 | Poems |  |
1
THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS.
Oh! crown and climax of a life of dying;
Oh! light intensest in the gloom of death;
Oh! cry beyond all might of mortal crying,
Sobbed forth in agony of broken breath.
Oh! light intensest in the gloom of death;
Oh! cry beyond all might of mortal crying,
Sobbed forth in agony of broken breath.
Oh! Love divine—Oh! Heaven-descended forces,
That draw mankind to paths that Jesus trod:
Fountains eternal—never-failing sources,
That feed the river of the grace of God—
That draw mankind to paths that Jesus trod:
Fountains eternal—never-failing sources,
That feed the river of the grace of God—
Come, for the currents of my being languish,
Fill them and flood them till they journey on;
Christ! I would be beside Thee in Thine anguish,
Close to the cross with Mary and with John.
Fill them and flood them till they journey on;
Christ! I would be beside Thee in Thine anguish,
Close to the cross with Mary and with John.
Sweet is the shadow of Thy pain and passion,
Oh! let me rest beneath it for a while,
Far from the world of fading, fleeting fashion,
Far from the sultry sunshine of its smile.
Oh! let me rest beneath it for a while,
Far from the world of fading, fleeting fashion,
Far from the sultry sunshine of its smile.
2
Even as one who desolately paces
The crowded highways of a busy town,
Lone in the thronged, inhospitable places,
Friendless and homeless, roving up and down;
The crowded highways of a busy town,
Lone in the thronged, inhospitable places,
Friendless and homeless, roving up and down;
Till by the majesty of minster-towers,
Drawn from the glare and babble of the street,
He rests, regardless of the passing hours,
In dark solemnity of cool retreat.
Drawn from the glare and babble of the street,
He rests, regardless of the passing hours,
In dark solemnity of cool retreat.
And now the dazzle of the daylight streameth
Mellowed and hallowed through the painted panes,
And now the uproar of the people seemeth
Hushed in the rolling of the organ strains.
Mellowed and hallowed through the painted panes,
And now the uproar of the people seemeth
Hushed in the rolling of the organ strains.
So do I wander, for the world is busy
With countless myriads thronging to and fro,
Seething and surging—till the brain is dizzy
Dazed by the light above, the life below,
With countless myriads thronging to and fro,
Seething and surging—till the brain is dizzy
Dazed by the light above, the life below,
Whose boiling stream for ever whirls and rushes
In endless eddies and unceasing foam,
While from its golden source the noonday gushes,
Flooding with glare the ways wherein I roam;
In endless eddies and unceasing foam,
While from its golden source the noonday gushes,
Flooding with glare the ways wherein I roam;
3
No shaded seat, no shading tree to lend me
A moment's shelter, or a moment's rest,—
No human heart to welcome or befriend me,
No home to enter—an unbidden guest.
A moment's shelter, or a moment's rest,—
No human heart to welcome or befriend me,
No home to enter—an unbidden guest.
Until perchance my soul no longer prizes
This lower world but counts its gains as loss;
Then as it gazes upwards, there arises
Before its eyes the vision of the Cross;
This lower world but counts its gains as loss;
Then as it gazes upwards, there arises
Before its eyes the vision of the Cross;
In sweet and solemn majesty uprearing,
Its Heav'nward heights above the fevered din;
I stand beneath it in the porchway hearing
The whispered words, “Come, wearied heart, within.”
Its Heav'nward heights above the fevered din;
I stand beneath it in the porchway hearing
The whispered words, “Come, wearied heart, within.”
And straight the world puts forth her utmost power;
The blinding blaze is light divine and free;
The crowd, the crush, the turmoil are the dower
Of life that weds herself to liberty.
The blinding blaze is light divine and free;
The crowd, the crush, the turmoil are the dower
Of life that weds herself to liberty.
And if at length I stand without no longer,
But lift the latch and leave the world behind;
Awhile—for so her sights, her sounds were stronger—
Mine ears are deafened, and mine eyes are blind.
But lift the latch and leave the world behind;
Awhile—for so her sights, her sounds were stronger—
Mine ears are deafened, and mine eyes are blind.
4
Then through the darkness and the stillness slowly,
Gaining a shape, and growing on the soul,
I see the pillared nave, the altar holy,
I hear the sacred organ's thunder roll.
Gaining a shape, and growing on the soul,
I see the pillared nave, the altar holy,
I hear the sacred organ's thunder roll.
Each single note stands forth serene and solemn,
Building a deathless dome beyond the sight,
Fixed and eternal as yon stately column,
Whose brotherhood uplift the vaulted height.
Building a deathless dome beyond the sight,
Fixed and eternal as yon stately column,
Whose brotherhood uplift the vaulted height.
But where is now the dazzle that distressed me?
Have clouds arisen or is evening near?
Where are the crowds whose clamorous cries oppressed me?
Say are they hushed, or have I ceased to hear?
Have clouds arisen or is evening near?
Where are the crowds whose clamorous cries oppressed me?
Say are they hushed, or have I ceased to hear?
See through the mouldings of yon window pouring,
There streams a flood of glory sweet and calm,
And hark! the city's might of muffled roaring
Deepens the grandeur of the rolling psalm.
There streams a flood of glory sweet and calm,
And hark! the city's might of muffled roaring
Deepens the grandeur of the rolling psalm.
So strange the change—and did my sense deceive me?
Or does it mock me now—and which is real?
The world without whose scenes so seldom leave me,
The world within—the heart's untold ideal.
Or does it mock me now—and which is real?
The world without whose scenes so seldom leave me,
The world within—the heart's untold ideal.
5
Then fountain-like there comes this thought up welling—
God sees things as they are—I cannot doubt;
And here within where God has fixed His dwelling,
The seeming is the real, and not without.
God sees things as they are—I cannot doubt;
And here within where God has fixed His dwelling,
The seeming is the real, and not without.
I raved against the world when I was near it,
Its joys were pain to me: its gold was dross:—
And it was so because my trembling spirit
Shrunk from the mystic darkness of the cross.
Its joys were pain to me: its gold was dross:—
And it was so because my trembling spirit
Shrunk from the mystic darkness of the cross.
I looked on it with anger and derision,
Ah! but that world was not God's universe;
It lived but in the nearness of my vision:—
My narrow self clung round me like a curse,
Ah! but that world was not God's universe;
It lived but in the nearness of my vision:—
My narrow self clung round me like a curse,
Until I left it for awhile and humbly
Knelt by the Cross, and straight the world was gone,
Or changed to Heav'n, but hush! what voice is dumbly
Murmuring words that lead my longings on.
Knelt by the Cross, and straight the world was gone,
Or changed to Heav'n, but hush! what voice is dumbly
Murmuring words that lead my longings on.
“Yet—even yet—thine eyes are darkness-shrouded:
The world is yet around thee: would'st thou see
God's universe of love with eyes unclouded,
Come to the Cross and die thereon with Me.”
The world is yet around thee: would'st thou see
God's universe of love with eyes unclouded,
Come to the Cross and die thereon with Me.”
6
FAITH.
Oh! Saviour come to me,
I grope and cannot see:—
Tempestuous darkness gathers fast around:
O! let Thy garments white
Flash forth their heavenly light;—
Oh! let me hear Thee speak one sweet consoling sound.
I grope and cannot see:—
Tempestuous darkness gathers fast around:
O! let Thy garments white
Flash forth their heavenly light;—
Oh! let me hear Thee speak one sweet consoling sound.
For “Faith,” I hear them say—
“Faith is the only way
That leads from earth to Heaven, from man to Christ:
The holy men of old
Are gathered in God's fold—
Their lives availed them nought—faith, faith alone sufficed.”
“Faith is the only way
That leads from earth to Heaven, from man to Christ:
The holy men of old
Are gathered in God's fold—
Their lives availed them nought—faith, faith alone sufficed.”
“Ah! what is Faith?” I cry—
Cold, cold is the reply,
The chillness of despair grows round me as they speak:
So hard and dead a thing
Seems Faith—this Spirit's wing,
That opens Heaven to man, humble, and poor, and weak.
Cold, cold is the reply,
The chillness of despair grows round me as they speak:
7
Seems Faith—this Spirit's wing,
That opens Heaven to man, humble, and poor, and weak.
Yet—for the words were Thine—
Faith only is divine,
Faith only makes for life and saves from sin and death:—
Wakens a spark of God
In the cold, clayey clod;—
Tell me—I pant to know—my Saviour, what is Faith?
Faith only is divine,
Faith only makes for life and saves from sin and death:—
Wakens a spark of God
In the cold, clayey clod;—
Tell me—I pant to know—my Saviour, what is Faith?
Oh! surely grace to see
The things that really be
With eyes undimmed by mists of earthly birth:
To gaze above where'er
The sky of clouds is bare,
And see the light of Heaven flooding the darkened earth.
The things that really be
With eyes undimmed by mists of earthly birth:
To gaze above where'er
The sky of clouds is bare,
And see the light of Heaven flooding the darkened earth.
Oh! surely strength to hear
God's voice serene and clear
Speak in the soul, and hearing to fulfil;—
To bow to His behest,—
To know that He knows best,—
To crush each rebel lust, each narrow stubborn will.
God's voice serene and clear
Speak in the soul, and hearing to fulfil;—
To bow to His behest,—
To know that He knows best,—
To crush each rebel lust, each narrow stubborn will.
8
Oh! surely yearning love,
Lifting of hearts above,
Hunger for Heaven in souls enthralled by sense:
Scorn of all earthly care,
Dumb agonizing prayer,
Passionate longing, speechless, vast, intense.
Lifting of hearts above,
Hunger for Heaven in souls enthralled by sense:
Scorn of all earthly care,
Dumb agonizing prayer,
Passionate longing, speechless, vast, intense.
That were a fiery flow,
Fresh, molten, fierce, aglow,
That were a faith to lift man, lead him on;
Awhile it fills and feeds
The moulds of human creeds,
Then hardens and grows cold:—the fire, the force is gone.
Fresh, molten, fierce, aglow,
That were a faith to lift man, lead him on;
Awhile it fills and feeds
The moulds of human creeds,
Then hardens and grows cold:—the fire, the force is gone.
The overflow is blent
With sand, and idly spent:
The hard metallic casts break not, though vainly strong:
An ever-flowing tide,
A channel deep and wide,
Deep'ning and widening as it flows along,—
With sand, and idly spent:
The hard metallic casts break not, though vainly strong:
An ever-flowing tide,
A channel deep and wide,
Deep'ning and widening as it flows along,—
This only sweeps the soul
To where the great waves roll,
Down to the endless ocean of God's grace;
The true God-given river
Must glide and glide for ever,
Never be lulled to sleep, arrested, fixed in place.
To where the great waves roll,
Down to the endless ocean of God's grace;
9
Must glide and glide for ever,
Never be lulled to sleep, arrested, fixed in place.
Works save not—it is said;
Faith without works is dead:
We prate of faith and works, not knowing what we say:
Faith only saves from death:—
Ay, but the living faith
Lives in each thought, each word, each action of each day.
Faith without works is dead:
We prate of faith and works, not knowing what we say:
Faith only saves from death:—
Ay, but the living faith
Lives in each thought, each word, each action of each day.
It is an atmosphere
That bathes us ever near,
Lighting the meanest moment of our lives:
Breathed in at every breath,
Brightest in gloom of death,
Nearest whene'er the soul imprisoned, pants and strives.
That bathes us ever near,
Lighting the meanest moment of our lives:
Breathed in at every breath,
Brightest in gloom of death,
Nearest whene'er the soul imprisoned, pants and strives.
Though works be manifold,
The inner life is told
In them, in them revealed to faint and finite eyes:
Ay, and this inner soul
Is one unparted whole,
Unparted as the blue and over-arching skies.
The inner life is told
In them, in them revealed to faint and finite eyes:
Ay, and this inner soul
Is one unparted whole,
Unparted as the blue and over-arching skies.
10
Oh! then in each good deed,—
Whate'er the doer's creed,—
We catch a moment's glimpse of Faith's eternal flame:
Ah! Jesus—am I right?—
Thy love is infinite—
Thou dwellest e'en with those who call not on Thy name.
Whate'er the doer's creed,—
We catch a moment's glimpse of Faith's eternal flame:
Ah! Jesus—am I right?—
Thy love is infinite—
Thou dwellest e'en with those who call not on Thy name.
What though they never kneel
In prayer to Thee, yet feel
Thy fire within, and manfully do right:
Thine eyes behold a prayer,
Silent yet surely there,
In strong self-sacrifice, dumb yearning after light.
In prayer to Thee, yet feel
Thy fire within, and manfully do right:
Thine eyes behold a prayer,
Silent yet surely there,
In strong self-sacrifice, dumb yearning after light.
“Oh! but Faith brings repose;
Peace from its presence flows;”
Men say with folded hands in tranquil apathy,
“For Christ's sake God will bless,
Sit still and acquiesce.”
Jesus, if this be Faith, far, far be Faith from me.
Peace from its presence flows;”
Men say with folded hands in tranquil apathy,
“For Christ's sake God will bless,
Sit still and acquiesce.”
Jesus, if this be Faith, far, far be Faith from me.
I doubt not Faith through love
Lifts high the heart above
The stormy flow of waves of worldly care:—
Breathes in profoundest peace,
Makes hourly troubles cease,
Compassing world-worn hearts with calm and stormless air.
Lifts high the heart above
The stormy flow of waves of worldly care:—
11
Makes hourly troubles cease,
Compassing world-worn hearts with calm and stormless air.
This on its earthward side;
But Faith must be our guide
From earth to Heaven, if Faith indeed be blest;
And here man's Faith must be,
A lifelong agony,
One vast unbroken sigh of infinite unrest.
But Faith must be our guide
From earth to Heaven, if Faith indeed be blest;
And here man's Faith must be,
A lifelong agony,
One vast unbroken sigh of infinite unrest.
Ah! but my words are weak,
Do thou my Saviour speak,
Speak to my soul as thy lips only can:
Lord! what is Faith? I cry—
Is this thy sweet reply?
“My living presence in the heart of man.”
Do thou my Saviour speak,
Speak to my soul as thy lips only can:
Lord! what is Faith? I cry—
Is this thy sweet reply?
“My living presence in the heart of man.”
12
WHAT THINK YE OF CHRIST?
Yes—Thou art God—I know:
Oh! if it were not so,
Life would be void and meaningless and dark:
Quench every phantom light,
Born of abysmal night:—
Leave—only leave this one divinest spark.
Oh! if it were not so,
Life would be void and meaningless and dark:
Quench every phantom light,
Born of abysmal night:—
Leave—only leave this one divinest spark.
Ah! but I hear them say,
“Prove first before you pray,—
Prove that this man is God, living though dead:”
I answer—“Who will prove
That men breathe, think, and love,
Prove that the golden sun shines brightly overhead?”
“Prove first before you pray,—
Prove that this man is God, living though dead:”
I answer—“Who will prove
That men breathe, think, and love,
Prove that the golden sun shines brightly overhead?”
Feeling and touch and sight,
Ask for no further light,
Ask for no proof: each is itself complete:
Yet narrow is their sphere,—
The boundary lines are near:
The shortness of man's days: the slowness of his feet.
Ask for no further light,
Ask for no proof: each is itself complete:
Yet narrow is their sphere,—
The boundary lines are near:
The shortness of man's days: the slowness of his feet.
13
Deeds of a distant time,—
Things of another clime,—
Facts of this lower earth, lost to his obvious view,
Man proves: but all he knows
Must in the end repose
On the unprovable, beyond all proving true.
Things of another clime,—
Facts of this lower earth, lost to his obvious view,
Man proves: but all he knows
Must in the end repose
On the unprovable, beyond all proving true.
But that the Christ who trod
Our earth was one with God—
Is this so definite, minute a fact,
That on one narrow deed,
Man rests his holiest creed,
Or builds his hopes of Heaven on one recorded act?
Our earth was one with God—
Is this so definite, minute a fact,
That on one narrow deed,
Man rests his holiest creed,
Or builds his hopes of Heaven on one recorded act?
No—for the gazing soul
Sees Spirit, One and Whole,
Knowing no severance in Time or Space:
Faint though the glimpses be,
Pure is the light and free;—
Who shall divide or break the glory of God's face?
Sees Spirit, One and Whole,
Knowing no severance in Time or Space:
Faint though the glimpses be,
Pure is the light and free;—
Who shall divide or break the glory of God's face?
What if mankind has seen,—
Dark though the veil between,—
One certain flash of God's immortal light,
How shall the vision teach
His lips befitting speech?
How shall his finite words measure the infinite?
Dark though the veil between,—
One certain flash of God's immortal light,
14
His lips befitting speech?
How shall his finite words measure the infinite?
Yet what his eyes behold
His language must unfold,
Earthborn his words may be, and true for earthly things:
Still with his soul they soar
On, upwards, evermore,—
Howe'er their fleshly birth chain their aspiring wings.
His language must unfold,
Earthborn his words may be, and true for earthly things:
Still with his soul they soar
On, upwards, evermore,—
Howe'er their fleshly birth chain their aspiring wings.
Doubt not it represents
Some sure experience,
This world-wide voice of men proclaiming Christ their Lord:
Nor chide the words, but strain
To grasp what they contain,
The vast and hidden force, the meaning unexplored.
Some sure experience,
This world-wide voice of men proclaiming Christ their Lord:
Nor chide the words, but strain
To grasp what they contain,
The vast and hidden force, the meaning unexplored.
Twist not what man believed
To notions preconceived,
Glibly exclaiming, “It was never so.”
Know we of God so much
That we can take and touch,
Then say “God never dwelt in one who lived below?”
To notions preconceived,
Glibly exclaiming, “It was never so.”
Know we of God so much
That we can take and touch,
Then say “God never dwelt in one who lived below?”
15
Oh! but my soul is dark—
With tear-dimmed eyes I mark
What noble souls stand mournfully aloof,
Still craving proof of this
Wherein we find our bliss,—
Let doubting hearts reply—does this suffice for proof?
With tear-dimmed eyes I mark
What noble souls stand mournfully aloof,
Still craving proof of this
Wherein we find our bliss,—
Let doubting hearts reply—does this suffice for proof?
This that mankind could see
The bare, bright God in Thee,
See yet as clearly as they saw it then,
Knowing the Life Divine
Was truly one with Thine,
Truly was reached by Thee alone of men:—
The bare, bright God in Thee,
See yet as clearly as they saw it then,
Knowing the Life Divine
Was truly one with Thine,
Truly was reached by Thee alone of men:—
Cleaving in thought and act,
Close to this central fact,
This burning truth of man's Divinity,
Finding in this alone
Peace, joy, and bliss unknown,
Learning from this to live, cheered on by this to die.
Close to this central fact,
This burning truth of man's Divinity,
Finding in this alone
Peace, joy, and bliss unknown,
Learning from this to live, cheered on by this to die.
Oh! in this world's consent—
Nation with nation blent,
Age joining age in infinite acclaim,
Shall I not acquiesce,
Shall not my lips confess
Gladly as theirs the glory of Thy name?
Nation with nation blent,
Age joining age in infinite acclaim,
16
Shall not my lips confess
Gladly as theirs the glory of Thy name?
What if each passing age
Be but another stage
In the great book written by God's own hand,
Time shall instruct me then,
And in the voice of men
God's lips reveal the plan that He has planned.
Be but another stage
In the great book written by God's own hand,
Time shall instruct me then,
And in the voice of men
God's lips reveal the plan that He has planned.
Ah! and when words we hear
Seem to bring Heaven near,
Bidding our souls look upwards and rejoice,—
When from the flooding heart
Tear-drops of gladness start,—
Hark, 'tis the thunder-roll of God's eternal voice.
Seem to bring Heaven near,
Bidding our souls look upwards and rejoice,—
When from the flooding heart
Tear-drops of gladness start,—
Hark, 'tis the thunder-roll of God's eternal voice.
Then dare I darkly doubt,
When from the world without
One mighty voice proclaims that Christ is God,
While echoes from within
Answer “He knew no sin,
And that is Life Divine though paths of earth be trod.”
When from the world without
One mighty voice proclaims that Christ is God,
While echoes from within
Answer “He knew no sin,
And that is Life Divine though paths of earth be trod.”
17
Let scholars' skilful pains,
Let doctors' subtle brains
Plan as they please, fix, formulate, define,—
Labouring to enfold
Vainly in earthen mould,
Light, the pure light, free, golden, and divine.
Let doctors' subtle brains
Plan as they please, fix, formulate, define,—
Labouring to enfold
Vainly in earthen mould,
Light, the pure light, free, golden, and divine.
Building on base of sand
Towers that cannot stand,
Lashed by the blasts of doubt—the waves of sin:
God's beacon-tower of grace
Stands on a surer base,
Stands on the longing of the heart within.
Towers that cannot stand,
Lashed by the blasts of doubt—the waves of sin:
God's beacon-tower of grace
Stands on a surer base,
Stands on the longing of the heart within.
Builded on such a rock
Vainly the tempest's shock
Thunders around it, vainly storm blasts rave;
Vainly in giant play
Wild sheets of blinding spray
Leap when the steadfast reef shatters each rolling wave.
Vainly the tempest's shock
Thunders around it, vainly storm blasts rave;
Vainly in giant play
Wild sheets of blinding spray
Leap when the steadfast reef shatters each rolling wave.
Undimmed the beacon light
Burns through the dreadful night,
Warning and guiding man who sails below:
This whelming billow hides,
High on the next he rides,
And sees gleam out once more the far eternal glow.
