwomanly, in pride,
“Away with ignorance!” I cried,
“My flow'rs shall all be knowledge-bringers!
To what availeth joy unless one knows
Its why and wherefore?”
I could not let this light and beauty be!
I pull'd the petals of my rose apart,
With fingers most unkindly tore aside
The crimson veil that veil'd its golden heart.
I saw the gold, but ah! the flower died.
And, all unwomanly, in pride,
“Away with ignorance!” I cried,
“My flow'rs shall all be knowledge-bringers!
To what availeth joy unless one knows
Its why and wherefore?”
But my lover sigh'd,
“Ah, lady, you have kill'd my rose!”
And his true eyes with unshed tears grew dim,
Because the voice that had been unto him
Sweetest among the voices of the singers,
On God's good world flung discord's bitter wrong
Instead of sweetest song.
“Ah, lady, you have kill'd my rose!”
And his true eyes with unshed tears grew dim,
Because the voice that had been unto him
Sweetest among the voices of the singers,
On God's good world flung discord's bitter wrong
Instead of sweetest song.
And never now a word of love he speaks,
But talks of systems and of rules and laws,
And of effect and cause,
As learned men talk unto learned men—
And my heart inly breaks,
For oh! to be a woman once again!
So, cruel hand which could such joyaunce slay,
Lay down your pen for aye,
For you will never write those deep-ton'd songs
Of Love and Truth, to live on human tongues,
That human hearts may beat more quick and pure.
But talks of systems and of rules and laws,
And of effect and cause,
As learned men talk unto learned men—
And my heart inly breaks,
For oh! to be a woman once again!
103
Lay down your pen for aye,
For you will never write those deep-ton'd songs
Of Love and Truth, to live on human tongues,
That human hearts may beat more quick and pure.
But how shall I endure
When One, with sadder eyes than his I griev'd,
Shall look on me whose garden is dead-leav'd?
When One, with sadder eyes than his I griev'd,
Shall look on me whose garden is dead-leav'd?
O ghost of that sweet rose I kill'd,
Wilt thou for ever haunt me night and day?
Must all my life for aye
With breath of thy dead leaves be fill'd,
And golden dust defil'd cling to the feet
That on thy quivering heart unpitying trod,
And evermore that still, sad voice repeat
That whoso wrongeth Nature wrongeth God?
Wilt thou for ever haunt me night and day?
Must all my life for aye
With breath of thy dead leaves be fill'd,
And golden dust defil'd cling to the feet
That on thy quivering heart unpitying trod,
And evermore that still, sad voice repeat
That whoso wrongeth Nature wrongeth God?
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