Burns through the dreadful night,
Warning and guiding man who sails below:
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High on the next he rides,
And sees gleam out once more the far eternal glow.
Round me the tempest gloom
Oft gathers dark as doom,—
The demon blast wails wildly as it lists,
Telling of hidden sand,
Thunder of waves on strand,
Foam-girded iron cliffs, viewless through stormy mists.
Oft gathers dark as doom,—
The demon blast wails wildly as it lists,
Telling of hidden sand,
Thunder of waves on strand,
Foam-girded iron cliffs, viewless through stormy mists.
Still from afar I see
Flashing for ever free
The kindly light which God's own love has given:
And in each gleam I read
Be this thine only creed—
In Christ God stoops to earth, through Christ man climbs to Heaven.
Flashing for ever free
The kindly light which God's own love has given:
And in each gleam I read
Be this thine only creed—
In Christ God stoops to earth, through Christ man climbs to Heaven.
19
“CUR DEUS HOMO.”
God was so far before Christ came,—
A God of majesty and awe—
We trembled when we breathed His Name,
And in our fear we kept His Law.
A God of majesty and awe—
We trembled when we breathed His Name,
And in our fear we kept His Law.
God was so far, He only spoke
Out of the awful depths of night,
Or when the fires of darkness broke
Around the lonely mountain height.
Out of the awful depths of night,
Or when the fires of darkness broke
Around the lonely mountain height.
We never knew Him, when the breeze
Fanned with cool breath the twilight hour—
Nor when the springtide of the trees
Began, and waked each sleeping flower.
Fanned with cool breath the twilight hour—
Nor when the springtide of the trees
Began, and waked each sleeping flower.
Nor when we watched at close of day
The tender glories of the west—
Nor when asleep the moonbeams lay
On Ocean's gently heaving breast.
The tender glories of the west—
Nor when asleep the moonbeams lay
On Ocean's gently heaving breast.
20
But when in awe we gazed upon
The gathering storm-clouds dark and dread,
Or when the sudden lightning shone,
We knew that God was overhead.
The gathering storm-clouds dark and dread,
Or when the sudden lightning shone,
We knew that God was overhead.
And if the whirlwind swept us past
Till even the solid mountains shook,
We knew that God rode in the blast,
And that earth trembled at His look.
Till even the solid mountains shook,
We knew that God rode in the blast,
And that earth trembled at His look.
We feared Him, and we could not love,
For perfect love must cast out fear,
We feared Him—for He dwelt above—
We love Him when we find Him near.
For perfect love must cast out fear,
We feared Him—for He dwelt above—
We love Him when we find Him near.
Near us—within us—What is near
Except the Spirit that dwells within?
And who can see that Spirit clear?
What hands may lift the screen of sin?
Except the Spirit that dwells within?
And who can see that Spirit clear?
What hands may lift the screen of sin?
That deep, dark, ever-hanging screen,
That veils unutterable light,
Veiling it—when it falls between
The Spirit and the Spirit's sight.
That veils unutterable light,
Veiling it—when it falls between
The Spirit and the Spirit's sight.
21
Only the perfect sinless soul
Can fathom its own depths, and win
Those clouds of utter light that roll
Ever and ever, far within.
Can fathom its own depths, and win
Those clouds of utter light that roll
Ever and ever, far within.
But man was sinful—God was far,
And in His heaven far away
Dwelt till what time the Eastern star
Led to the cot where Jesus lay.
And in His heaven far away
Dwelt till what time the Eastern star
Led to the cot where Jesus lay.
Why did He come? Ah, who can tell?
The book lies open for us to read—
Our sight is dim—we scarce can spell
The mystic symbols of our creed.
The book lies open for us to read—
Our sight is dim—we scarce can spell
The mystic symbols of our creed.
And all the wisdom of every age,
Gathering the fruits of all before,
Still finds there, turning page on page,
New depths of meaning evermore.
Gathering the fruits of all before,
Still finds there, turning page on page,
New depths of meaning evermore.
Deep mystery beyond our ken!
Yet broken lights there needs must be,
And this—Christ lived and died for men—
Shines through our darkness and we see.
Yet broken lights there needs must be,
And this—Christ lived and died for men—
Shines through our darkness and we see.
22
He lived for men—that tells the whole—
He lost Himself in endless love,
And losing, gained His inmost soul,—
And found God there and not above.
He lost Himself in endless love,
And losing, gained His inmost soul,—
And found God there and not above.
He knew no self, and so His eyes
Could lift the veils of Time and Space,
Draw down the farness of the skies,
And see the Eternal face to face.
Could lift the veils of Time and Space,
Draw down the farness of the skies,
And see the Eternal face to face.
Ah! haply to our mortal sight
Seems dark and dim the path He trod,
But He had seen immortal light,
And God was with Him, and He was God.
Seems dark and dim the path He trod,
But He had seen immortal light,
And God was with Him, and He was God.
Immeasurable mystery!
Lo! in a moment all our fears
And doubts are ended, and we see
With eyes undimmed by gathering tears.
Lo! in a moment all our fears
And doubts are ended, and we see
With eyes undimmed by gathering tears.
God is the Father—not the King:
Man is His child, and not His slave;
Gone is the sharpness of Death's sting—
Gone is the terror of the grave:
Man is His child, and not His slave;
Gone is the sharpness of Death's sting—
Gone is the terror of the grave:
23
For only Death can end the thrall
Of self, and set the spirit free,
That vainly yearns to measure all
The depths of its immensity,
Of self, and set the spirit free,
That vainly yearns to measure all
The depths of its immensity,
And reach its innermost, and there
Gather within it all that seemed
Beyond—without—and so lay bare
The selfless self of which it dreamed.
Gather within it all that seemed
Beyond—without—and so lay bare
The selfless self of which it dreamed.
But this life's fetters ever cling
Heavily round it, and in vain
It strives to ply its prisoned wing
And soar into the boundless main,—
Heavily round it, and in vain
It strives to ply its prisoned wing
And soar into the boundless main,—
Until death comes: and since Christ died
We all are glad that Death should come,
For death, dark death has light to guide
Our feet to God “Who is our home.”
We all are glad that Death should come,
For death, dark death has light to guide
Our feet to God “Who is our home.”
This is the lesson Christ has taught,
And as we learn it we may guess
The vastness of the work He wrought,
And feel what words cannot express.
And as we learn it we may guess
The vastness of the work He wrought,
And feel what words cannot express.
24
The secret of Eternal Life—
We cannot know it: it may be so,
But in the fierce hot onward strife
We feel it, see it, more than know.
We cannot know it: it may be so,
But in the fierce hot onward strife
We feel it, see it, more than know.
Love—not the wisdom of the wise,
Shall find the secret hidden here:
But do thou love:—and even the eyes
Of little children read it clear.
Shall find the secret hidden here:
But do thou love:—and even the eyes
Of little children read it clear.
For all self-losing dies in Love,
And only losing self we find
The goal to which all yearnings move,
The Highest self that lies behind,—
And only losing self we find
The goal to which all yearnings move,
The Highest self that lies behind,—
God—the Eternal—into whom
Beauty and Love and Truth and all
That we strive after through this gloom,
Which our search lightens, fade and fall.
Beauty and Love and Truth and all
That we strive after through this gloom,
Which our search lightens, fade and fall.
Be near—be with us—so we can
Tread in the path Thy footsteps trod,
Oh! Godhead stooping down to man—
Oh! Manhood reaching up to God.
Tread in the path Thy footsteps trod,
Oh! Godhead stooping down to man—
Oh! Manhood reaching up to God.
25
Guide us—we know Thou art not gone,
But dwellest in us could we see.
Oh help us! raise us, lead us on,
Our eyes for ever fixed on Thee.
But dwellest in us could we see.
Oh help us! raise us, lead us on,
Our eyes for ever fixed on Thee.
26
THE SAGE—THE POET—THE SAINT.
They stand with their hands outstretched in love of a far-off shore—
The glow of evening around them, and a burning light before—
They gaze where the sun is setting, and the Ocean waves are rolled,
And their hearts are fain to follow that pathway of reddening gold.
The glow of evening around them, and a burning light before—
They gaze where the sun is setting, and the Ocean waves are rolled,
And their hearts are fain to follow that pathway of reddening gold.
They stand and gaze till their faces have caught the reflected glow,
And a mystic brightness is shed o'er the things of the earth below,
When they look away from the Heaven; and they cannot see aright,
For it may be their eyes are dazzled by the flood of immortal light.
And a mystic brightness is shed o'er the things of the earth below,
When they look away from the Heaven; and they cannot see aright,
For it may be their eyes are dazzled by the flood of immortal light.
27
In their hearts there is utter yearning—a thirst that is never slaked,—
A love that can have no dying—no creature of Death awaked.
And these have the grace to tread where none but their feet have trod;
And could they but see their goal, they would know that their goal is God.
A love that can have no dying—no creature of Death awaked.
And these have the grace to tread where none but their feet have trod;
And could they but see their goal, they would know that their goal is God.
One end to their endless longing—one aim amid all their strife,
But the end is itself the way, and the aim is the whole of life:
The Sage—the Poet—the Saint—we have given to each his name—
But if they have all one goal, then all are at last the same.
But the end is itself the way, and the aim is the whole of life:
The Sage—the Poet—the Saint—we have given to each his name—
But if they have all one goal, then all are at last the same.
For we speak and we needs must speak of mind and heart and soul,
But Spirit is ever One and an undivided whole:
We look but a little way—the part can see but a part—
And only Thyself—oh God! can'st see Thyself as Thou art.
But Spirit is ever One and an undivided whole:
We look but a little way—the part can see but a part—
And only Thyself—oh God! can'st see Thyself as Thou art.
28
The Sage—Ah! we know a little of our little things below,—
But his is the restless striving of the mind, that knows, to know:
He asks what is? and in asking his hands have broken the bond
Of what seems—and he presses on to the one I AM beyond.
But his is the restless striving of the mind, that knows, to know:
He asks what is? and in asking his hands have broken the bond
Of what seems—and he presses on to the one I AM beyond.
His God is the God of Truth, Eternal and far and dim,
And he knows not that in his striving God has come near to him;
He calls us, but who may follow—for whose are the eyes to view
The blinding beams of the sun in his heaven of endless blue?
And he knows not that in his striving God has come near to him;
He calls us, but who may follow—for whose are the eyes to view
The blinding beams of the sun in his heaven of endless blue?
The Poet—his eyes are burning—his heart is a heart of fire:
His hands have fashioned the world by the light of his own desire:
He will not tarry for knowledge—too quickly the moments flee,—
And his is the passionate longing of the heart, that sees, to see.
His hands have fashioned the world by the light of his own desire:
He will not tarry for knowledge—too quickly the moments flee,—
And his is the passionate longing of the heart, that sees, to see.
29
His God is the God of Beauty—so near, could he only find,—
He sees where no others see, yet even his eyes are blind:
We praise him, and start to follow, but the light of the heart has fled,
And vainly we look around us, for the world lies dark and dead.
He sees where no others see, yet even his eyes are blind:
We praise him, and start to follow, but the light of the heart has fled,
And vainly we look around us, for the world lies dark and dead.
But the Saint—his eyes are ever upturned to the blue above,
And his is the endless yearning of the soul, that loves, to love:
He looks at the clear deep Heaven, whose cloudless depths may tell
Of the pure and selfless Spirit where God loves best to dwell.
And his is the endless yearning of the soul, that loves, to love:
He looks at the clear deep Heaven, whose cloudless depths may tell
Of the pure and selfless Spirit where God loves best to dwell.
His God is the God of Love—so far, yet so deep within,—
Whom a life of longing and loving and losing self may win:
He leads us, and all would follow—but we linger from day to day,
And think there is time for starting, and so life glides away.
Whom a life of longing and loving and losing self may win:
He leads us, and all would follow—but we linger from day to day,
And think there is time for starting, and so life glides away.
30
PRAYER.
They chide us for our praying—half in scorn
And half in sadness—pointing to their light
Of newly-risen knowledge, whose clear dawn
Scatters the ghostly phantoms of our night,
Which we have made our Gods, and knelt before:
And their cold mockery wrongs our praying less
Than we wrong prayer, who pray for earthly store
Of health, and wealth, and mortal happiness.
Prayer is no child of fleeting hopes and fears,
But of the inmost heart's Eternity,
That with dim passionate striving all its years
Yearns after God and cries for light to see.
And there's one prayer no scorn can ever move—
The endless prayer of a long life of Love.
And half in sadness—pointing to their light
Of newly-risen knowledge, whose clear dawn
Scatters the ghostly phantoms of our night,
Which we have made our Gods, and knelt before:
And their cold mockery wrongs our praying less
Than we wrong prayer, who pray for earthly store
Of health, and wealth, and mortal happiness.
Prayer is no child of fleeting hopes and fears,
But of the inmost heart's Eternity,
That with dim passionate striving all its years
Yearns after God and cries for light to see.
And there's one prayer no scorn can ever move—
The endless prayer of a long life of Love.
We kneel to God on God's own holy day
Together—gathered by the sweet church-bell,
And on bent knees with mingled voices say
Words that grow old with us and lose their spell,
We pray to God at morn and eventide,
Outpouring hearts of hidden joy or care,
And dumbly murmur at the still bedside
Words that we weave together, kneeling there.
But there are seasons when the heart is stirred
Too deeply for expression—and in vain
It pants to shape its prayer, and grasp a word
Meet for its hungering love and holy pain.
Yet not more mightily than this prevails
The prayer we pray low at the altar rails.
Together—gathered by the sweet church-bell,
And on bent knees with mingled voices say
Words that grow old with us and lose their spell,
31
Outpouring hearts of hidden joy or care,
And dumbly murmur at the still bedside
Words that we weave together, kneeling there.
But there are seasons when the heart is stirred
Too deeply for expression—and in vain
It pants to shape its prayer, and grasp a word
Meet for its hungering love and holy pain.
Yet not more mightily than this prevails
The prayer we pray low at the altar rails.
For those heart-stirrings where the heart is dumb,
Those psalms of praise that reach no human ear,
Those voiceless supplications do not come
Out of the void, therein to disappear.
They have their language could we only read—
What though our lips express them not, they win
Clear utterance in every loving deed
As life writes out the spirit's depths within.
Ah! if prayer be man's striving after God
What light but Love may guide him to his goal—
What surer heavenward pathway may be trod?
Love—the self-answered yearning of the soul,
The prayer that is itself the prayed-for grace,
The cry for light that is itself God's face.
Those psalms of praise that reach no human ear,
Those voiceless supplications do not come
Out of the void, therein to disappear.
They have their language could we only read—
What though our lips express them not, they win
Clear utterance in every loving deed
As life writes out the spirit's depths within.
Ah! if prayer be man's striving after God
What light but Love may guide him to his goal—
What surer heavenward pathway may be trod?
Love—the self-answered yearning of the soul,
The prayer that is itself the prayed-for grace,
The cry for light that is itself God's face.
32
ONWARDNESS.
Brave burning hearts that 'mid the battle's pressDream of some final triumph dim and far,
And know not they are warriors in a war
Whose victory is its own endlessness—
Strong onward-reaching souls whose speed and stress
Chafes at the barriers of their narrowed sphere,—
Who look so far, they cannot see God near—
Whose lips deny even what their lives confess;—
They are as one who stands on some sheer height
While a dark sea breaks whitening at its base,
And sunsetwards lit waves are rolling bright,
And gates of gold guard a more golden place—
So as he stands and longs for that far light,
Its glow divine rests on his gazing face.
33
INWARDNESS.
Pure, peaceful hearts that are content to prayIn simple faith, though dim and veiled be sight,
Their humble prayers for grace to walk aright
Through all the little dangers of the day—
That only ask to see a little way,
Weaving no wide-meant, world-embracing schemes,
No vast conceptions, no far-reaching dreams;—
These do not ask the issue of the fray,
Happy if each is steadfast to his post,
Careless of all without, if pure within:
And oft maybe they deem the battle lost,
Wielding the while world-shaping powers that win,
Whose fountain head is the heart's innermost,
Which they grow near who grow away from sin.
34
VERA CAUSA.
TO THE EARTH.
Must thou, oh Earth, for ever and for ever
Thunder along thy loneliness of way?
Dost thou not weary of thy dumb endeavour?
Hast thou no yearning for a final day?
Thunder along thy loneliness of way?
Dost thou not weary of thy dumb endeavour?
Hast thou no yearning for a final day?
Where is thy goal? What master art thou serving?
What is the purpose that has made thee strong?
Never an instant from thy pathway swerving
Silently, swiftly thou art borne along.
What is the purpose that has made thee strong?
Never an instant from thy pathway swerving
Silently, swiftly thou art borne along.
Yet as thou glidest through the empty spaces,
Lifeless and deep and desolately grand,
Hast thou no wish to know what hidden places
Sleep in the darkness of that silent land.
Lifeless and deep and desolately grand,
Hast thou no wish to know what hidden places
Sleep in the darkness of that silent land.
Or when at night the stars are shining yonder,
Far in the stillness of the lonely sky,
Hast thou no wish to turn aside and wander
Into those regions that are hung on high.
Far in the stillness of the lonely sky,
Hast thou no wish to turn aside and wander
Into those regions that are hung on high.
35
No—from thy lips there cometh no complaining:
Dumbly thou movest on thy ceaseless round,
Careless to ask what end thou art attaining—
Nay in its endlessness thy toil is crowned.
Dumbly thou movest on thy ceaseless round,
Careless to ask what end thou art attaining—
Nay in its endlessness thy toil is crowned.
Backward we look into the vanished ages—
Slowly the clearness of our daylight dies;
Then, where sight fails, the wisdom of the sages
Opens new Œons on our baffled eyes.
Slowly the clearness of our daylight dies;
Then, where sight fails, the wisdom of the sages
Opens new Œons on our baffled eyes.
Still in the dimmest distance we behold thee
Tracing the orbit that thou tracest yet:—
Nowhere amid the dark mists that enfold thee
Is there a limit to thy toiling set.
Tracing the orbit that thou tracest yet:—
Nowhere amid the dark mists that enfold thee
Is there a limit to thy toiling set.
What—has thy stream of life been ever flowing?
Was there no moment when thy years begun?
Do they not tell how swift and fierce and glowing,
Straight from the whirling surface of the sun,
Was there no moment when thy years begun?
Do they not tell how swift and fierce and glowing,
Straight from the whirling surface of the sun,
Into the air a fiery mass thou fleddest,
Cleaving the void on glad exultant wings;—
There in thy burning bosom, as thou speddest,
Slumbered the hidden destinies of things.
Cleaving the void on glad exultant wings;—
There in thy burning bosom, as thou speddest,
Slumbered the hidden destinies of things.
36
Onward thou sprangest, till a sudden power,
Curbing thy movements with majestic might,
Told thee thy doom, and bade thee from that hour
Circle for ever round the central light.
Curbing thy movements with majestic might,
Told thee thy doom, and bade thee from that hour
Circle for ever round the central light.
Ah! but that severance was no beginning,
Thus to be sundered was not to be born;
Only a changed existence wert thou winning,
Only the dawning of another morn.
Thus to be sundered was not to be born;
Only a changed existence wert thou winning,
Only the dawning of another morn.
Were there not ages ere the Fates did sever
Thee from the bosom where thou wert at rest?
Say had'st thou lain from ever and from ever
Swayed by the stirrings of that mighty breast?
Thee from the bosom where thou wert at rest?
Say had'st thou lain from ever and from ever
Swayed by the stirrings of that mighty breast?
Why do we vex ourselves with vainly straining
Eyes through the darkness that have need of day?
See from the very goal that we are gaining
All our realities are passed away.
Eyes through the darkness that have need of day?
See from the very goal that we are gaining
All our realities are passed away.
Dies all the life, the spirit and the beauty,
All the soul's yearning after Truth and Right;
Dies all the majesty of Love and Duty;
Dies all the incommunicable light—
All the soul's yearning after Truth and Right;
Dies all the majesty of Love and Duty;
Dies all the incommunicable light—
37
Light that the Poet with his heart of fire
Sees, though he may not hold it in his rhyme:
Only—sad answer to our vast desire—
Lingers the drear infinity of Time;
Sees, though he may not hold it in his rhyme:
Only—sad answer to our vast desire—
Lingers the drear infinity of Time;
All that remains to eager, gazing science:—
Wearied she turns her fevered eyes about:
Cries, in no voice of pride or self-reliance,
“Surely the end of seeking is to doubt.
Wearied she turns her fevered eyes about:
Cries, in no voice of pride or self-reliance,
“Surely the end of seeking is to doubt.
“Was it for this I spurned all nearer blisses,
Gave all my years to searching after cause,
Sounding the Past's unfathomèd abysses
Dreaming of matter and inherent Laws?
Gave all my years to searching after cause,
Sounding the Past's unfathomèd abysses
Dreaming of matter and inherent Laws?
“Was it for this?”—But did it well in leaning
Thus on a staff that broke beneath its force,
Scanning the Past to gain our final meaning,
Making the germ the fountain and the source,
Thus on a staff that broke beneath its force,
Scanning the Past to gain our final meaning,
Making the germ the fountain and the source,
Deeming the worse the parent of the better,
Asking the part to tell it of the whole,
Finding the cause of Freedom in the fetter,
Looking to matter for the birth of soul?
Asking the part to tell it of the whole,
Finding the cause of Freedom in the fetter,
Looking to matter for the birth of soul?
38
Has it not told us that the world is gliding
Down from the darkness of a formless past,
Sure as a river that has no abiding,
Sure to be mingled with the sea at last.
Down from the darkness of a formless past,
Sure as a river that has no abiding,
Sure to be mingled with the sea at last.
Slow though its current that you deem it sleeping,
Wide though it wander winding through the plain,
Somewhere in ample volume it is sweeping
Into the billows of the rolling main.
Wide though it wander winding through the plain,
Somewhere in ample volume it is sweeping
Into the billows of the rolling main.
Ay—and this stream that swells into the ocean,
Whence is its majesty of waters fed?
Not from the brooklet with its babbling motion,
Not from the gushings of the fountain head.
Whence is its majesty of waters fed?
Not from the brooklet with its babbling motion,
Not from the gushings of the fountain head.
Rather from rain and vapour of the mountain,
Melting of clouds and vanishing of snows,
These that are wellings of a vaster fountain,—
Out of the bosom of the sea they rose.
Melting of clouds and vanishing of snows,
These that are wellings of a vaster fountain,—
Out of the bosom of the sea they rose.
Even the torrent from the springhead gushing
Owes its first waters to the ocean wave;
Now in its breadth and fulness it is rushing
Into its birthplace, not into its grave.
Owes its first waters to the ocean wave;
Now in its breadth and fulness it is rushing
Into its birthplace, not into its grave.
39
So—wouldst thou solve this mystery of Being,
Dream not of asking where the years commence;
There all is void and barred against thy seeing:
Turn to thy Whither, wouldst thou know thy Whence.
Dream not of asking where the years commence;
There all is void and barred against thy seeing:
Turn to thy Whither, wouldst thou know thy Whence.
Out of the Past the Present has arisen,
Light out of darkness, glory out of gloom,
Freedom and Empire from a narrow prison,
Life from the cold embraces of a tomb.
Light out of darkness, glory out of gloom,
Freedom and Empire from a narrow prison,
Life from the cold embraces of a tomb.
Whence comes the brightness that is ever dawning
Clearer and clearer on our dazzled eyes?
Say—shall we set the source of such a morning
Deep in the dreariness of midnight skies?
Clearer and clearer on our dazzled eyes?
Say—shall we set the source of such a morning
Deep in the dreariness of midnight skies?
Tint follows tint, and each new glimpse of glory
Passes in loveliness what went before;
Each in its coming tells thee half its story,
Look to its changing, if thou seekest more!
Passes in loveliness what went before;
Each in its coming tells thee half its story,
Look to its changing, if thou seekest more!
Each is in turn a higher revelation,
Faint though the brightest, of the dawning light;
Thence springs the movement of the world's creation,
There is the voice that calls us out of night.
Faint though the brightest, of the dawning light;
Thence springs the movement of the world's creation,
There is the voice that calls us out of night.
40
Turn to the light then—and thy doubts are ended;
Hushed is thy heart: thy questionings are dumb:
Yet do not seek it down the far extended
Vista of ages that are yet to come.
Hushed is thy heart: thy questionings are dumb:
Yet do not seek it down the far extended
Vista of ages that are yet to come.
Faint is thy foresight as thy recollection;—
What though the years be brightening into day,
Still is the splendour of divine perfection
Shining immeasurably far away.
What though the years be brightening into day,
Still is the splendour of divine perfection
Shining immeasurably far away.
Only with endless and unuttered yearning
Fathom the stillness of thine inmost soul,
Wherein undimmed the light is ever burning,
Where dwelleth God, the fount, the life, the goal.
Fathom the stillness of thine inmost soul,
Wherein undimmed the light is ever burning,
Where dwelleth God, the fount, the life, the goal.
He in a moment holds the lapse of Ages,
Holds in a point the boundlessness of Space;—
All our infinity of climbing stages
Find in His fulness their appointed place.
Holds in a point the boundlessness of Space;—
All our infinity of climbing stages
Find in His fulness their appointed place.
His is the knowledge, ours is but the dreaming,—
Still we look outward, and our sight is dim—
His the Reality and ours the seeming,—
Void is the world and lifeless save in Him.
Still we look outward, and our sight is dim—
His the Reality and ours the seeming,—
Void is the world and lifeless save in Him.
41
Yet not in Him we read our explanation;
All the bewilderment is ours alone,
Born of our nearness and our isolation,—
No—but the mystery itself is gone.
All the bewilderment is ours alone,
Born of our nearness and our isolation,—
No—but the mystery itself is gone.
Gone all the riddle and the fruitless guessing—
Gone all the maze, and searching for a clue—
Gone—when in purity the soul is pressing
Near to His Love the only Real and True.
Gone all the maze, and searching for a clue—
Gone—when in purity the soul is pressing
Near to His Love the only Real and True.
There no Appearances with cold resistance
Baffle our prayers to know and to be free;
There in the sunshine of Divine Existence,
Knowledge is needless, for we touch and see.
Baffle our prayers to know and to be free;
There in the sunshine of Divine Existence,
Knowledge is needless, for we touch and see.
So when thy thoughts grow mutinous and mutter
“Life is a phantom, and the soul a clod,”
Give but one answer to the words they utter—
Let thy days lead thee to the Love of God.
“Life is a phantom, and the soul a clod,”
Give but one answer to the words they utter—
Let thy days lead thee to the Love of God.
42
GOD HAS TAKEN HIM.
I.
They wrote that he had passed away:
I read their words, and read again
Half vacantly—they seemed to say
That God had taken him from pain.
I read their words, and read again
Half vacantly—they seemed to say
That God had taken him from pain.
The varied interplay of thought,
Happy and fresh and freely blent,
Flowed from my mind, and there was wrought
A depth of dark bewilderment.
Happy and fresh and freely blent,
Flowed from my mind, and there was wrought
A depth of dark bewilderment.
I was alone and face to face
With some vast overpowering fact,—
Eternal, gathered out of space,
Its whence and how, unknown, untracked;
With some vast overpowering fact,—
Eternal, gathered out of space,
Its whence and how, unknown, untracked;
Loosed from all limitings that mark
Our passing years, and make their flight;
Before it all my soul grew dark;
Perhaps it was too purely bright.
Our passing years, and make their flight;
Before it all my soul grew dark;
Perhaps it was too purely bright.
43
Pure from the mingling of all hues,—
The many-tinted every day
With all its colours seemed to lose
Itself in this, and fade away.
The many-tinted every day
With all its colours seemed to lose
Itself in this, and fade away.
I felt that this alone was true,
And really lived and did not seem:
All things beside it mocked my view,
Vain phantoms in a shadowy dream.
And really lived and did not seem:
All things beside it mocked my view,
Vain phantoms in a shadowy dream.
I was alone and in the night:
My soul looked out, and nowhere found
Whereon to rest its aching sight;
The far horizon-line that bound
My soul looked out, and nowhere found
Whereon to rest its aching sight;
The far horizon-line that bound
Its ardent gazings, once too near,
Had gone, and nought beyond it lay:
Blank desolation there and here,
A world of nothing every way.
Had gone, and nought beyond it lay:
Blank desolation there and here,
A world of nothing every way.
All life seemed wholly to desert
My mind left dark and void and vain:
I only knew my soul was hurt,
Too deeply hurt to feel its pain.
My mind left dark and void and vain:
I only knew my soul was hurt,
Too deeply hurt to feel its pain.
44
And staring into empty air
My tearless eyes grew slowly dim,
When lo! a voice from my despair
Woke whispering, “God has taken him.”
My tearless eyes grew slowly dim,
When lo! a voice from my despair
Woke whispering, “God has taken him.”
Simple the words: I cannot tell
What inner force they haply stirred,
But in a moment all the spell
Was loosened, and I saw and heard,
What inner force they haply stirred,
But in a moment all the spell
Was loosened, and I saw and heard,
And thought and felt without restrain,
And life resumed its natural play:
The common world flowed back again,
I knew not how it flowed away.
And life resumed its natural play:
The common world flowed back again,
I knew not how it flowed away.
And I could set my pain apart,—
Distinct it seemed, and rising o'er
Those other stirrings of the heart,
That had been lost in it before.
Distinct it seemed, and rising o'er
Those other stirrings of the heart,
That had been lost in it before.
For it stood forth in stern relief,
Its outline clearly marked and true:
I felt the agony of grief,
I saw the life-blood flow: I knew
Its outline clearly marked and true:
I felt the agony of grief,
I saw the life-blood flow: I knew
45
How deep and deadly was the wound:
No blank amaze, no numbing doubt
Concealed it: I had inly swooned,
And waking now, my soul went out
No blank amaze, no numbing doubt
Concealed it: I had inly swooned,
And waking now, my soul went out
In one long bitter baffled rush
Of hopeless yearning for the dead;
And in a flood the tears did gush,
Loosed from the frozen fountain-head.
Of hopeless yearning for the dead;
And in a flood the tears did gush,
Loosed from the frozen fountain-head.
For somewhere in our deepest woes
There dwells a touch of happy calm:
And in somewise the sharpest throes
Of anguish yield us healing balm.
There dwells a touch of happy calm:
And in somewise the sharpest throes
Of anguish yield us healing balm.
And so in that intensest pang
It came at length that I could weep,
And soft and warm the tear-drops sprang
From wells of sorrow darkly deep.
It came at length that I could weep,
And soft and warm the tear-drops sprang
From wells of sorrow darkly deep.
I faced and felt my utmost woe,
And evermore there seemed to swim
That voice about me soft and low,
Whispering “God has taken him.”
And evermore there seemed to swim
That voice about me soft and low,
Whispering “God has taken him.”
46
II.
Simple the words—yet who shall say
What worlds of meaning lap them round?
Do we not learn it day by day—
Our simplest words are most profound.
What worlds of meaning lap them round?
Do we not learn it day by day—
Our simplest words are most profound.
The Ages crumble into dust:—
We talk of birth, and life and death;
We tread the shallow, earthen crust,
Not recking of the fires beneath.
We talk of birth, and life and death;
We tread the shallow, earthen crust,
Not recking of the fires beneath.
Content to use those words, nor ask
What birth or life or death may mean:—
It is enough for us to bask
In sunshine on the meadows green,
What birth or life or death may mean:—
It is enough for us to bask
In sunshine on the meadows green,
Or underneath the shadowing trees
Watch how the flowers awake from sleep,
And only when the passing breeze
Wafts us a whisper from the deep—
Watch how the flowers awake from sleep,
And only when the passing breeze
Wafts us a whisper from the deep—
The vast expanse that lines with foam
Our broken coasts, and in its breast
Enfolds our happy, island home,
While we far inland live at rest.—
Our broken coasts, and in its breast
Enfolds our happy, island home,
While we far inland live at rest.—
47
A moment's wonder whence we came
Startles us,—yet though strange it be,
Yon floweret has its learned name,
The sea is still the simple sea.
Startles us,—yet though strange it be,
Yon floweret has its learned name,
The sea is still the simple sea.
Simple because so all unknown,
So vast that none may comprehend,
So unexplored, the heart alone
May see when thinking has an end.
So vast that none may comprehend,
So unexplored, the heart alone
May see when thinking has an end.
And words that bring profoundest peace
To wearied spirits grief-distraught,
That make the tears of sorrow cease,
Baffle the sage's deepest thought.
To wearied spirits grief-distraught,
That make the tears of sorrow cease,
Baffle the sage's deepest thought.
Simple the words: it may be so:
They lulled my agony to sleep:
They filled my longing, yet I know
My reason found them all too deep.
They lulled my agony to sleep:
They filled my longing, yet I know
My reason found them all too deep.
For though my heart was well content
To see that God had done His will,
Yet heart and mind are strangely blent,
And thought arose rebellious still;
To see that God had done His will,
Yet heart and mind are strangely blent,
And thought arose rebellious still;
48
With strong and stubborn questioning
That robbed my soul of its repose,
And troubled even that inmost spring
Of sunlit tears that seldom flows.
That robbed my soul of its repose,
And troubled even that inmost spring
Of sunlit tears that seldom flows.
But should not Reason acquiesce,
When that, which suffers, murmurs not?
Life has its fill of dark distress,
And joys are few and soon forgot,
When that, which suffers, murmurs not?
Life has its fill of dark distress,
And joys are few and soon forgot,
Or, if remembered, heighten grief,
And fears are true, and hopes are vain;
But man had cherished one belief
That consecrated all his pain,
And fears are true, and hopes are vain;
But man had cherished one belief
That consecrated all his pain,
Charming his sorrow's speechless might
Into a force of holy prayer,
And in an atmosphere of light
Suffusing every humblest care.
Into a force of holy prayer,
And in an atmosphere of light
Suffusing every humblest care.
Ah! but if Reason, cold and stern,
And passionless, should quench the spark,
Whither, Oh! whither, shall he turn
For solace when his days are dark.
And passionless, should quench the spark,
Whither, Oh! whither, shall he turn
For solace when his days are dark.
49
But haply Reason does not blame
The inner light that words eclipse,
The living faith, the naked flame
That is but slandered by our lips;
The inner light that words eclipse,
The living faith, the naked flame
That is but slandered by our lips;
Only the form, the outward sign,
The Spirit's poor embodiment;
Yet those who yearn for Truth Divine,
Bless every faintest glimpse that's sent.
The Spirit's poor embodiment;
Yet those who yearn for Truth Divine,
Bless every faintest glimpse that's sent.
Did ever artist bring to light
The beauties that his heart had seen?
Like stars that stud the depths of night,
They fade when daylight hangs between.
The beauties that his heart had seen?
Like stars that stud the depths of night,
They fade when daylight hangs between.
Had ever Poet grace to throw
His deepest feeling into song?
Could ever Thinker shape the flow
Of Thought that swept his mind along?
His deepest feeling into song?
Could ever Thinker shape the flow
Of Thought that swept his mind along?
And still the Poet needs must sing,
The Artist make, the Thinker teach:
And still the suffering soul must fling
Its love and longing into speech.
The Artist make, the Thinker teach:
And still the suffering soul must fling
Its love and longing into speech.
50
Broken and faltering though it be,
Has it not higher truths to tell
Than Reason ever bade us see,
From wisest lips than ever fell?
Has it not higher truths to tell
Than Reason ever bade us see,
From wisest lips than ever fell?
And still though Reason cannot prove,
Though doubts arise, though language hide,
This inner light of sorrowing Love,
However caught, shall be my guide.
Though doubts arise, though language hide,
This inner light of sorrowing Love,
However caught, shall be my guide.
III.
He leads, you say, another life—
A higher, holier life than this—
No jarring wills are now at strife,
No earthward longings mar his bliss.
A higher, holier life than this—
No jarring wills are now at strife,
No earthward longings mar his bliss.
Desire and knowledge intertwine
Themselves in faultless harmony:
He knows the purposes divine,
And does them. Love has set him free.
Themselves in faultless harmony:
He knows the purposes divine,
And does them. Love has set him free.
Ah! well: but does he quite forget
The sunny life he led below,
Or, when our eyes are happy wet
With thinking of him, does he know
The sunny life he led below,
Or, when our eyes are happy wet
With thinking of him, does he know
51
What makes the blinding tear-drops start,
And does the love we bear him add
Aught to his happiness of heart,
And does our sorrow make him sad?
And does the love we bear him add
Aught to his happiness of heart,
And does our sorrow make him sad?
For love and pain are mingled here,
But there you tell me pain is not;
Then is there love without a tear?
Or is the lower life forgot?
But there you tell me pain is not;
Then is there love without a tear?
Or is the lower life forgot?
Vain questioning—yet once it chanced
That on a stormy autumn night
I sat alone, and half entranced,
Watching the ember's flickering light.
That on a stormy autumn night
I sat alone, and half entranced,
Watching the ember's flickering light.
The dreary wailing of the wind,
Its note of desolate despair
Sank into me, until my mind
Seemed mingled with the damp, dark air.
Its note of desolate despair
Sank into me, until my mind
Seemed mingled with the damp, dark air.
The sudden gust that died away
Into a melancholy moan,
The dead leaves mouldering into clay,
The driving showers were all its own,
Into a melancholy moan,
The dead leaves mouldering into clay,
The driving showers were all its own,
52
And slowly, sadly drew its gaze
Through paths of infinite regret,
Into the happy vanished days
Where spring and summer sweetly met;
Through paths of infinite regret,
Into the happy vanished days
Where spring and summer sweetly met;
Till from my heart there broke a cry
Of sudden passionate desire,
To see once more the large blue eye,
The laughing eye that could not tire;
Of sudden passionate desire,
To see once more the large blue eye,
The laughing eye that could not tire;
To clasp once more, in close embrace,
The loving hand, and watch the play
Of eager spirit through the face
Serenely happy, purely gay.
The loving hand, and watch the play
Of eager spirit through the face
Serenely happy, purely gay.
And oh! to listen as of old
To those sweet accents blithe and clear;
To tell, and then in turn be told,
Of things that both had counted dear.
To those sweet accents blithe and clear;
To tell, and then in turn be told,
Of things that both had counted dear.
And I would ask him if he knew
How well I loved him all the years
That he was here, and how love grew
Watered by sorrow's holiest tears?
How well I loved him all the years
That he was here, and how love grew
Watered by sorrow's holiest tears?
53
And how I yearned to kneel beside
His bed, and catch the dying breath,
And watch the spirit gently glide
Into the fuller light of death?
His bed, and catch the dying breath,
And watch the spirit gently glide
Into the fuller light of death?
And then a mightier impulse stirred;
With head bowed low and darkened eyes,
I prayed, if prayer were ever heard,
That God would bid my darling rise,
With head bowed low and darkened eyes,
I prayed, if prayer were ever heard,
That God would bid my darling rise,
Arise, be here, yes, here below,
Standing before my raptured gaze,
Till from his presence there should flow
A light to gladden all my days.
Standing before my raptured gaze,
Till from his presence there should flow
A light to gladden all my days.
He never came: it might not be;
I only heard the autumn wind:
It was not well that I should see
With outward eyes, if Love were blind.
I only heard the autumn wind:
It was not well that I should see
With outward eyes, if Love were blind.
What—had I dared with step profane
Of fleshly fancy to invade
The sacred home that none may gain,
Save through the senses' utter shade?
Of fleshly fancy to invade
The sacred home that none may gain,
Save through the senses' utter shade?
54
What—had I dared to think the soul
Was but the body's shadowy ghost?
Ah! then this life would be the whole,
And all the higher hopes be lost.
Was but the body's shadowy ghost?
Ah! then this life would be the whole,
And all the higher hopes be lost.
He is with God: you told me this,
When he was laid beneath the sod,
He is with God, and that is bliss,
Ah! who will tell me where is God?
When he was laid beneath the sod,
He is with God, and that is bliss,
Ah! who will tell me where is God?
We cry for God, and gaze without;
There comes no answer to our call;
No answer,—save the chilling doubt—
Whether there be a God at all.
There comes no answer to our call;
No answer,—save the chilling doubt—
Whether there be a God at all.
We search the starry realms of space:
God is not there for man to win.
“The pure in heart shall see God's face;
The heavenly kingdom is within.”
God is not there for man to win.
“The pure in heart shall see God's face;
The heavenly kingdom is within.”
Oh! blessèd words; oh blessèd voice
That spake them, and is speaking still;
Listen, oh! heart, oh! heart rejoice,
God dwells with all who do His will.
That spake them, and is speaking still;
Listen, oh! heart, oh! heart rejoice,
God dwells with all who do His will.
55
“Yet cease from joy”—the heart replies,
“For who may see the light Divine,
Sin hangs a veil before our eyes,
A veil before the inner shrine.
“For who may see the light Divine,
Sin hangs a veil before our eyes,
A veil before the inner shrine.
“Darkly, impenetrably deep—
We grasp at shadows that are gone,
Poor dreamers in this earthly sleep”—
Ah! but our dreaming draws us on.
We grasp at shadows that are gone,
Poor dreamers in this earthly sleep”—
Ah! but our dreaming draws us on.
And if His presence be too bright
For eyes that earthborn clouds obscure;
Yet in each yearning after light,
And in each inclination pure,
For eyes that earthborn clouds obscure;
Yet in each yearning after light,
And in each inclination pure,
Each conquest of a lower lust,
Each deep drawn penitential sigh,
Each self abasement into dust—
There is an angel standing by,
Each deep drawn penitential sigh,
Each self abasement into dust—
There is an angel standing by,
One of God's angels sent below,
Those spiritual messengers
Who breathe His love. Ah! is it so?
For hush! a Heavenward longing stirs.
Those spiritual messengers
Who breathe His love. Ah! is it so?
For hush! a Heavenward longing stirs.
56
It startles me from earthly dreams;
My soul looks up in joy and fear;
A light upon my spirit gleams:—
Is it my darling standing near?
My soul looks up in joy and fear;
A light upon my spirit gleams:—
Is it my darling standing near?
IV.
Is it not well to be alone
On such a happy summer morn?
Or is it spring? Or has spring grown
Into the summer's early dawn.
On such a happy summer morn?
Or is it spring? Or has spring grown
Into the summer's early dawn.
Oh dearest time of all the year
When the two sweetest seasons meet;
For summer looks towards autumn drear,
And spring is born in snow and sleet.
When the two sweetest seasons meet;
For summer looks towards autumn drear,
And spring is born in snow and sleet.
But spring with summer mingles now,
Each at its loveliest: the trees
Bask in the ripening summer-glow,
And spring has sent the freshening breeze.
Each at its loveliest: the trees
Bask in the ripening summer-glow,
And spring has sent the freshening breeze.
And summer gave the dark-blue sky,
And there are fleecy clouds from spring;
Spring gave the flowers,—the summer-fly
Haunts them with ceaseless murmuring.
And there are fleecy clouds from spring;
Spring gave the flowers,—the summer-fly
Haunts them with ceaseless murmuring.
57
Oh! joy of life and warmth and light;
Oh! laughing sky! Oh! laughing earth;
Your subtle charms possess me quite,
My heart is mingled with your mirth.
Oh! laughing sky! Oh! laughing earth;
Your subtle charms possess me quite,
My heart is mingled with your mirth.
For now it seems my self, my mind,
Is only all I hear and see—
These many beauties intertwined
In rich harmonious unity.
Is only all I hear and see—
These many beauties intertwined
In rich harmonious unity.
The cooing in the distant woods
Wherever heard, is still the same,
One of my Spirit's happiest moods,—
I know not, ask not, whence it came.
Wherever heard, is still the same,
One of my Spirit's happiest moods,—
I know not, ask not, whence it came.
It tells of shade, and muffled tread,
And undergrowth, and climbing trees,
And roofs that darken overhead,
And fern and white anemones.
And undergrowth, and climbing trees,
And roofs that darken overhead,
And fern and white anemones.
It tells that all spring's fondest hopes
Have found at last fulfilment true—
The hollows in the woodland slopes
Are little lakes of fairy blue.
Have found at last fulfilment true—
The hollows in the woodland slopes
Are little lakes of fairy blue.
58
The open grassy glades are graced
With golden cowslips thickly strewed;
The gorse is yellow on the waste
Of upland common past the wood.
With golden cowslips thickly strewed;
The gorse is yellow on the waste
Of upland common past the wood.
So much is gathered in that note,
So far and yet so strangely near;
Ah! never from the stockdove's throat
Came all the sweetness that I hear.
So far and yet so strangely near;
Ah! never from the stockdove's throat
Came all the sweetness that I hear.
Some inner spiritual chord
Was touched, and though I caught the strain,
I could not utter what I heard—
But hush! the stockdove coos again.
Was touched, and though I caught the strain,
I could not utter what I heard—
But hush! the stockdove coos again.
Yes, there is beauty in that sound,
Beauty imagined, though unseen;
And beauty visible around,
For never has so fresh a green
Beauty imagined, though unseen;
And beauty visible around,
For never has so fresh a green
Clothed copse and field and winding hedge,
And hollows where the brooklets flow;
Green is the brooklet's murmuring sedge,
The osier-beds are green below.
And hollows where the brooklets flow;
Green is the brooklet's murmuring sedge,
The osier-beds are green below.
59
And oh! the river-meads—what dream
Such light and loveliness hath lent?
And here and there a silvery gleam
Tells of the broad and winding Trent.
Such light and loveliness hath lent?
And here and there a silvery gleam
Tells of the broad and winding Trent.
But distance gives another hue;
Across the flats the slopes have donned
A hazy veil of mystic blue,
And bluer are the hills beyond.
Across the flats the slopes have donned
A hazy veil of mystic blue,
And bluer are the hills beyond.
And see against the azure sky,
Fading away in fond desire,
The old grey spire is climbing high,
The slender, graceful, tapering spire.
Fading away in fond desire,
The old grey spire is climbing high,
The slender, graceful, tapering spire.
Is it not well to be alone
When joy flows in at every breath?
Our deepest selves are most our own,
And friends too seldom pierce beneath
When joy flows in at every breath?
Our deepest selves are most our own,
And friends too seldom pierce beneath
The crust of shallow surface life;
They do but catch the outward look,
The noise, the eagerness, the strife,
The babblings of the pebbly brook.
They do but catch the outward look,
The noise, the eagerness, the strife,
The babblings of the pebbly brook.
60
But where the stream runs still and deep,
Rolling a calm majestic tide,
They think its hidden strength is sleep,
And mark not how its waters glide.
Rolling a calm majestic tide,
They think its hidden strength is sleep,
And mark not how its waters glide.
So I will be alone to-day,
But ah! not quite, for surely he,
My darling, is not far away—
My heart is glad—he cannot be.
But ah! not quite, for surely he,
My darling, is not far away—
My heart is glad—he cannot be.
Is he not near? He knows, he feels
All springs of spiritual force;
From him no lack of love conceals
My master-feeling's deepest source.
All springs of spiritual force;
From him no lack of love conceals
My master-feeling's deepest source.
And why my heart is glad he knows,
And whence this beauty has its birth,—
The inner fountain whence it flows,
The mystic light that wraps the earth.
And whence this beauty has its birth,—
The inner fountain whence it flows,
The mystic light that wraps the earth.
Yet he is with me, he was here
When I was happiest; perchance
It made my joy that he was near,
His presence was my blissful trance.
When I was happiest; perchance
It made my joy that he was near,
His presence was my blissful trance.
61
V.
“Peace! Peace!” a sterner voice within
Makes answer: “Has thy longing fled?”
It is not thus the living win
Communion with the dear and dead.
Makes answer: “Has thy longing fled?”
It is not thus the living win
Communion with the dear and dead.
Thy heart was bathed in silent joy,
Enchanted by the subtle spell;
Thy senses did thy soul employ,
The earth contented thee too well.
Enchanted by the subtle spell;
Thy senses did thy soul employ,
The earth contented thee too well.
Ah! it is ill with him whose need
Finds satisfaction here below,
Whose spirit is content to feed
On woodland notes and summer glow.
Finds satisfaction here below,
Whose spirit is content to feed
On woodland notes and summer glow.
And ill with him who never turned
Disquieted from sated sense,
Nor in the arms of gladness yearned
For bliss more lasting, more intense.
Disquieted from sated sense,
Nor in the arms of gladness yearned
For bliss more lasting, more intense.
All that is beautiful on earth
Should be but fuel to the fire,
And joy reveal a vaster dearth,
And die in infinite desire.
Should be but fuel to the fire,
And joy reveal a vaster dearth,
And die in infinite desire.
62
Oh! self-condemned, whence sprang the light
That clothed the cold, damp, lifeless sod?
This hadst thou asked, thy gladdened sight,
Had led thy wandering feet to God.
That clothed the cold, damp, lifeless sod?
This hadst thou asked, thy gladdened sight,
Had led thy wandering feet to God.
And in that moment's wonderment
Thy love had come to thee, and blest
Thy spirit's noble discontent,
And touched it into Heavenly rest.
Thy love had come to thee, and blest
Thy spirit's noble discontent,
And touched it into Heavenly rest.
But it is vain, vain all thy thirst
For him who left thee; thou must pray
To gain the Heavenly kingdom first,
And he will meet thee on thy way.
For him who left thee; thou must pray
To gain the Heavenly kingdom first,
And he will meet thee on thy way.
For all thy love, how strong soe'er,
Self-centred cannot bring him back;
It will but crumble to despair,
Guiding thee by an earthly track
Self-centred cannot bring him back;
It will but crumble to despair,
Guiding thee by an earthly track
In quest of one who treads no more
These lower paths that once he trod;
They love amiss who cannot soar;
The loved one must be gained through God.
These lower paths that once he trod;
They love amiss who cannot soar;
The loved one must be gained through God.
63
Nay, shrink not—in a higher love
Thy love must lose itself, must die,
Be buried, then in Heaven above—
Ah! not the overarching sky—
Thy love must lose itself, must die,
Be buried, then in Heaven above—
Ah! not the overarching sky—
But in the pure and inmost soul
Thine eyes shall see it—through the gloom
Of radiant, mingling clouds that roll—
Transfigured with celestial light.
Thine eyes shall see it—through the gloom
Of radiant, mingling clouds that roll—
Transfigured with celestial light.
Seek Heaven first and pray and yearn;—
But thy mortality is weak;
Come with me then, and thou shalt learn
Wherein the dead yet live and speak.
But thy mortality is weak;
Come with me then, and thou shalt learn
Wherein the dead yet live and speak.
Has he not blessed thee in his death?
Has he not priceless gifts to give?
A deeper insight, fuller faith,
A richer love for those who live.
Has he not priceless gifts to give?
A deeper insight, fuller faith,
A richer love for those who live.
All this his life had never taught,
As read by thee who readst amiss,
Until Death came to him, and wrought
Its wondrous change, and left thee this.
As read by thee who readst amiss,
Until Death came to him, and wrought
Its wondrous change, and left thee this.
64
This deep regret, that gives the Past
A glory that it never had;
Those silent springing tears that cast
A veil o'er all things gay or sad.
A glory that it never had;
Those silent springing tears that cast
A veil o'er all things gay or sad.
A veil of beauty—now it fills
Thy gazing eyes that then were blind;
As the blue vapour veils the hills
When we have left them far behind.
Thy gazing eyes that then were blind;
As the blue vapour veils the hills
When we have left them far behind.
This deep regret, this bitter woe,
The dearest gift the dear one gave
And giveth; may thy sorrow grow
And share thy journeying to the grave;
The dearest gift the dear one gave
And giveth; may thy sorrow grow
And share thy journeying to the grave;
Revealing love and loveliness,
And interpenetrating light,
And peace that humbled hearts possess,
And forces hidden far from sight.
And interpenetrating light,
And peace that humbled hearts possess,
And forces hidden far from sight.
And dwarfing down, till lost to view,
Those near ambitions, petty schemes,
That choke the inlets, faint and few,
Through which the light of Heaven streams.
Those near ambitions, petty schemes,
That choke the inlets, faint and few,
Through which the light of Heaven streams.
65
Whispering words unheard before
That break thy chains, and make thee free,
And set thee on the lonely shore
Near the illimitable sea.
That break thy chains, and make thee free,
And set thee on the lonely shore
Near the illimitable sea.
Oh! then cling closely to the Cross,
And kiss and clasp the chastening rod,
Drain to the dregs thy cup of loss—
Thy sadness is the voice of God.
And kiss and clasp the chastening rod,
Drain to the dregs thy cup of loss—
Thy sadness is the voice of God.
The loved one speaketh from the tomb;
He tells God's message, bears His gift,
His ray of sunshine through life's gloom—
Oh! if thine hands could only lift
He tells God's message, bears His gift,
His ray of sunshine through life's gloom—
Oh! if thine hands could only lift
The curtain of thy lower man,
Thy heart would see him face to face,
And gazing into him would scan
The countenance of Heavenly grace.
Thy heart would see him face to face,
And gazing into him would scan
The countenance of Heavenly grace.
VI.
He dwells not in a happier clime,
He dwells not in an ampler light,
His home is set where Space and Time
Sunder no longer, nor unite.
He dwells not in an ampler light,
His home is set where Space and Time
Sunder no longer, nor unite.
66
Oh! easy words to hear and say,
Yet all too meaningless when said;
They miss the spirit's outward play,
And words unrealised are dead.
Yet all too meaningless when said;
They miss the spirit's outward play,
And words unrealised are dead.
For fleshly thought is unsubdued,
And severs still, and still is fain
To cry aloud in rebel mood
Calling on God to join again
And severs still, and still is fain
To cry aloud in rebel mood
Calling on God to join again
What it has sundered, being one
And indivisible, the while;
Ah! who can see beyond the sun
Save when the sun has ceased to smile?
And indivisible, the while;
Ah! who can see beyond the sun
Save when the sun has ceased to smile?
And then how faint a glimpse, how far
Is given to it! few, alas,
And misconceived, the moments are,
When I can quit myself, and pass
Is given to it! few, alas,
And misconceived, the moments are,
When I can quit myself, and pass
Into a higher world of things,
Wherein thy deeper words are fraught
With meaning, while my loosened wings
Outsoar the air of mortal Thought.
Wherein thy deeper words are fraught
With meaning, while my loosened wings
Outsoar the air of mortal Thought.
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But oft! too oft! there comes instead
The sense that he is far away;
I only know that he is dead,
And where he is I cannot say.
The sense that he is far away;
I only know that he is dead,
And where he is I cannot say.
I cannot touch; I cannot see;
I cannot speak to him, nor hear,
And all thy holier words to me
Fall idly on a heedless ear;
I cannot speak to him, nor hear,
And all thy holier words to me
Fall idly on a heedless ear;
And all my being is possessed
With that deep longing—vain, how vain!
Once more to clasp him to my breast,
To see the blue eye laugh again.
With that deep longing—vain, how vain!
Once more to clasp him to my breast,
To see the blue eye laugh again.
The voice within me makes reply,
“I spake to thee when thou wert dim
With mist of vacance in thine eye;
I whispered ‘God has taken him.’”
“I spake to thee when thou wert dim
With mist of vacance in thine eye;
I whispered ‘God has taken him.’”
The words were strong to melt and move,
But hard to understand: I knew
That all thy thought could never prove
How beyond thinking they were true.
But hard to understand: I knew
That all thy thought could never prove
How beyond thinking they were true.
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And so I bade thee feel their force,
But feeling led thy feet astray,
For earthly pleasures shaped its course,
And made fear for Love's decay.
But feeling led thy feet astray,
For earthly pleasures shaped its course,
And made fear for Love's decay.
With harsher voice, I bade thee rise
From earthly dreams and gaze above,
And on God's altar sacrifice
The offering of thy baffled love;
From earthly dreams and gaze above,
And on God's altar sacrifice
The offering of thy baffled love;
And then I laboured to unfold
The wealth of love that dwelt within
Those words that seemed so stern and cold,
But laboured all in vain to win
The wealth of love that dwelt within
Those words that seemed so stern and cold,
But laboured all in vain to win
Expression for the unexpressed:
There came bewilderment and doubt;
Those vast and simple words were best,
For who may think their meaning out?
There came bewilderment and doubt;
Those vast and simple words were best,
For who may think their meaning out?
But cling to them, and let them sink
Deep into thee, and be thy food;
So, when thy soul has ceased to think,
Their meaning will be understood.
Deep into thee, and be thy food;
So, when thy soul has ceased to think,
Their meaning will be understood.
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Oh, world! how like a dream thou art—
Strange and mysterious and dark—
We can but aim a random dart,
Scarce knowing if there be a mark.
Strange and mysterious and dark—
We can but aim a random dart,
Scarce knowing if there be a mark.
I will bewilder thee no more,
Mine eyes like thine are vexed and dim:
I will be near thee as before,
And whisper ‘God has taken him.’
Mine eyes like thine are vexed and dim:
I will be near thee as before,
And whisper ‘God has taken him.’
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AFTER DEATH.
I.
Oh! beauty of the day and night;
Oh! beauty of the earth and sky;
Oh! charm of sound: Oh! charm of sight:
What will ye change to when I die?
Will ear grown deaf—will eye grown blind,
Leave all your loveliness behind?
Oh! beauty of the earth and sky;
Oh! charm of sound: Oh! charm of sight:
What will ye change to when I die?
Will ear grown deaf—will eye grown blind,
Leave all your loveliness behind?
Answer, oh! mountain heights that raise
Your misty summits cold and grey
Out of the chill white morning haze,
To catch the first faint flush of day:
Oh! shivering breath of early dawn:
Oh! purple darkness scarce withdrawn.
Your misty summits cold and grey
Out of the chill white morning haze,
To catch the first faint flush of day:
Oh! shivering breath of early dawn:
Oh! purple darkness scarce withdrawn.
Oh! woods of winter bleak and bare,
Brown patches on the frore hillside;
Oh! speaking stillness of the air;
Oh! swollen brooks that darkly glide
Through whitened moors; Oh! rosy glow
Of sunrise on the wastes of snow.
Brown patches on the frore hillside;
Oh! speaking stillness of the air;
Oh! swollen brooks that darkly glide
Through whitened moors; Oh! rosy glow
Of sunrise on the wastes of snow.
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Oh! Maytime in the lawny glades:
Oh! forest framework faintly traced;
Oh! restless play of light and shade
'Mid leafy branches interlaced,
When straggling sunbeams steal and stray,
Through foliage darkening day by day.
Oh! forest framework faintly traced;
Oh! restless play of light and shade
'Mid leafy branches interlaced,
When straggling sunbeams steal and stray,
Through foliage darkening day by day.
Oh! wakening of the woodland flowers,
When soft and buoyant blows the breeze;
Oh! happy sound of freshening showers
That plash and patter through the trees.
Oh! raindrops, when the rain is done,
Lit by the outburst of the sun.
When soft and buoyant blows the breeze;
Oh! happy sound of freshening showers
That plash and patter through the trees.
Oh! raindrops, when the rain is done,
Lit by the outburst of the sun.
Oh! stormy splendour of the west
After a dark autumnal day:
Oh! fitful gusts that break the rest
Of dying woods: Oh! miry clay
Wherein the soaking rain sets fast
The dead leaves fluttering in the blast.
After a dark autumnal day:
Oh! fitful gusts that break the rest
Of dying woods: Oh! miry clay
Wherein the soaking rain sets fast
The dead leaves fluttering in the blast.
Oh! balmy breath of summer eves
Laden with perfume soft and warm;
Oh! voice that from thy depth of leaves
Entrancest all things with thy charm;
Oh! tender line of western light
That lingerest far into the night.
Laden with perfume soft and warm;
Oh! voice that from thy depth of leaves
Entrancest all things with thy charm;
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That lingerest far into the night.
Oh! whitening breeze: Oh! purple sea;
Oh! gloomy cliffs that guard the land;
Oh! mid-sea waters rushing free;
Oh! boom of billows on the strand;
Oh! moonlight silvering the sleep
Of inlet ripples hidden deep.
Oh! gloomy cliffs that guard the land;
Oh! mid-sea waters rushing free;
Oh! boom of billows on the strand;
Oh! moonlight silvering the sleep
Of inlet ripples hidden deep.
Oh! brimming river slumbering by
Through level meadows waste and wide;
Oh! stars that stud a moonless sky,
Bathed in the dark, unrippled tide;
Oh! trees that overhang its flow,
Whose shadows fall deep, deep below.
Through level meadows waste and wide;
Oh! stars that stud a moonless sky,
Bathed in the dark, unrippled tide;
Oh! trees that overhang its flow,
Whose shadows fall deep, deep below.
Hearken and answer all and each:
Ye are not mute to those who hear,
And I long since have learned your speech,
And taught and trained a willing ear.
Answer—the years will soon have fled—
What will ye be when I am dead?
Ye are not mute to those who hear,
And I long since have learned your speech,
And taught and trained a willing ear.
Answer—the years will soon have fled—
What will ye be when I am dead?
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II.
Ye answer in the joy ye give;
Your loveliness is your reply;
All that is beautiful must live,
It cannot be that good should die.
Its death is but a changing mood,
A passing into higher good.
Your loveliness is your reply;
All that is beautiful must live,
It cannot be that good should die.
Its death is but a changing mood,
A passing into higher good.
Say shall I take so fair a thought,
Glowing and fresh and fiery-red,
And drink it in till it has wrought
A hidden change, and inly fed
The deepest fountain of my soul
Far from my conscious near control?
Glowing and fresh and fiery-red,
And drink it in till it has wrought
A hidden change, and inly fed
The deepest fountain of my soul
Far from my conscious near control?
Or think and think its meaning out,
Checking it as it flows along,
Till from the clay of earthen doubt
Vessels are fashioned, firm and strong,
Wherein this molten stream of mind
Shall take a form and be confined?
Checking it as it flows along,
Till from the clay of earthen doubt
Vessels are fashioned, firm and strong,
Wherein this molten stream of mind
Shall take a form and be confined?
Or half rebellious, half content,
Watch how its first, fresh, fiery force
Cleft it a channel, then when spent
Its vigour, shape its further course
In harmony with this, and so
Guiding, be guided by its flow?
Watch how its first, fresh, fiery force
Cleft it a channel, then when spent
Its vigour, shape its further course
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Guiding, be guided by its flow?
III.
For see the Ages stream along,
And slowly, surely, all our days,
Out of the ceaseless, changeful throng
The good stands forth and lives and stays.
The good cause conquers in the strife:
Its note is that of endless life.
And slowly, surely, all our days,
Out of the ceaseless, changeful throng
The good stands forth and lives and stays.
The good cause conquers in the strife:
Its note is that of endless life.
For think not that each passing age
Dies when its sands have ceased to run;
Immortal is the heritage
Of lofty aims, of work well done.
The dead seed watered by our tears
Lives and bears fruit in after years.
Dies when its sands have ceased to run;
Immortal is the heritage
Of lofty aims, of work well done.
The dead seed watered by our tears
Lives and bears fruit in after years.
Imprisoned in its passing shape
It pants to gain a widened range;
Time works for it a half escape;
But changeless through all seeming change,
The pure and naked good lives on
Most near us when we deem it gone.
It pants to gain a widened range;
Time works for it a half escape;
But changeless through all seeming change,
The pure and naked good lives on
Most near us when we deem it gone.
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Oh! thou who didst consume thy heart
With endless longing to express,
In thought and action, song and art,
Dreams of ideal loveliness,
Thy cities, Hellas, rose and fell,—
But not thy spirit's subtle spell.
With endless longing to express,
In thought and action, song and art,
Dreams of ideal loveliness,
Thy cities, Hellas, rose and fell,—
But not thy spirit's subtle spell.
Oh! thou whose iron life sufficed
To bind the world and make it thine,
Whose bonds the tender touch of Christ
Charmed into chains of love Divine,—
Our life was moulded by thy force,
Through all our veins thy blood doth course.
To bind the world and make it thine,
Whose bonds the tender touch of Christ
Charmed into chains of love Divine,—
Our life was moulded by thy force,
Through all our veins thy blood doth course.
And Hellas yearning after light,
And Rome that bowed herself to Law,
They lived wherein they lived aright,
Pursuing all the good they saw.
What though Barbarians broke their walls,
Their mighty life-work never falls.
And Rome that bowed herself to Law,
They lived wherein they lived aright,
Pursuing all the good they saw.
What though Barbarians broke their walls,
Their mighty life-work never falls.
They shaped, they built the human soul
Immortal in the gifts they gave:—
But those that sinned and scorned control,
Their vices swept into the grave.
Fierce as the flood of fiery rain
That drowned the cities of the plain.
Immortal in the gifts they gave:—
But those that sinned and scorned control,
Their vices swept into the grave.
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That drowned the cities of the plain.
And all who charmed and taught mankind,
Are they not living now as then?—
Deep in the deepened, gladdened mind,
Deep in the inner lives of men.
The glory of the Hero's name
Measures a truer, vaster fame.
Are they not living now as then?—
Deep in the deepened, gladdened mind,
Deep in the inner lives of men.
The glory of the Hero's name
Measures a truer, vaster fame.
And each in turn reflects the whole,
The world-wide laws are writ within:
Doubt not that in each separate soul
Each noble deed, each scorn of sin
Lives, and each purely joyous breath
Works a deliverance from death.
The world-wide laws are writ within:
Doubt not that in each separate soul
Each noble deed, each scorn of sin
Lives, and each purely joyous breath
Works a deliverance from death.
Ah! in this deathlessness of earth,
A glimpse how faint soe'er is given
Of life that knows no time, no birth,
The immortality of Heaven:
Howe'er it be, good surely lives,
Eternal gifts the Eternal gives.
A glimpse how faint soe'er is given
Of life that knows no time, no birth,
The immortality of Heaven:
Howe'er it be, good surely lives,
Eternal gifts the Eternal gives.
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IV.
But ah! a chilling doubt awakes
If Beauty be so pure a good,
That all the shifting forms it takes,—
Its earthly, partial, hourly food—
Be snatched from Death's advancing wave
And blest with life beyond the grave.
If Beauty be so pure a good,
That all the shifting forms it takes,—
Its earthly, partial, hourly food—
Be snatched from Death's advancing wave
And blest with life beyond the grave.
Are we not strangely built and blent—
Eternal Beings fixed in time?
By toilful infinite ascent,
Stage beyond Stage we climb and climb;
New forms of mind, new modes of sense
Grow out, we know not how or whence,
Eternal Beings fixed in time?
By toilful infinite ascent,
Stage beyond Stage we climb and climb;
New forms of mind, new modes of sense
Grow out, we know not how or whence,
Ever revealing higher things;—
Yet are the lower unannulled;
We creep and crawl though we have wings:
Our earthly senses are not dulled.
The tree that rises, day by day
Strikes stronger roots into the clay.
Yet are the lower unannulled;
We creep and crawl though we have wings:
Our earthly senses are not dulled.
The tree that rises, day by day
Strikes stronger roots into the clay.
But as one gains a loftier height,
And breathes its atmosphere serene,
A wider world enchants the sight,
Things that were hid before are seen,
Bathed in a haze of violet glow
Unnoticed when he trod below.
And breathes its atmosphere serene,
A wider world enchants the sight,
Things that were hid before are seen,
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Unnoticed when he trod below.
So when the soul had gained at last
A clearer ether, purer love,
Back on the lower senses cast
Reflections of the light above,
Piercing the gloom where life began,
Knowledge and beauty came to man.
A clearer ether, purer love,
Back on the lower senses cast
Reflections of the light above,
Piercing the gloom where life began,
Knowledge and beauty came to man.
For think not that the fleshly eye
Sees beauty in the starry skies,
Or is athirst to peer and pry
Deep into nature's mysteries;
From hour to hour it lives and feeds
The body's momentary needs.
Sees beauty in the starry skies,
Or is athirst to peer and pry
Deep into nature's mysteries;
From hour to hour it lives and feeds
The body's momentary needs.
Our fathers saw and heard as we,
They breathed the balm of summer air;
They trod the land; they sailed the sea;
Yet knew not that the earth was fair.
They only asked if it were good
To yield them raiment, shelter, food.
They breathed the balm of summer air;
They trod the land; they sailed the sea;
Yet knew not that the earth was fair.
They only asked if it were good
To yield them raiment, shelter, food.
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Desolate was the earth they trod;
But we have reaped where they had sown.
The buried seed, the cold damp sod,
The soaking show'rs were theirs alone.
Ours is the wealth of golden grain,
The fuller joy, the vaster pain.
But we have reaped where they had sown.
The buried seed, the cold damp sod,
The soaking show'rs were theirs alone.
Ours is the wealth of golden grain,
The fuller joy, the vaster pain.
High, high in Heaven springs the fount
Of sacred light that floods the earth;
With bleeding feet they climbed life's mount,
Led by an ever-deepening dearth.
And all their toiling was to win
The heights of soul that are within.
Of sacred light that floods the earth;
With bleeding feet they climbed life's mount,
Led by an ever-deepening dearth.
And all their toiling was to win
The heights of soul that are within.
Ah! but when death has set us free
From thrall of sense and earthly lust,
Will not the heart unfettered see
Beyond, behind the crumbling dust
That Heavenly splendour bright and bare
Whose faintest ray made earth so fair?
From thrall of sense and earthly lust,
Will not the heart unfettered see
Beyond, behind the crumbling dust
That Heavenly splendour bright and bare
Whose faintest ray made earth so fair?
Ay, in an instant all the grace
That poet dreamed of, artist felt,
That smiled on Nature's goodly face,
Shall, as the stifling life-clouds melt,
Dawn, break, burst, blaze upon the sight,
Full from the soul's intensest light.
That poet dreamed of, artist felt,
That smiled on Nature's goodly face,
Shall, as the stifling life-clouds melt,
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Full from the soul's intensest light.
V.
Yet no—for surely that were God
And I, alas! am worthless clay,
And dare I hope that when this clod
Breaks into dust—yet who shall say?
If life be one long Heavenward gaze,
Death crowns the purpose of its days;
And I, alas! am worthless clay,
And dare I hope that when this clod
Breaks into dust—yet who shall say?
If life be one long Heavenward gaze,
Death crowns the purpose of its days;
Then—only then—and what am I?
Have I so hungered for God's love?
Have I so fixed my hopes on high?
So gazed and ever gazed above,
That I could face with unquenched eyes
The blinding blaze of noonday skies?
Have I so hungered for God's love?
Have I so fixed my hopes on high?
So gazed and ever gazed above,
That I could face with unquenched eyes
The blinding blaze of noonday skies?
Ah! no, if only in the beams
Of God's own light earth's beauty dwells,
I must resign my happy dreams
Of slaking at its purest wells
My thirst, and ere I die must take
One last fond look at earth, and wake.
Of God's own light earth's beauty dwells,
I must resign my happy dreams
Of slaking at its purest wells
My thirst, and ere I die must take
One last fond look at earth, and wake.
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Yet somewhere in the human breast
The highest home of God is set,
Unseen, alas! and dimly guessed,—
Only when tears of yearning wet
And cloud our earthward eyes, we see;—
God dwells within, yet not in me.
The highest home of God is set,
Unseen, alas! and dimly guessed,—
Only when tears of yearning wet
And cloud our earthward eyes, we see;—
God dwells within, yet not in me.
No longer from my spirit flows
The light that beautifies the earth;
From the eternal fount it rose:
In God alone it has its birth,—
Far, far from me whom self and sin
Still sunder from His home within.
The light that beautifies the earth;
From the eternal fount it rose:
In God alone it has its birth,—
Far, far from me whom self and sin
Still sunder from His home within.
Yet be God where or what He may,
His gifts are all untouched by death,
My thoughts must flow another way,
But still be guided by my faith,
Still strive to reach that goal it gives—
All Good, all Truth, all Beauty lives.
His gifts are all untouched by death,
My thoughts must flow another way,
But still be guided by my faith,
Still strive to reach that goal it gives—
All Good, all Truth, all Beauty lives.
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VI.
Yes, there are times when all I see,
And hear, and feel, and think upon,
Seems meaningless apart from me;
I live: all otherness has gone:
The buoyant overmastering soul
Claims for itself to be the whole.
And hear, and feel, and think upon,
Seems meaningless apart from me;
I live: all otherness has gone:
The buoyant overmastering soul
Claims for itself to be the whole.
But now my mind sinks back, and I
Am just the self apparent, near,
Narrow and partial: no reply
Comes from the vast, enisling sphere
Of spirit, limitless, divine,
So far from me, so strangely mine.
Am just the self apparent, near,
Narrow and partial: no reply
Comes from the vast, enisling sphere
Of spirit, limitless, divine,
So far from me, so strangely mine.
A fragment now, I gaze about,
An atom in a boundless whole:
A myriad forces from without
Meet in my being and control
Its every motion, and my mind
Is the one central point they find.
An atom in a boundless whole:
A myriad forces from without
Meet in my being and control
Its every motion, and my mind
Is the one central point they find.
For God's wide world of sky and earth,—
His wider world of souls of men
Have been around me from my birth;
And as through them He shaped me then,
Through them He moulds me day by day,
A sculptor moulding passive clay.
His wider world of souls of men
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And as through them He shaped me then,
Through them He moulds me day by day,
A sculptor moulding passive clay.
Oh! happy he who feeleth oft
That tender, plastic influence
Of Nature's beauty stealing soft
Into the pores of gladdened sense,
Through deeper feelings sinking in
To quicken springs of life within.
That tender, plastic influence
Of Nature's beauty stealing soft
Into the pores of gladdened sense,
Through deeper feelings sinking in
To quicken springs of life within.
For never does the hand Divine
Fashion us with so kind a touch;
I bless Thee that this earth of Thine,
Oh! God, has taught my soul so much,
That other hearts can only gain
Through bruising grief, or scorching pain.
Fashion us with so kind a touch;
I bless Thee that this earth of Thine,
Oh! God, has taught my soul so much,
That other hearts can only gain
Through bruising grief, or scorching pain.
Long nurtured in her kindly arms,
Well have I studied Nature's face;
Her meanest creature has its charms,
Her smiles, her frowns alike have grace.
To each new change her features wear
My soul replies, and all are fair.
Well have I studied Nature's face;
Her meanest creature has its charms,
Her smiles, her frowns alike have grace.
To each new change her features wear
My soul replies, and all are fair.
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The winter winds are strong and stern;
The summer evenings melt with love;
With wailing autumn gusts I yearn,
And when the moon is high above,
There falls on me the healing balm
Of deep, unutterable calm.
The summer evenings melt with love;
With wailing autumn gusts I yearn,
And when the moon is high above,
There falls on me the healing balm
Of deep, unutterable calm.
Wild thoughts within me surge and seethe
When winds and waters are at strife:
On bounding April morns I breathe
The joy of free, unconscious life.
The moaning ocean bears to me
A whisper from Eternity.
When winds and waters are at strife:
On bounding April morns I breathe
The joy of free, unconscious life.
The moaning ocean bears to me
A whisper from Eternity.
Then all that I have ever known
Of Nature's beauty lingers yet,
More truly with me, more my own,
Than when its first bright semblance met
My senses, and my eager breast,
Panted with gladness unexpressed.
Of Nature's beauty lingers yet,
More truly with me, more my own,
Than when its first bright semblance met
My senses, and my eager breast,
Panted with gladness unexpressed.
Each glimpse of beauty, gay or grave,
That reached my soul, is written there,
Lives in the impress that it gave,
A portion of me free to share
My birthright in the world beyond,
The larger life, the broken bond.
That reached my soul, is written there,
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A portion of me free to share
My birthright in the world beyond,
The larger life, the broken bond.
Yet change the language—who can doubt?
Man is not clay inert and cold,
But through the maze of things without
His inner nature doth unfold,
As folded buds through sun and shower
Grow into leaf, and fruit, and flower.
Man is not clay inert and cold,
But through the maze of things without
His inner nature doth unfold,
As folded buds through sun and shower
Grow into leaf, and fruit, and flower.
Ay, but the meaning still remains:
The joys of Nature shall endure,—
The spirit guards whate'er it gains,
And I shall see them bright and pure,
What time, the moment's darkness past,
I reach my inmost soul at last.
The joys of Nature shall endure,—
The spirit guards whate'er it gains,
And I shall see them bright and pure,
What time, the moment's darkness past,
I reach my inmost soul at last.
VII.
Oh, light! pure light! my soul sinks back,
Dazed and bewildered, from the brink.
Below, the rolling clouds are black
Or overbright: I cease to think,
My soul is numbed as in a swoon,
Sunstricken by the blaze of noon.
Dazed and bewildered, from the brink.
Below, the rolling clouds are black
Or overbright: I cease to think,
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Sunstricken by the blaze of noon.
Oh! happy, richly-detailed life;
Oh! shifting colours, changing shapes;
Oh! light in shade; oh! peace in strife;
I cling to ye, as time escapes:
I dread the flood of fiercely bright,
Changeless intensity of light.
Oh! shifting colours, changing shapes;
Oh! light in shade; oh! peace in strife;
I cling to ye, as time escapes:
I dread the flood of fiercely bright,
Changeless intensity of light.
Fool! that I paint the bliss of Heaven
In words that dazzle and distress:
To mortal lips was never given
Immortal glory to express.
Howe'er I reach my hands to gain
Words that suffice 'tis all in vain.
In words that dazzle and distress:
To mortal lips was never given
Immortal glory to express.
Howe'er I reach my hands to gain
Words that suffice 'tis all in vain.
I think that Nature's charms are there
As here on earth, but thought deludes:
Does it not mock me then, whene'er
I think away the streams and woods?
Does it not mock me when I climb
To regions out of space and time.
As here on earth, but thought deludes:
Does it not mock me then, whene'er
I think away the streams and woods?
Does it not mock me when I climb
To regions out of space and time.
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Oh! if I needs must represent
The after-life, the world above—
Shall not my spirit be content
To picture it through things I love.
In peace and joy the soul has wings;
From pure emotion insight springs.
The after-life, the world above—
Shall not my spirit be content
To picture it through things I love.
In peace and joy the soul has wings;
From pure emotion insight springs.
Ye will be there then, ever there.
Oh! hill and plain; oh! night and noon:
Oh! billowy sea; oh! balmy air:
Oh! sinking sun; oh! lonely moon!
Ye will be there? Ah, who can tell?
Howe'er it be, it must be well.
Oh! hill and plain; oh! night and noon:
Oh! billowy sea; oh! balmy air:
Oh! sinking sun; oh! lonely moon!
Ye will be there? Ah, who can tell?
Howe'er it be, it must be well.
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THE SIGH OF THE SAGE.
Why is it that I may not speak
Those deepest thoughts, whose light is shed
As when swift summer lightnings streak
A sky of darkness, then are fled—
In one bright instant born and dead—
While no far-uttered thunder-crash
Follows the sudden silent flash?
Those deepest thoughts, whose light is shed
As when swift summer lightnings streak
A sky of darkness, then are fled—
In one bright instant born and dead—
While no far-uttered thunder-crash
Follows the sudden silent flash?
Why is it that my lips are sealed
Most, when my heart has most to tell?
Why are those forces unrevealed
That might mould ages? Is it well,
Oh God, that some strange cruel spell
Should palsy my best words—should close
The fountain where it clearest flows?
Most, when my heart has most to tell?
Why are those forces unrevealed
That might mould ages? Is it well,
Oh God, that some strange cruel spell
Should palsy my best words—should close
The fountain where it clearest flows?
If I could speak—could seize one word
Strong to lay bare my inmost soul—
How grandly would the world be stirred!
How clearly see its far off goal,
And know at last why it must roll
Through Time and Space—by knowledge free,
In silence—everlastingly.
Strong to lay bare my inmost soul—
How grandly would the world be stirred!
How clearly see its far off goal,
And know at last why it must roll
89
In silence—everlastingly.
If I could speak—but there's the curse—
My eyes are bright—my lips are slow:
Oh for the Poet's strength of verse
To utter more than mind may know—
To shadow forth the heart—to throw
Flashes of insight into speech,
And teach the world what none may teach—
My eyes are bright—my lips are slow:
Oh for the Poet's strength of verse
To utter more than mind may know—
To shadow forth the heart—to throw
Flashes of insight into speech,
And teach the world what none may teach—
None but the slow sad lapse of Time,
That sweeps us downwards—man by man—
Yet through our stammered prose and rhyme
By slow degrees unfolds our plan,
Bidding each see what part he can—
What boots it that we pass away?
The world grows wiser day by day.
That sweeps us downwards—man by man—
Yet through our stammered prose and rhyme
By slow degrees unfolds our plan,
Bidding each see what part he can—
What boots it that we pass away?
The world grows wiser day by day.
But ah! 'tis there—our sharpest pain,
And thence awakes our bitterest cry—
That each must pass, while all remain—
The world is deathless—man must die,
And feel the great stream pass him by,
And know that great things will be known
In after years when he has gone.
And thence awakes our bitterest cry—
That each must pass, while all remain—
The world is deathless—man must die,
And feel the great stream pass him by,
And know that great things will be known
In after years when he has gone.
90
And far around he sweeps his eyes
To where in dimly distant lands
The sky and ocean meet the skies,
Sight's utmost verge—yet still he stands,
With straining gaze and outstretched hands,
For there are worlds of light divine
Beyond that hard horizon line.
To where in dimly distant lands
The sky and ocean meet the skies,
Sight's utmost verge—yet still he stands,
With straining gaze and outstretched hands,
For there are worlds of light divine
Beyond that hard horizon line.
And in the years that are to be
Others will gain a loftier height,
And breathe a purer air, and see
A wider world, and catch the light
Of spheres that lay beyond his sight—
So grows the circle round us spread,
Illimitably limited.
Others will gain a loftier height,
And breathe a purer air, and see
A wider world, and catch the light
Of spheres that lay beyond his sight—
So grows the circle round us spread,
Illimitably limited.
If this be bitter—bitterer still
To see where other eyes are blind,
And grasp by sudden stress of will
Glimpses of Truth, yet never find
An outlet for the flooding mind,
To have the Poet's godlike glance,
Yet lack his might of utterance.
To see where other eyes are blind,
And grasp by sudden stress of will
Glimpses of Truth, yet never find
An outlet for the flooding mind,
To have the Poet's godlike glance,
Yet lack his might of utterance.
91
Such fate is mine—the veil between
Heaven and earth is strangely bright
For me, and I have somewhere seen
A flash of the eternal light
That is the source of all our sight,
And I have somewhere touched the chord
Wherein all melody is stored—
Heaven and earth is strangely bright
For me, and I have somewhere seen
A flash of the eternal light
That is the source of all our sight,
And I have somewhere touched the chord
Wherein all melody is stored—
All the world's music—every strain
Heard or undreamt of: in my breast
The secret, that might best explain
Life's riddle, hides and mocks my quest,
For ever free and unexpressed—
Safe from the grasp of human words,
Where angels guard with flaming swords.
Heard or undreamt of: in my breast
The secret, that might best explain
Life's riddle, hides and mocks my quest,
For ever free and unexpressed—
Safe from the grasp of human words,
Where angels guard with flaming swords.
Yet there are times when, over bold,
I seize on speech, and half believe
That my poor faltering lips have told
The heart's deep meaning, that I weave
In words what thought may ill conceive—
While captive to my might of will,
The world is listening rapt and still.
I seize on speech, and half believe
That my poor faltering lips have told
The heart's deep meaning, that I weave
In words what thought may ill conceive—
While captive to my might of will,
The world is listening rapt and still.
92
But as one in an evil dream,
When comes the numbing spell of fear,
Tries to cry out, and half would deem
That his meant words are cut and clear,
With strength to reach a distant ear,
Yet in his inner mind he knows
That he lies wrapped in dread repose,
When comes the numbing spell of fear,
Tries to cry out, and half would deem
That his meant words are cut and clear,
With strength to reach a distant ear,
Yet in his inner mind he knows
That he lies wrapped in dread repose,
And idly strains a stifled throat,
Helpless to stir—in such a wise
My heart knows well how faint the note
It utters—silent as the sighs
That from true depths of suffering rise,
Lost in life's noisy surface hum—
So still I, speaking, still am dumb.
Helpless to stir—in such a wise
My heart knows well how faint the note
It utters—silent as the sighs
That from true depths of suffering rise,
Lost in life's noisy surface hum—
So still I, speaking, still am dumb.
And must this be so? Is it willed
That time shall never heal my wrong?
Must all my life be unfulfilled?
And shall the meanest of the throng,
Who scarce has grace to creep along
Yon beaten track that all have trod,
Have struck a stronger blow for God?
That time shall never heal my wrong?
Must all my life be unfulfilled?
And shall the meanest of the throng,
Who scarce has grace to creep along
Yon beaten track that all have trod,
Have struck a stronger blow for God?
93
Or is it that our ears are dull
To catch a language not our own,
And they whose hearts are over full
Must yet be silent, or make known
Their meaning in some other tone?
Does speech that seems so clear a light
Veil what is truest from our sight?
To catch a language not our own,
And they whose hearts are over full
Must yet be silent, or make known
Their meaning in some other tone?
Does speech that seems so clear a light
Veil what is truest from our sight?
For so doth daylight like a screen
Veil myriad worlds—immense—afar:
Behind the blue they hang unseen,
But when the hours of darkness are,
And earth is hidden—lo! each star
That has its home in endless space
Unveils the brightness of its face.
Veil myriad worlds—immense—afar:
Behind the blue they hang unseen,
But when the hours of darkness are,
And earth is hidden—lo! each star
That has its home in endless space
Unveils the brightness of its face.
They do not shine when we can see
This little world—these things we love:
Yet changeless is their majesty,
And all the while they dwell above,
Or through vast realms serenely move;
But only when our little sphere
Lies lost in gloom, do they appear.
This little world—these things we love:
Yet changeless is their majesty,
And all the while they dwell above,
Or through vast realms serenely move;
But only when our little sphere
Lies lost in gloom, do they appear.
94
And Language too, whose light reveals
A world of truth that else were lost
To life and knowledge—yet conceals
The glory of the Heavenly host—
Thought the divinest, innermost,
Folded in whose Eternal breast
Our little lives unconscious rest.
A world of truth that else were lost
To life and knowledge—yet conceals
The glory of the Heavenly host—
Thought the divinest, innermost,
Folded in whose Eternal breast
Our little lives unconscious rest.
And shall I then for ever seek
To tell mankind what I know not—
For does he know who cannot speak
His knowledge? Shall a humbler lot
Content me, and a life forgot
As soon as ended, and a name
That dies not into clouds of flame?
To tell mankind what I know not—
For does he know who cannot speak
His knowledge? Shall a humbler lot
Content me, and a life forgot
As soon as ended, and a name
That dies not into clouds of flame?
Yet there was One whose plastic force
Shaped the world's movement—stemmed the tide
Of life's great flood, and changed its course
Bidding its waters, rolled aside
In other channels, gentlier glide:
Yet no new knowledge did He give—
He lived himself, and bade us live.
Shaped the world's movement—stemmed the tide
Of life's great flood, and changed its course
Bidding its waters, rolled aside
In other channels, gentlier glide:
Yet no new knowledge did He give—
He lived himself, and bade us live.
95
He set the generations free
Not by unfolding in man's speech
The secret of Life's mystery;—
Simpler His words—He bade us each
Forget his nearer self, and reach,—
Beyond its burning, blinding ray,—
The very source of all our day.
Not by unfolding in man's speech
The secret of Life's mystery;—
Simpler His words—He bade us each
Forget his nearer self, and reach,—
Beyond its burning, blinding ray,—
The very source of all our day.
And they whose ears are dull to hear,
And they whose eyes are faint to see,
Shall yet have grace to journey near
To that far light that flashes free,
Mocking our poor Philosophy:
Vainly those tangled paths we rove,
Infinite only when we love.
And they whose eyes are faint to see,
Shall yet have grace to journey near
To that far light that flashes free,
Mocking our poor Philosophy:
Vainly those tangled paths we rove,
Infinite only when we love.
And I—a hermit in my cell
Of lonely thought—shall I not start
From silence, and go forth and tell
Christ's message, bidding hate depart
And Love be Heaven to every heart?
Shall I not toil with men, and cease
My dreaming, and at last have peace?
Of lonely thought—shall I not start
From silence, and go forth and tell
Christ's message, bidding hate depart
And Love be Heaven to every heart?
Shall I not toil with men, and cease
My dreaming, and at last have peace?
96
Ay, that might bring a calmer mood;
Yet something whispers—Is not this—
This pain, this vast disquietude
Diviner than the deepest bliss—
Than life's serenest happiness?
And do I well that I forego
This hunger of the heart to know?
Yet something whispers—Is not this—
This pain, this vast disquietude
Diviner than the deepest bliss—
Than life's serenest happiness?
And do I well that I forego
This hunger of the heart to know?
Has it no meaning? were it just
To slight these tokens of God's will,
And, looking round in blind self-trust,
Choose each the post that each should fill,
Even as if God had chosen ill—
And madly deem we comprehend
Better than God our being's end.
To slight these tokens of God's will,
And, looking round in blind self-trust,
Choose each the post that each should fill,
Even as if God had chosen ill—
And madly deem we comprehend
Better than God our being's end.
Far other was the high resolve
Wherewith my inner life began;
Rather to let the care devolve
On God of making good His plan
That tells our meaning, man by man—
To be my best, and consecrate
His gifts to Him who gave—and wait.
Wherewith my inner life began;
Rather to let the care devolve
On God of making good His plan
That tells our meaning, man by man—
To be my best, and consecrate
His gifts to Him who gave—and wait.
97
And did my spirit's high unrest—
Its endless yearnings, come from Him?
And shall its cravings be represt
By me—because the horizon's rim
Is near me, and my vision dim?
And shall I quench the Heavenly spark
Because its light makes this life dark?
Its endless yearnings, come from Him?
And shall its cravings be represt
By me—because the horizon's rim
Is near me, and my vision dim?
And shall I quench the Heavenly spark
Because its light makes this life dark?
Ah! better far to take my cross,
That heaviest cross—a doubting mind
That pants for truth—nor count the loss,
Nor heed the laughter of mankind;
But scatter seeds upon the wind,
And trust that some have taken root
Somewhere, and will at last bear fruit.—
That heaviest cross—a doubting mind
That pants for truth—nor count the loss,
Nor heed the laughter of mankind;
But scatter seeds upon the wind,
And trust that some have taken root
Somewhere, and will at last bear fruit.—
To dream, and trust it is not vain
This dreaming, and though silently
Truth's flashes vanish, doomed to gain
No voice, yet still with straining eye
Gaze at the darkened summer sky:
For me the lightnings gleam and glance—
God hears the thunder's utterance.
This dreaming, and though silently
Truth's flashes vanish, doomed to gain
No voice, yet still with straining eye
Gaze at the darkened summer sky:
For me the lightnings gleam and glance—
God hears the thunder's utterance.
98
FREE THINKING.
Think it all out to the uttermost! Think it all out!
Plunge through the thick of the battle! Exult in the strife!
What! there is fever in thinking—torture in doubt—
Will that allow thee to shrink from the burden of life?
Plunge through the thick of the battle! Exult in the strife!
What! there is fever in thinking—torture in doubt—
Will that allow thee to shrink from the burden of life?
Say, wert thou fashioned for pleasure and heedless repose?
Are these the end of thy being? The goal of thy years?
No—for thy bliss must be born after travail and throes—
No—thou must smile, if thou smilest, through passionate tears.
Are these the end of thy being? The goal of thy years?
No—for thy bliss must be born after travail and throes—
No—thou must smile, if thou smilest, through passionate tears.
Remember the fate of the Lydian, impatient to drink,
Impatient to reach the ripe clusters of smooth luscious fruit,
How the clusters drew back from his touch, and the waters would shrink
And vanish from sight as he followed, and mock his pursuit.
Impatient to reach the ripe clusters of smooth luscious fruit,
How the clusters drew back from his touch, and the waters would shrink
And vanish from sight as he followed, and mock his pursuit.
99
So will it be if, a coward, thou cravest to find
The bliss thou art heir to, in filling each moment with ease,
In cutting away all that troubles the peace of thy mind,
In seeking whatever will soothe thee, or flatter, or please:
The bliss thou art heir to, in filling each moment with ease,
In cutting away all that troubles the peace of thy mind,
In seeking whatever will soothe thee, or flatter, or please:
If thou cravest to glide with the current of life, as a boat
In a still summer night, on a river unrippled and wide,
Through the mingling of mist and of moonlight may float
Languidly down with the noiselessly murmuring tide.
In a still summer night, on a river unrippled and wide,
Through the mingling of mist and of moonlight may float
Languidly down with the noiselessly murmuring tide.
Rather as some gallant swimmer, who cleaves at each stroke
The might of the waters, and stems them, though stormy and strong;
So battled some with the waves, when thought's tempest awoke,
And the torrents of doubt and bewilderment swept them along.
The might of the waters, and stems them, though stormy and strong;
So battled some with the waves, when thought's tempest awoke,
And the torrents of doubt and bewilderment swept them along.
100
So do thou battle whenever the billows arise,
And the storm-clouds are gathered above thee to darken thy days,
Weary thy spirit with thinking, fever thine eyes,
Think out a key to the riddle, a clue to the maze.
And the storm-clouds are gathered above thee to darken thy days,
Weary thy spirit with thinking, fever thine eyes,
Think out a key to the riddle, a clue to the maze.
“Why should we weary our spirits with thinking it out?
Is it not written the answer, shall we not look
Into the leaves—it is there—it is treason to doubt—
Into the leaves of the One and Infallible Book?”
Is it not written the answer, shall we not look
Into the leaves—it is there—it is treason to doubt—
Into the leaves of the One and Infallible Book?”
Nay—but to doubt is the holiest duty of life:
What if the Book be of God, yet our vision is dim:
Still undiscerned are the treasures wherewith it is rife:
God can interpret alone what is written of Him.
What if the Book be of God, yet our vision is dim:
Still undiscerned are the treasures wherewith it is rife:
God can interpret alone what is written of Him.
“Ah! but the Church can interpret—the Church is divine:”
Fools! we would cast in our moulds the light golden and free,
Circle the Spirit of God with a hard boundary-line—
Shut into dead stagnant shallows the waves of the sea.
Fools! we would cast in our moulds the light golden and free,
Circle the Spirit of God with a hard boundary-line—
Shut into dead stagnant shallows the waves of the sea.
101
Frail is our best and imperfect—the old and the new:
Else were it easy the face of the Godhead to scan:
Search for the glory of God in His Heaven of blue,
Deep in the fathomless depths of the spirit of man:
Else were it easy the face of the Godhead to scan:
Search for the glory of God in His Heaven of blue,
Deep in the fathomless depths of the spirit of man:
Deep in the depths unattained to—undreamt of as yet:—
'Tis but a scratch on the surface—the best we have done:—
Think of the infinite work unachieved, and forget
All that the toil of the ages before thee has won.
'Tis but a scratch on the surface—the best we have done:—
Think of the infinite work unachieved, and forget
All that the toil of the ages before thee has won.
“Oh! but we want something definite”—want it forsooth;—
What, shall our very infirmities guide us aright?
Say, is our need and our weakness the standard of truth?
Say, is the film of our blindness the measure of light?
What, shall our very infirmities guide us aright?
Say, is our need and our weakness the standard of truth?
Say, is the film of our blindness the measure of light?
“Think if you will,” says another, “I care not a whit:
What is the profit of looking behind and before?
Let the to-morrow alone: we live not in it:
Give to to-day what belongs to it—that and no more
What is the profit of looking behind and before?
Let the to-morrow alone: we live not in it:
Give to to-day what belongs to it—that and no more
102
“Give to each moment its due: to each natural lust
Just what it asks for, and life will be faultless and full:”
Try it—I answer—your apples will crumble to dust;
Live for each moment and learn that each moment is null.
Just what it asks for, and life will be faultless and full:”
Try it—I answer—your apples will crumble to dust;
Live for each moment and learn that each moment is null.
“Yes,” but another will say, “all our thinking is vain:
Still is the mystery unfathomed, the riddle unguessed.
Were it not better to follow the path that is plain?
Better to do at each moment the thing that is best.”
Still is the mystery unfathomed, the riddle unguessed.
Were it not better to follow the path that is plain?
Better to do at each moment the thing that is best.”
Best—is it easy to see what is best? If we see,
'Tis with the eyes of the ages,—the heir-loom of years.
As is the thought of the world, so its action will be:
Slowly—we grope in the twilight—the pathway appears,—
'Tis with the eyes of the ages,—the heir-loom of years.
As is the thought of the world, so its action will be:
Slowly—we grope in the twilight—the pathway appears,—
Dimly discerned by the foremost—the seers of mankind—
Sages whose souls are athirst for the vision of God.
Theirs to think out and discover—we follow behind,
Treading with confident steps where our leaders have trod.
Sages whose souls are athirst for the vision of God.
Theirs to think out and discover—we follow behind,
Treading with confident steps where our leaders have trod.
103
As is the thought of the world, so its action will be,—
Action is reason embodied, and in it we reach
Thought that is truer than words, thought boundless and free;
Action at last is the Spirit's unfaltering speech.
Action is reason embodied, and in it we reach
Thought that is truer than words, thought boundless and free;
Action at last is the Spirit's unfaltering speech.
Ay, but the stress of our thinking must cleave us a way
Ere through our practice we widen the world of our ken:
Even a guess has been mighty to stir and to sway
Cycle on cycle of years, and million on million of men.
Ere through our practice we widen the world of our ken:
Even a guess has been mighty to stir and to sway
Cycle on cycle of years, and million on million of men.
Think it all out then, and trust that hereafter the light
Out of the gloom that enfolds thee will dawn and arise.
Do not despair—though the lamps of thy darkness be bright—
See! the first glimmer of daybreak is changing the skies.
Out of the gloom that enfolds thee will dawn and arise.
Do not despair—though the lamps of thy darkness be bright—
See! the first glimmer of daybreak is changing the skies.
Think it all out, and when thinking is baffled and fails,
Life shall resolve the enigma, and answer thy doubt:
Face with unwavering spirit each foe that assails:
Think it all out to the uttermost, think it all out.
Life shall resolve the enigma, and answer thy doubt:
Face with unwavering spirit each foe that assails:
Think it all out to the uttermost, think it all out.
104
LIMITLESS DESIRE.
One night between the darkness and the dawning,
In that weird hour, whose wan unearthly light,
Growing and glimmering, gives silent warning
That day is stirring in the womb of night,—
In that weird hour, whose wan unearthly light,
Growing and glimmering, gives silent warning
That day is stirring in the womb of night,—
I lay awake; I know not what was ailing
My soul that ached with half exultant pain;
Without the dreary autumn wind was wailing
In fitful gusts that drove the lashing rain;
My soul that ached with half exultant pain;
Without the dreary autumn wind was wailing
In fitful gusts that drove the lashing rain;
And it may be that stern and stormy weather
Waked such another tempest in my mind,
For man and nature twine their lives together,
And both are swept by blasts of rain and wind.
Waked such another tempest in my mind,
For man and nature twine their lives together,
And both are swept by blasts of rain and wind.
And now a surge of thoughts, like wintry torrents,
Rushed without aim or purpose through my heart,—
Untold self-love, unbounded self-abhorrence,—
Each in some wise the other's counterpart—
Rushed without aim or purpose through my heart,—
Untold self-love, unbounded self-abhorrence,—
Each in some wise the other's counterpart—
105
Pity for those whose lives are high above me,
Lust of the new, impatience of the old,
A wayward discontent with hearts that love me,
Melting desire for hearts estranged and cold.
Lust of the new, impatience of the old,
A wayward discontent with hearts that love me,
Melting desire for hearts estranged and cold.
Illimitable thirst for vanished faces,
Fond recollections of departed days,
Sweet wanderings through half-forgotten places,
Through hours of bliss lit up by memory's rays.
Fond recollections of departed days,
Sweet wanderings through half-forgotten places,
Through hours of bliss lit up by memory's rays.
Phantoms of aspirations dead and buried
Called by the moaning tempest from their graves:
Ghosts from the Hades of oblivion ferried
By fancy—Charon-like—o'er Lethe's waves.
Called by the moaning tempest from their graves:
Ghosts from the Hades of oblivion ferried
By fancy—Charon-like—o'er Lethe's waves.
And other feelings dim, confused and nameless,
Unknown their whence and whither, drifted by,
Like ashy cloudlets scudding vague and aimless
Athwart a leaden and tempestuous sky.
Unknown their whence and whither, drifted by,
Like ashy cloudlets scudding vague and aimless
Athwart a leaden and tempestuous sky.
But as at last all mountain streams descending
From moor to meadow with uncertain course,
Draw to one goal, one consummation, blending
In one full flood their fervour and their force.
From moor to meadow with uncertain course,
Draw to one goal, one consummation, blending
In one full flood their fervour and their force.
106
So in the end each wayward, wandering current,
That leaped or slumbered, foamed or laughed along,
Died in the depths of one resistless torrent,
One master-feeling terrible and strong—
That leaped or slumbered, foamed or laughed along,
Died in the depths of one resistless torrent,
One master-feeling terrible and strong—
A rush of yearning—oh! if words could ever
Utter the fulness of that flowing flood,
But this is bitterest,—the heart may never
Write but in characters of life-warm blood.
Utter the fulness of that flowing flood,
But this is bitterest,—the heart may never
Write but in characters of life-warm blood.
I yearned—I travailed with intense desire;
Each moment stung me like a serpent's fang:
I was in agony, and brought forth fire:
The child consumed the womb from which it sprang.
Each moment stung me like a serpent's fang:
I was in agony, and brought forth fire:
The child consumed the womb from which it sprang.
At length the floodgates of my speech were lifted
And forth I felt the pent-up waters roll;
A voiceless voice into the darkness drifted,
Silent save only to my deepest soul.
And forth I felt the pent-up waters roll;
A voiceless voice into the darkness drifted,
Silent save only to my deepest soul.
Oh, God! I cried, the seed that thou hast planted
Must some day ripen into leaf and fruit,
And I believed no bosom ever panted
With pure desire, but Thine its passion's root.
Must some day ripen into leaf and fruit,
And I believed no bosom ever panted
With pure desire, but Thine its passion's root.
107
Yet oh! what means this fervour of my spirit?
Whence has it borne me? whither does it flow?
Is it in vain that mountain brooks inherit
The dower of melted clouds, of vanished snow?
Whence has it borne me? whither does it flow?
Is it in vain that mountain brooks inherit
The dower of melted clouds, of vanished snow?
Was it in vain I toiled to win the treasures
That Nature yields to the untiring heart,
Pierced through the outer crust of grosser pleasures,
Waited to see the tell-tale waters start?
That Nature yields to the untiring heart,
Pierced through the outer crust of grosser pleasures,
Waited to see the tell-tale waters start?
The surf of billows boisterously breaking
Upon a shore of stormy solitude;
The wail of winds when summer is forsaking
The drooping garden, and the dying wood;
Upon a shore of stormy solitude;
The wail of winds when summer is forsaking
The drooping garden, and the dying wood;
The speed and stress of lightning, and the thunder
That rolls and crashes through the voids of air:
The abyss of precipices rent asunder,
On edge of ocean or on mountain bare.
That rolls and crashes through the voids of air:
The abyss of precipices rent asunder,
On edge of ocean or on mountain bare.
Let these reveal what else were all unspoken,—
For passion spurns the trammellings of speech,—
Reveal the feelings by themselves awoken;
Let each declare what I have won from each.
For passion spurns the trammellings of speech,—
Reveal the feelings by themselves awoken;
Let each declare what I have won from each.
108
Have I not seen the snow-clad mountains keeping
Red recollections of the evening light?
Have I not seen when all the earth was sleeping
The silent summits in the starry night?
Red recollections of the evening light?
Have I not seen when all the earth was sleeping
The silent summits in the starry night?
Have I not watched, as day was dimly dawning,
The deeply blue, the darkly flushing west,
Till one lone peak had caught the glow of morning,
While cold beneath the starlight stood the rest?
The deeply blue, the darkly flushing west,
Till one lone peak had caught the glow of morning,
While cold beneath the starlight stood the rest?
And all the wondrous things of earth and ocean—
The beautiful, the terrible, the grand—
Have they not fed the fount of my emotion,
And must its waters vanish into sand?
The beautiful, the terrible, the grand—
Have they not fed the fount of my emotion,
And must its waters vanish into sand?
Lost! lost! all lost—in vain the river gushes
Out of my being's inexhausted springs,
O'er rock and beach it passionately rushes—
Yet cannot bear me on its glancing wings.
Out of my being's inexhausted springs,
O'er rock and beach it passionately rushes—
Yet cannot bear me on its glancing wings.
Not to the goal to which all streams are thronging,
The life wherein all lives may fall asleep;
Not to the end of my unuttered longing—
The free, illimitable, starlit deep.
The life wherein all lives may fall asleep;
Not to the end of my unuttered longing—
The free, illimitable, starlit deep.
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A voice replied—“Ay, lost and lost for ever,
The fleeting waters mock thee as they glide,
Unless, with strong and strenuous endeavour,
Thou cleave a channel for the rushing tide
The fleeting waters mock thee as they glide,
Unless, with strong and strenuous endeavour,
Thou cleave a channel for the rushing tide
Through stubborn flint or quicksand that effaces,
With treacherous haste, the often furrowed line,
Through ridge of rock, through waste and marshy places,
Through all that mars or mocks thy heart's design.
With treacherous haste, the often furrowed line,
Through ridge of rock, through waste and marshy places,
Through all that mars or mocks thy heart's design.
And oh! be sure when once thy hands have riven
A water-way for the impetuous wave,
No more its flood—however tempest-driven—
Shall seethe again, or foam, or flash, or rave.
A water-way for the impetuous wave,
No more its flood—however tempest-driven—
Shall seethe again, or foam, or flash, or rave.
No more shall spring with waters white and boiling,
With cataract voice of thunder down the steep,
No more—but now with calm and steadfast toiling,
And silent strength, that half resembles sleep,
With cataract voice of thunder down the steep,
No more—but now with calm and steadfast toiling,
And silent strength, that half resembles sleep,
Shall journey seawards—doomed at last to mingle
Its life and labour with the parent sea:
Hark to the billows tearing back the shingle—
Courage awhile—thy soul will soon be free;
Its life and labour with the parent sea:
Hark to the billows tearing back the shingle—
Courage awhile—thy soul will soon be free;
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Loosed from the limits that so long constrained it,
Bathed in the ocean's infinite embrace,—
Oh! joy to think the very bonds that pained it
Were but the clasping arms of Heavenly grace.
Bathed in the ocean's infinite embrace,—
Oh! joy to think the very bonds that pained it
Were but the clasping arms of Heavenly grace.
For never deem that foam and rage and riot
Are true embodiments of living force;
Yon river as it glides serene and quiet
Sweeps navies downwards on its stately course,—
Are true embodiments of living force;
Yon river as it glides serene and quiet
Sweeps navies downwards on its stately course,—
Careless to startle us to sudden wonder,
To charm our hearing, to arrest our sight:
There's half a silence in the midnight thunder,
No play of colour in the vivid light.
To charm our hearing, to arrest our sight:
There's half a silence in the midnight thunder,
No play of colour in the vivid light.
The flame that feeds on stubble flares and flickers,
Crackles and roars, and leaps in fitful spires,
But see! no tongue of pointed brightness bickers
Round the white stillness of the furnace fires:
Crackles and roars, and leaps in fitful spires,
But see! no tongue of pointed brightness bickers
Round the white stillness of the furnace fires:
Still thou would'st deem them, for their speed of motion
Is all too fiercely swift for human eyes:
Soundless perchance—the resonance of ocean
Were hushed beside them into silent sighs.
Is all too fiercely swift for human eyes:
Soundless perchance—the resonance of ocean
Were hushed beside them into silent sighs.
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Not in mere force that leaps its barriers over,
Not in undisciplined and aimless strife,
Shalt thou, oh! fierce and fevered heart, discover
The truest beatings of the pulse of life.
Not in undisciplined and aimless strife,
Shalt thou, oh! fierce and fevered heart, discover
The truest beatings of the pulse of life.
The agony of those who slowly fashion
A channel for the rushings of the soul—
The might of passionately-mastered passion—
The still intensity of self-control.
A channel for the rushings of the soul—
The might of passionately-mastered passion—
The still intensity of self-control.
By these alone the noblest hearts have risen
Out of themselves scarcely and wearily;
By these unbarred the barrier of the prison,
Whose inmost captives deem that they are free.
Out of themselves scarcely and wearily;
By these unbarred the barrier of the prison,
Whose inmost captives deem that they are free.
For some there are, whose eyes are dim with gazing
Into the voids of far-off space and time,
Who to the skies aspiring hands are raising,
Ransacking earth for ecstasies sublime;
Into the voids of far-off space and time,
Who to the skies aspiring hands are raising,
Ransacking earth for ecstasies sublime;
The while their lifework lies untouched, unheeded,
Close to their feet who look so far away;
So much they ask, they know not what is needed—
The humble work of sober everyday.
Close to their feet who look so far away;
So much they ask, they know not what is needed—
The humble work of sober everyday.
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A mighty lifework—flames of phantom fire
That hide the shining of the stars above—
Desires that choke all holier desire—
Lusts that are leagued against the law of love.
That hide the shining of the stars above—
Desires that choke all holier desire—
Lusts that are leagued against the law of love.
These must be quenched and vanquished, ere the glory
Now dimmed and darkened dawn upon the sight;—
Ah! well does each one know the world-wide story,—
The weary war, the hotness of the fight.
Now dimmed and darkened dawn upon the sight;—
Ah! well does each one know the world-wide story,—
The weary war, the hotness of the fight.
How terrible the conflict they shall answer
Who yet are bruised and bleeding from the strife,
Whose souls were eaten by a killing cancer,
Who felt the fierceness of the healing knife.
Who yet are bruised and bleeding from the strife,
Whose souls were eaten by a killing cancer,
Who felt the fierceness of the healing knife.
Let these reply with what a vast endeavour
They crushed to earth some vile rebellious lust,
That rose as often as it fell, and ever
Rolled with its victor, grappling in the dust.
They crushed to earth some vile rebellious lust,
That rose as often as it fell, and ever
Rolled with its victor, grappling in the dust.
Ay, and to some it seemed that they were turning
With hands deliberate the fair free light,
That bids men bask for ever in its burning,
Into the horror of the silent night.
With hands deliberate the fair free light,
That bids men bask for ever in its burning,
Into the horror of the silent night.
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Yet some can tell how in the blackest hour,
After the sunset, when all light was lost,
Their eyes beheld the midnight in her power,—
The eternal grandeur of the starry host.
After the sunset, when all light was lost,
Their eyes beheld the midnight in her power,—
The eternal grandeur of the starry host.
The cloudless flush of yearning dies too quickly;
A frosty rim of colour lingers on;
Then the autumnal night mists gather thickly,
And glimmer in the moonlight, white and wan.
A frosty rim of colour lingers on;
Then the autumnal night mists gather thickly,
And glimmer in the moonlight, white and wan.
But the true sunset glory grows and brightens
After a day of darkness and of clouds:
The gloomiest day is fairest when it lightens:
It wins its beauty from its stormy shrouds.
After a day of darkness and of clouds:
The gloomiest day is fairest when it lightens:
It wins its beauty from its stormy shrouds.
And who would gain the mystic glow of even
Must be content to lose the light of day,
See mist and rain obscure the blue of Heaven,
And clouds drift up that will not drift away.
Must be content to lose the light of day,
See mist and rain obscure the blue of Heaven,
And clouds drift up that will not drift away.
So wouldst thou find fulfilment of thy longing,
Use it to quench the base and bastard flame
Of lower aims and passions, ever wronging
The inner light from which thy longing came.
Use it to quench the base and bastard flame
Of lower aims and passions, ever wronging
The inner light from which thy longing came.
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Then it will grow and deepen—else an aimless
Stir in the void as of some random blast:
How vain is strength, impetuous and tameless,
Read in the records of the ages past.
Stir in the void as of some random blast:
How vain is strength, impetuous and tameless,
Read in the records of the ages past.
For here and there the sands of time are scattered
With mighty monuments of broken force,
Sunken, or overturned, or rudely shattered,
Or shapeless even from their fiery source;—
With mighty monuments of broken force,
Sunken, or overturned, or rudely shattered,
Or shapeless even from their fiery source;—
Vast elemental powers, wrecked and ended,—
Desolate failures telling to mankind
How all in vain the molten stream descended
That rent the moulds, wherein it ran confined.
Desolate failures telling to mankind
How all in vain the molten stream descended
That rent the moulds, wherein it ran confined.
And the mere gush of yearning, like a fountain,
Leaping aloft sinks back into the dust:
The vale is deep and dark beside the mountain,
And love, alas! slopes downwards into lust.
Leaping aloft sinks back into the dust:
The vale is deep and dark beside the mountain,
And love, alas! slopes downwards into lust.
But they who make an impious feast, inviting
Each rebel passion to the banquet hall;
Shall see, aghast, the mystic fingers writing—
The Mene, Mene flaming on the wall.
Each rebel passion to the banquet hall;
Shall see, aghast, the mystic fingers writing—
The Mene, Mene flaming on the wall.
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Oh! then be warned and ere that scroll of fire
‘Thy days are numbered and thy kingdom gone,’
Blaze on thy sight, control and guide desire
Purging its gold from dross:” The voice flowed on
‘Thy days are numbered and thy kingdom gone,’
Blaze on thy sight, control and guide desire
Purging its gold from dross:” The voice flowed on
So far, then ceased: and I perplexed, uncertain,
Waited awhile and knew not to reply:
I rose at length, and drew aside the curtain,
Haply to read my answer in the sky.
Waited awhile and knew not to reply:
I rose at length, and drew aside the curtain,
Haply to read my answer in the sky.
There while my heart was yet athirst and yearning,
One with the wind and mingled with the morn,
'Mid clouds tempestuously dark and burning
I watched the stormy grandeur of the dawn.
One with the wind and mingled with the morn,
'Mid clouds tempestuously dark and burning
I watched the stormy grandeur of the dawn.
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HOPELESS REGRET.
There is a glory in the western sky,
A wild autumnal glory—overhead
Clouds, dark as night, are scudding stormily:
While all around a heavier pall is spread,
Woven of solid mists without a rift,
That hang all motionless, or densely drift.
A wild autumnal glory—overhead
Clouds, dark as night, are scudding stormily:
While all around a heavier pall is spread,
Woven of solid mists without a rift,
That hang all motionless, or densely drift.
But see! between the darkness and the rim
Of the horizon—beautiful to view,
There floats—how clear, where all beside is dim!—
A narrow strait of pallid evening blue,
That steals along the west in varying shape
Of inlet deep, or dark and frowning cape.
Of the horizon—beautiful to view,
There floats—how clear, where all beside is dim!—
A narrow strait of pallid evening blue,
That steals along the west in varying shape
Of inlet deep, or dark and frowning cape.
And now the shores of yonder sullen land,
Yon continent of clouds, grow strangely bright,
Until, as sped from some mysterious hand,
There fall aslant long rays of dusky light,
Darts from some hidden quiver: Who hath hurled
Those lightning arrows on the darkened world?
Yon continent of clouds, grow strangely bright,
Until, as sped from some mysterious hand,
There fall aslant long rays of dusky light,
Darts from some hidden quiver: Who hath hurled
Those lightning arrows on the darkened world?
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And where they fall the blue that is below
Changes its pallor for the ruddy sheen
Of autumn gold, and 'mid the deepening glow
At last the sun, that long has moved unseen,
Bursts in a blaze of splendour from yon rack
Of gathered clouds, tempestuously black.
Changes its pallor for the ruddy sheen
Of autumn gold, and 'mid the deepening glow
At last the sun, that long has moved unseen,
Bursts in a blaze of splendour from yon rack
Of gathered clouds, tempestuously black.
And in a moment the enchanted west,
Bathed in a mist of golden loveliness,
Trembles and pants with wild divine unrest,
Half troubled, as though yearning to express
Some momentary glimpse of mystic light,
Some dream of glory past conception bright.
Bathed in a mist of golden loveliness,
Trembles and pants with wild divine unrest,
Half troubled, as though yearning to express
Some momentary glimpse of mystic light,
Some dream of glory past conception bright.
Then the gold deepens into stormy red,
And in the east a fierce and ruddy glare
From the horizon to the sky o'erhead
Lights up the clouds: for all things seem to share,
How dark soe'er, in the tempestuous joy
That only its own ardour will destroy.
And in the east a fierce and ruddy glare
From the horizon to the sky o'erhead
Lights up the clouds: for all things seem to share,
How dark soe'er, in the tempestuous joy
That only its own ardour will destroy.
Ah! now 'tis loveliest—and I will keep
Its image in my heart for evermore:
I care not now if mists autumnal creep
Along the vale, or clouds begin to pour
A grey and blinding rain: I will resign
Yon light to death: its loveliness is mine.
Its image in my heart for evermore:
I care not now if mists autumnal creep
Along the vale, or clouds begin to pour
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Yon light to death: its loveliness is mine.
Yet even while I gaze, a haze of tears,
Rising unbidden, gathers to my eyes,
For other sunsets in the distant years
Come back to me, and other stormy skies:
And there is something that I seem to miss—
Some subtle grace in those—ah! not in this.
Rising unbidden, gathers to my eyes,
For other sunsets in the distant years
Come back to me, and other stormy skies:
And there is something that I seem to miss—
Some subtle grace in those—ah! not in this.
A free unconscious joy that was content
To breathe and be, unvexed by questioning,
Careless to ask what its own presence meant,
Or whence the beatings of its airy wing
That panted and exulted, as the breeze,
Buoyant and fresh, bounds through the bending trees
To breathe and be, unvexed by questioning,
Careless to ask what its own presence meant,
Or whence the beatings of its airy wing
That panted and exulted, as the breeze,
Buoyant and fresh, bounds through the bending trees
On April mornings—this has passed away:
I love not beauty less: my heart is stirred
As strongly and as sweetly: each new day
Some light is visible—some music heard:
But there's a thorn deep hidden in the flower,
And half a sadness in my sunniest hour.
I love not beauty less: my heart is stirred
As strongly and as sweetly: each new day
Some light is visible—some music heard:
But there's a thorn deep hidden in the flower,
And half a sadness in my sunniest hour.
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And there are dagger-blades to pierce my breast,
E'en in the very bosom of my bliss;
Cruel as those that killed while they caressed,
Lurking beneath the Virgin's loveliness.
My joy itself is torture; while I feel
Its clasping arms, they harden into steel.
E'en in the very bosom of my bliss;
Cruel as those that killed while they caressed,
Lurking beneath the Virgin's loveliness.
My joy itself is torture; while I feel
Its clasping arms, they harden into steel.
For my delight awakes at once a train
Of wondering thoughts I know not how to quell,
And baffling doubts, and questions asked in vain;
For what are joy and beauty? Is it well
That I should drink of them? Are they the whole
Of life? Are they my being's highest goal?
Of wondering thoughts I know not how to quell,
And baffling doubts, and questions asked in vain;
For what are joy and beauty? Is it well
That I should drink of them? Are they the whole
Of life? Are they my being's highest goal?
Whether I look into futurity,
Or scan the past, or sweep my eyes through space,
The ghost of all that I am meant to be,
The eternal self confronts me face to face,
A phantom form that haunts me night and day,
A tyrant ruling me with iron sway.
Or scan the past, or sweep my eyes through space,
The ghost of all that I am meant to be,
The eternal self confronts me face to face,
A phantom form that haunts me night and day,
A tyrant ruling me with iron sway.
Yet long ago each moment as it came
Could blot from sight the future and the past:
My life was troubled by no wider aim:
I held the momentary present fast:
And most of all, when beauty stirred my heart,
The whole was hidden in the transient part.
Could blot from sight the future and the past:
My life was troubled by no wider aim:
I held the momentary present fast:
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The whole was hidden in the transient part.
But now alas! those joys of gladdened sense,
Powerless to hide from view the things beyond,
Only reveal to me my impotence
To free myself: I feel the tightened bond:
I know my slavery: ah! bitter pain—
I hear the very clanking of my chain.
Powerless to hide from view the things beyond,
Only reveal to me my impotence
To free myself: I feel the tightened bond:
I know my slavery: ah! bitter pain—
I hear the very clanking of my chain.
Oh! free unconscious joy for ever lost;
Too late! Too late! I learn how fair thou wert:
What have I gained, for cruel is the cost?
Haply my lips have tasted to their hurt
The fruit of knowledge—the forbidden tree—
And Eden's bowers for aye are closed to me.
Too late! Too late! I learn how fair thou wert:
What have I gained, for cruel is the cost?
Haply my lips have tasted to their hurt
The fruit of knowledge—the forbidden tree—
And Eden's bowers for aye are closed to me.
The bowers of innocence, that once were mine:—
An angel guards them now with flaming sword:
I stand without, yet shall I dare repine?
The glory of the angel of the Lord
Had never blazed in Eden: surely pain
Is higher happiness, and loss is gain.
An angel guards them now with flaming sword:
I stand without, yet shall I dare repine?
The glory of the angel of the Lord
Had never blazed in Eden: surely pain
Is higher happiness, and loss is gain.
121
Sweet are the valleys of our island home:
Sweet are the woodland flow'rs that bloom and fade,
And bloom again:—and it is sweet to roam
Through ferny dingle and through grassy glade:
And sweet to hear through tangled brakes the stream
Murmuring ceaselessly as in a dream.
Sweet are the woodland flow'rs that bloom and fade,
And bloom again:—and it is sweet to roam
Through ferny dingle and through grassy glade:
And sweet to hear through tangled brakes the stream
Murmuring ceaselessly as in a dream.
We cannot see afar: the gentle slopes
Limit our world, and branches break the light:
The range is narrow of our fears and hopes:
We do not ask what lies beyond our sight.
A thorn may tear us while we seek for flow'rs,
But little griefs and little joys are ours.
Limit our world, and branches break the light:
The range is narrow of our fears and hopes:
We do not ask what lies beyond our sight.
A thorn may tear us while we seek for flow'rs,
But little griefs and little joys are ours.
Yet are we calm and happy while we range
Our sheltered glen, unvexed by sun or storm:
For sweet variety and ceaseless change
Fill up the passing moments till they form
Hours, and the hours at last build up a day,
And months and years and ages glide away.
Our sheltered glen, unvexed by sun or storm:
For sweet variety and ceaseless change
Fill up the passing moments till they form
Hours, and the hours at last build up a day,
And months and years and ages glide away.
But some there are to whom a passing breeze,
That fanned the others in their noonday sleep,
And bent the flowers and rustled through the trees,
Carried a whisper from the distant deep:
They started at the voice unheard before,
And these have left the vale for evermore.
That fanned the others in their noonday sleep,
And bent the flowers and rustled through the trees,
Carried a whisper from the distant deep:
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And these have left the vale for evermore.
Or it may be that something lured their feet
To climb the slopes that seemed so green and low,
And as they climbed, they saw the heights retreat,
Crest beyond crest, till from some rocky brow
Far, far away, the grey expanse of sea
Broke on their sight, and billows rolling free.
To climb the slopes that seemed so green and low,
And as they climbed, they saw the heights retreat,
Crest beyond crest, till from some rocky brow
Far, far away, the grey expanse of sea
Broke on their sight, and billows rolling free.
And these have left the vale for evermore,
And left its rippling stream and sheltering wood,
And now they wander by the lonely shore,
And, face to face with Ocean's solitude,
They hear the voices that are never dumb,
And marvel what they say and whence they come.
And left its rippling stream and sheltering wood,
And now they wander by the lonely shore,
And, face to face with Ocean's solitude,
They hear the voices that are never dumb,
And marvel what they say and whence they come.
At times may be—ah! who shall say how oft
Wistful regret for all that is behind
Possesses them: The woodland still and soft,—
Its beauties ever varying, ever kind,—
The tangled undergrowth, so fair a thing
In dying autumn or in waking spring,—
Wistful regret for all that is behind
Possesses them: The woodland still and soft,—
Its beauties ever varying, ever kind,—
The tangled undergrowth, so fair a thing
In dying autumn or in waking spring,—
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Sweet interlacings on a breezy day
Of light and shade,—the sound in twilight hours
Of birds innumerable—clouds in May
Of bluebells fairiest of fairy flowers—
Come back to them, but they would fain forget,
Tortured by sweet, impossible regret.
Of light and shade,—the sound in twilight hours
Of birds innumerable—clouds in May
Of bluebells fairiest of fairy flowers—
Come back to them, but they would fain forget,
Tortured by sweet, impossible regret.
Yet wherefore so, for there are beauties here,
Not bound within the limits of our lot,
And changes rolling through a vaster sphere,
Whose moments are as years: we note them not:
The fault is ours,—so small a part we see,
We think that grandeur is monotony.
Not bound within the limits of our lot,
And changes rolling through a vaster sphere,
Whose moments are as years: we note them not:
The fault is ours,—so small a part we see,
We think that grandeur is monotony.
And they who haunt the ocean-shore behold
Cloud shadows float across the watery plain;
The sudden flush of sunrise red and cold,
Gild the dark purple of the stormy main;
Or the long track of moonlight half asleep,
Heave with the flow of the enchanted deep.
Cloud shadows float across the watery plain;
The sudden flush of sunrise red and cold,
Gild the dark purple of the stormy main;
Or the long track of moonlight half asleep,
Heave with the flow of the enchanted deep.
'Tis theirs to watch the eager eddying race
Of waters rushing round the headland rocks;
Or it may be the dark and dripping face
Of some sheer precipice that breaks the shocks
Of endless ocean-rollers; or the sheet
Of spray flung up as baffled waves retreat.
Of waters rushing round the headland rocks;
Or it may be the dark and dripping face
Of some sheer precipice that breaks the shocks
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Of spray flung up as baffled waves retreat.
Or in calm weather when no tempest raves,
Along the level sands of some lone shore,
They watch the endlessly advancing waves
Creep up and break with heavy booming roar,
And straight a smooth expanse glides up the sand,
Of white and seething foam and belts the strand.
Along the level sands of some lone shore,
They watch the endlessly advancing waves
Creep up and break with heavy booming roar,
And straight a smooth expanse glides up the sand,
Of white and seething foam and belts the strand.
But these, may be, oppress them while they thrill;
They look away, and it is sometimes sweet
To find a delicately painted shell
Minutely perfect, lying at their feet,
Fair as a gentian blue and bright that grows
'Mid Alpine rocks that fringe lone Alpine snows.
They look away, and it is sometimes sweet
To find a delicately painted shell
Minutely perfect, lying at their feet,
Fair as a gentian blue and bright that grows
'Mid Alpine rocks that fringe lone Alpine snows.
Father, forgive my murmurs, if I cry
Out of the depths to Thee—if I repine,
E'en though my heart breathes through its very sigh
Of discontent, “Thy will, oh! Lord, not mine,”
That Thou hast set me near the lonely sea,
The ocean of my own Eternity.
Out of the depths to Thee—if I repine,
E'en though my heart breathes through its very sigh
Of discontent, “Thy will, oh! Lord, not mine,”
That Thou hast set me near the lonely sea,
The ocean of my own Eternity.
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I weary of its infinite extent
Of moaning waters: I am thrilled with awe
When storms of doubt and vast bewilderment
Sweep over it, obedient to no law,
And I am troubled, though my soul be stirred
Whene'er the thunder of the waves is heard.
Of moaning waters: I am thrilled with awe
When storms of doubt and vast bewilderment
Sweep over it, obedient to no law,
And I am troubled, though my soul be stirred
Whene'er the thunder of the waves is heard.
And oh! forgive me, Father, if it seems
When Thy own glory dawns upon the waste
Of heaving billows, that its reddening beams
Are wan and cold, and better far replaced
E'en by the primal darkness that concealed
Yon stormy desolation now revealed.
When Thy own glory dawns upon the waste
Of heaving billows, that its reddening beams
Are wan and cold, and better far replaced
E'en by the primal darkness that concealed
Yon stormy desolation now revealed.
Ay, and the richer splendour that is Thine,
The light that follows tempest-clouded hours,
Bathing the sea in loveliness divine,
Turning to golden rain the falling showers,
This—though it thrill my spirit with the throes
Of yearning joy, yet cannot bring repose.
The light that follows tempest-clouded hours,
Bathing the sea in loveliness divine,
Turning to golden rain the falling showers,
This—though it thrill my spirit with the throes
Of yearning joy, yet cannot bring repose.
Yet bid me see a purpose in Thy ways,
Teach me to know it is not all in vain
That I have left behind those woodland days,
That were so sweet, that will not come again,
Teach me to feel that still thy guiding hand
Is with me on the lonely spray-swept strand.
Teach me to know it is not all in vain
That I have left behind those woodland days,
That were so sweet, that will not come again,
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Is with me on the lonely spray-swept strand.
Take from me all rebellion, all regret,
All hopeless looking back to what is gone:
Fain would I blot the past away, and set
My gazing futurewards; and so gaze on
Even till mists of vacancy should swim
Into my eyes and make their vision dim.
All hopeless looking back to what is gone:
Fain would I blot the past away, and set
My gazing futurewards; and so gaze on
Even till mists of vacancy should swim
Into my eyes and make their vision dim.
Not without pangs of travailing, I wis,
Stirs into life a fuller, deeper joy,—
Stirs in the womb of old, familiar bliss
Which its own birth hereafter must destroy,
When the old life, however lost to view,
Shall live more truly, buried in the new.
Stirs into life a fuller, deeper joy,—
Stirs in the womb of old, familiar bliss
Which its own birth hereafter must destroy,
When the old life, however lost to view,
Shall live more truly, buried in the new.
And if it be Thy will that all my years
Be one long travail-throe of agony,
Oh! give me grace to smile amid my tears,
Give me the confidence of Love of Thee:
But for that shivering hour before the morn
The splendour of the sun were never born.
Be one long travail-throe of agony,
Oh! give me grace to smile amid my tears,
Give me the confidence of Love of Thee:
But for that shivering hour before the morn
The splendour of the sun were never born.
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Some day the world will widen on my sight;—
Reality will melt into a dream;—
And the wide Ocean and the stormy light,
Whose grandeur crushed my soul, will haply seem
Fair as a rain drop, child of sun and shower,
That hangs and sparkles on some fairy flower.
Reality will melt into a dream;—
And the wide Ocean and the stormy light,
Whose grandeur crushed my soul, will haply seem
Fair as a rain drop, child of sun and shower,
That hangs and sparkles on some fairy flower.
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THE FIRWOOD.
This is the firwood: once again,
With muffled step and voice subdued,
I wander through its wide domain
Of cool, dark, silent solitude;
And hear once more that sound I love,
The treetops whispering above.
With muffled step and voice subdued,
I wander through its wide domain
Of cool, dark, silent solitude;
And hear once more that sound I love,
The treetops whispering above.
There are the fir-stems bare and red,—
The tapering crests of dusky green,
With branches blending overhead—
The little plots of light between,
Where sapling fir-trees court the view
Clad in a fresher, tenderer hue.
The tapering crests of dusky green,
With branches blending overhead—
The little plots of light between,
Where sapling fir-trees court the view
Clad in a fresher, tenderer hue.
And still the bladeless ground beneath
Is dry and dusty, saving where
Patches of green unwrinkled heath
Make all around more parched and bare:
The hollows—each in winter-tide
A dark brown pool—are now half dried.
Is dry and dusty, saving where
Patches of green unwrinkled heath
Make all around more parched and bare:
The hollows—each in winter-tide
A dark brown pool—are now half dried.
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There is the little open glade
The sunny lawn—the cottage bright—
The fruit-trees smilingly arrayed
In clouds of mingling pink and white,
Whene'er, as now, May breezes bring
Their happy wealth of blossoming.
The sunny lawn—the cottage bright—
The fruit-trees smilingly arrayed
In clouds of mingling pink and white,
Whene'er, as now, May breezes bring
Their happy wealth of blossoming.
Aye—as of old—yon little isle
Of lawn and fruit-trees has its place,
Sweet as a momentary smile
Upon a sadly thoughtful face:
So seems it 'mid the gloom profound
Of sombre wood that laps it round.
Of lawn and fruit-trees has its place,
Sweet as a momentary smile
Upon a sadly thoughtful face:
So seems it 'mid the gloom profound
Of sombre wood that laps it round.
How little change has here been wrought
By lapse of time or hand of man,
Since, when in bygone days I sought
These solemn haunts, and first began
To learn, what I have learnt so well,
The strength of their mysterious spell.
By lapse of time or hand of man,
Since, when in bygone days I sought
These solemn haunts, and first began
To learn, what I have learnt so well,
The strength of their mysterious spell.
And yet when first through heath and fern
I wandered free, I had not come
To listen to that voice and learn,—
For me the solitudes were dumb,—
I only came to be away
From all the life and light of day.
I wandered free, I had not come
To listen to that voice and learn,—
For me the solitudes were dumb,—
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From all the life and light of day.
I knew the meadows near the mill,
I knew the little stream that wound
Under its bushes dark and still,
I knew the rushing mill-weir's sound;
I knew the common and its trees
That rustled crisply in the breeze.
I knew the little stream that wound
Under its bushes dark and still,
I knew the rushing mill-weir's sound;
I knew the common and its trees
That rustled crisply in the breeze.
I knew what flowers were oftenest seen
In spring time near the brooklet's edge;
I knew the many shades of green
That smiled on tree and bush and hedge;
I knew the summer evening glow,
When showers were past, the sun sunk low.
In spring time near the brooklet's edge;
I knew the many shades of green
That smiled on tree and bush and hedge;
I knew the summer evening glow,
When showers were past, the sun sunk low.
I knew the many mingled notes
On dewy morns and scented eves,
That came from happy feathered throats
Deep-hidden in their world of leaves;—
Wood, stream, and meadow all were known,
And oft I wandered there alone.
On dewy morns and scented eves,
That came from happy feathered throats
Deep-hidden in their world of leaves;—
Wood, stream, and meadow all were known,
And oft I wandered there alone.
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I came companionless to solve
Deep problems that possessed my brain,
Ambitious projects to revolve,
To disentwine thought's tangled skein;—
But harmonies of sound and hue
Enchained my ear and charmed my view.
Deep problems that possessed my brain,
Ambitious projects to revolve,
To disentwine thought's tangled skein;—
But harmonies of sound and hue
Enchained my ear and charmed my view.
They spoke to me, and I replied,
They wrung responses from my soul;
They made new channels for the tide,
That I had laboured to control;
They drew it downwards from its springs
In mazy trackless wandering.
They wrung responses from my soul;
They made new channels for the tide,
That I had laboured to control;
They drew it downwards from its springs
In mazy trackless wandering.
They ruled the motions of my thought
In strange and evershifting mood,
And then I fled from them and sought
The shelter of this lonely wood.
Where all was dark and same and still,
And I could guide my thoughts at will.
In strange and evershifting mood,
And then I fled from them and sought
The shelter of this lonely wood.
Where all was dark and same and still,
And I could guide my thoughts at will.
With head bowed low and aimless feet
Folded in thought I wandered on:
The varied influences sweet
That had distracted me were gone;
But in their stead some mightier force
Had seized my mind and shaped its course.
Folded in thought I wandered on:
The varied influences sweet
That had distracted me were gone;
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Had seized my mind and shaped its course.
All differences of changing form,
All interplay of shade and light,
Sunshine and darkness, calm and storm,
Were overpowered and lost to sight;
My baffling problems, daring schemes,
Were idle as forgotten dreams.
All interplay of shade and light,
Sunshine and darkness, calm and storm,
Were overpowered and lost to sight;
My baffling problems, daring schemes,
Were idle as forgotten dreams.
I paused awhile, and ceased to think,
I heard the murmur overhead;
Deep, deep its subtle power did sink
Into my inner depths, and fed
My vision, and enlarged its scope
Beyond all range of fear or hope.
I heard the murmur overhead;
Deep, deep its subtle power did sink
Into my inner depths, and fed
My vision, and enlarged its scope
Beyond all range of fear or hope.
The world had faded far away;
I had no need to laugh or weep;
Damp on my cheek I felt the spray,
I heard the moaning of the deep;
I stood alone upon life's shore
And caught a voice unheard before.
I had no need to laugh or weep;
Damp on my cheek I felt the spray,
I heard the moaning of the deep;
I stood alone upon life's shore
And caught a voice unheard before.
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No clouds were dark, no sunlight gleamed,—
I only saw the wide grey sea;
And gazing over it, I seemed
To face my own eternity;
Deep in my soul I seemed to hear
A whisper from another sphere.
I only saw the wide grey sea;
And gazing over it, I seemed
To face my own eternity;
Deep in my soul I seemed to hear
A whisper from another sphere.
Oh! thou, whose heart is scarred and worn,
Whom plans bewilder, cares oppress,—
By disappointment overborne,
Or overjoyed at earth's success,—
The fir woods call to thee to come,
Their lonely depths are never dumb.
Whom plans bewilder, cares oppress,—
By disappointment overborne,
Or overjoyed at earth's success,—
The fir woods call to thee to come,
Their lonely depths are never dumb.
For there is never day so still,
So lulled to sleep, but some light breeze,
Unnoticed else, doth faintly fill
The topmost foliage of the trees,
And those tall tapering crests are stirred,
And the eternal whisper heard.
So lulled to sleep, but some light breeze,
Unnoticed else, doth faintly fill
The topmost foliage of the trees,
And those tall tapering crests are stirred,
And the eternal whisper heard.
And there is never day so rude,
So vexed with blasts that howl and drive,
But in this dark and silent wood
The winds are hushed, or only give—
Howe'er the tree tops rock and swing—
Depth to their solemn murmuring.
So vexed with blasts that howl and drive,
But in this dark and silent wood
The winds are hushed, or only give—
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Depth to their solemn murmuring.
And in that murmur hushed and deep,
To thee who hearest it will seem
That thou art strangely wrapped in sleep,
Even as one who in a dream
Knows that he dreams, yet cannot break
The fetters of his sleep and wake.
To thee who hearest it will seem
That thou art strangely wrapped in sleep,
Even as one who in a dream
Knows that he dreams, yet cannot break
The fetters of his sleep and wake.
And all wherewith the years are rife,—
The varied play of broken thought,
This painted world, this chequered life,—
Will seem to thee a thing of nought,
A drop in the unmeasured sea,
An atom in Eternity.
The varied play of broken thought,
This painted world, this chequered life,—
Will seem to thee a thing of nought,
A drop in the unmeasured sea,
An atom in Eternity.
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TO------
Love thou art loveliest when thy naked soulLooks through the windows of those great grey eyes,
Having no shame that I should see the whole,
Having no shame and needing no disguise;—
Ah! dearest, if thou shouldst in such a wise,
Deep gazing into mine, see there revealed
In all its nakedness the soul that lies
Cowering behind those curtains, half concealed,
Ah, me! how other would it seem than thine,
How darkly stained, where thine is pure as snow;
But now thine eyes when they look into mine
See only their own brightness, yet I know
They would grow dim with pity, could they see
All I am not, and all I yearn to be.
136
THE MESSAGE.
AT NEWBRIDGE ON THE ISIS.
The moon is hid to-night behind dark masses
Of gathered clouds, heavy with coming rain:
Drear is the wind—each fitful gust that passes
Moans as it were in pain.
Of gathered clouds, heavy with coming rain:
Drear is the wind—each fitful gust that passes
Moans as it were in pain.
Is it in pain? Those shades of grief or gladness
Are the outgoing of the heart within:
Man's spirit builds up Nature, and his sadness
Must needs be woven in.
Are the outgoing of the heart within:
Man's spirit builds up Nature, and his sadness
Must needs be woven in.
She only weeps when human hearts are weeping,
She only smiles when human eyes are bright,
She must lie dead when man, her life, is sleeping,—
As now in the dark night—
She only smiles when human eyes are bright,
She must lie dead when man, her life, is sleeping,—
As now in the dark night—
So dark—I cannot see the river-meadows,
Save at those moments when the drifting clouds
Leave the moon bare, and white, amid dark shadows,
Glimmer the dead earth's shrouds.
Save at those moments when the drifting clouds
Leave the moon bare, and white, amid dark shadows,
Glimmer the dead earth's shrouds.
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Till once again the vault of Heaven closes,
And those pale burial-clothes are no more seen:
Wrapt in so deep a darkness she reposes,
She needs no other screen.
And those pale burial-clothes are no more seen:
Wrapt in so deep a darkness she reposes,
She needs no other screen.
I cannot see the rushes by the river,
As in the cold night-wind they bend and wave,
But I can hear them—how they moan and shiver,
Like grasses on a grave.
As in the cold night-wind they bend and wave,
But I can hear them—how they moan and shiver,
Like grasses on a grave.
I cannot see the eager eddying tide
Sweep 'neath the arches of the old grey bridge,
But I can hear its murmuring waters glide,
Kissing each wave-worn ledge.
Sweep 'neath the arches of the old grey bridge,
But I can hear its murmuring waters glide,
Kissing each wave-worn ledge.
Dear river, pause a moment in thy going,
Thy ceaseless downward going—pause and stay;
Yet do not pause—for art thou not thy flowing?
Flow on then, flow away.
Thy ceaseless downward going—pause and stay;
Yet do not pause—for art thou not thy flowing?
Flow on then, flow away.
For ever flowing, thou art ever near me;
Each drop sweeps onward—thou art still beneath;
I will bend over then, and thou shalt hear me,
While all around is death,—
Each drop sweeps onward—thou art still beneath;
I will bend over then, and thou shalt hear me,
While all around is death,—
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Death and great stillness—only we are living,
I am awake to be awake with thee;
So, for my love a like requital giving,
Hearken awhile to me.
I am awake to be awake with thee;
So, for my love a like requital giving,
Hearken awhile to me.
For well I love thee—well, how well thou knowest—
Have I not been with thee, and traced thy course,
Even where first a little brook thou flowest,
Down from thy woodland source,
Have I not been with thee, and traced thy course,
Even where first a little brook thou flowest,
Down from thy woodland source,
Till other streams, that each has its pretence
To bear thy name, their tribute-waters bring,
And hush for aye their babbling vehemence
In thy deep murmuring.
To bear thy name, their tribute-waters bring,
And hush for aye their babbling vehemence
In thy deep murmuring.
And then broad barges float upon thy breast,
And old brown hamlets on thy brink arise,
And, mirrored in thy wave, grey church-towers rest
Against the blue, deep skies.
And old brown hamlets on thy brink arise,
And, mirrored in thy wave, grey church-towers rest
Against the blue, deep skies.
I know the meadows where tall Kempsford's tower
Woos thee to linger near it for a while
In slow meanderings—I know its power
To tempt and to beguile.
Woos thee to linger near it for a while
In slow meanderings—I know its power
To tempt and to beguile.
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And I know Lechlade's spire, and Highworth's ridge,
And I have floated with thee where thy tide
Sweeps in swift eddies under Radcot Bridge,
And followed thee, my guide,
And I have floated with thee where thy tide
Sweeps in swift eddies under Radcot Bridge,
And followed thee, my guide,
Where distant Bampton Steeple rises high,
The only object that the eye can gain,
To break the desolate monotony
Of that dim northward plain.
The only object that the eye can gain,
To break the desolate monotony
Of that dim northward plain.
While southward here and there a homestead stands,
Its blue smoke curling up from some far hill,
Whose slopes sink down to these low meadow-lands,
That are for ever still,
Its blue smoke curling up from some far hill,
Whose slopes sink down to these low meadow-lands,
That are for ever still,
Save when the ringing of the whetted scythe
Startles the silence of their solitudes:
And thou hast borne me past lone Bablockhythe,—
Past the sweet Wytham woods,
Startles the silence of their solitudes:
And thou hast borne me past lone Bablockhythe,—
Past the sweet Wytham woods,
Into that valley in whose bosom sleep
Grey tower, and mouldering wall, and climbing spire,
And court and grove and cloister nestling deep,—
While lingering with desire,
Grey tower, and mouldering wall, and climbing spire,
And court and grove and cloister nestling deep,—
While lingering with desire,
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Or hushed in reverence thy waters move
Softly and noiselessly—so sweet the spell
Of peace and beauty and unuttered love—
How sweet my heart knows well.
Softly and noiselessly—so sweet the spell
Of peace and beauty and unuttered love—
How sweet my heart knows well.
And all thy after-course—do I not know
Each bridge whose gray piers stem thine eddying current,
Each weir through which thy pent-up waters flow
A broken foaming torrent.
Each bridge whose gray piers stem thine eddying current,
Each weir through which thy pent-up waters flow
A broken foaming torrent.
Each humble hamlet church—each red-roofed town—
Each little inn nestling in quiet shade—
Each old ancestral mansion looking down
Through lawn and wooded glade.
Each little inn nestling in quiet shade—
Each old ancestral mansion looking down
Through lawn and wooded glade.
I know them well, and well each upland fallow
With its slow slope, and well each wooded steep,
Each shoaly bank whereon thy stream runs shallow,
Each pool where it is deep.
With its slow slope, and well each wooded steep,
Each shoaly bank whereon thy stream runs shallow,
Each pool where it is deep.
I know the month when thy green meads are golden
With cowslips or marsh-mallows—when thy dells
Are spreading their blue carpets unbeholden—
Blue carpets of blue-bells.
With cowslips or marsh-mallows—when thy dells
Are spreading their blue carpets unbeholden—
Blue carpets of blue-bells.
141
I know the season when thy hanging woods
Are glorious with rich autumnal hues,
Set 'mid dark pines that know no changing moods,
Whose leaf no season strews.
Are glorious with rich autumnal hues,
Set 'mid dark pines that know no changing moods,
Whose leaf no season strews.
For there's a time too when those woods are bare,
And brown, and bleak, and thy stream runs below
Swollen and dark, or darker from the glare
Of newly fallen snow,
And brown, and bleak, and thy stream runs below
Swollen and dark, or darker from the glare
Of newly fallen snow,
That finds a home upon the neighbouring fields,
And just begins to make the brown woods white,
But settling on thy bosom only yields
A drop to swell its might.
And just begins to make the brown woods white,
But settling on thy bosom only yields
A drop to swell its might.
Yet even at that season when thou art
So deep, and dark, and pitiless, and strong,
Thou hast a beauty that can reach my heart,
And make it yearn and long,—
So deep, and dark, and pitiless, and strong,
Thou hast a beauty that can reach my heart,
And make it yearn and long,—
Long with a vast unutterable longing
For a dim something far and unattained,
A something that my thought is ever wronging,
Thinking it may be gained.
For a dim something far and unattained,
A something that my thought is ever wronging,
Thinking it may be gained.
142
Yet did it not, where were this endless striving—
This reaching on which is life's only light—
This journeying where there is no arriving—
The fierceness of this fight
This reaching on which is life's only light—
This journeying where there is no arriving—
The fierceness of this fight
That never ends in victory or quiet—
Its victory is its own continuing—
Its being without end—no haven nigh it,
Where it may fold its wing.
Its victory is its own continuing—
Its being without end—no haven nigh it,
Where it may fold its wing.
Peace—peace—I am abroad and far away,
Yet in my farness thou art near to me;
All that is in me—all I cannot say—
Finds utterance in thee.
Yet in my farness thou art near to me;
All that is in me—all I cannot say—
Finds utterance in thee.
Thou and this night and this cold moaning wind,
And all this darkness and weird loneliness,
Are the reflection of mine inmost mind,
And are it and express
And all this darkness and weird loneliness,
Are the reflection of mine inmost mind,
And are it and express
Its pantings and dumb yearnings—Woe is me!
My poor weak words are baffled and sink back—
Thought hides from them in light they cannot see,
Through paths they cannot track.
My poor weak words are baffled and sink back—
Thought hides from them in light they cannot see,
Through paths they cannot track.
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So they shall tell of other simpler things
With calmer, tenderer utterance, and crave
A humble boon, and in its murmurings
Hear thine assenting wave.
With calmer, tenderer utterance, and crave
A humble boon, and in its murmurings
Hear thine assenting wave.
There is a spot a hundred miles from here,—
Stay—I will whisper where, and thou shalt know
Which is thy dearest nook, where all are dear,—
A little space below
Stay—I will whisper where, and thou shalt know
Which is thy dearest nook, where all are dear,—
A little space below
Thy downward stream first meets the rising tide,
The salt sea's messenger, whom twice each day
She bids flow up and bear thee to her side,
And chide thy long delay.
The salt sea's messenger, whom twice each day
She bids flow up and bear thee to her side,
And chide thy long delay.
There dwells one there who loves thee even as I,
And often wanders by thy bank, and knows
Each bough that shades thee from the summer sky,
Each flower that near thee grows.
And often wanders by thy bank, and knows
Each bough that shades thee from the summer sky,
Each flower that near thee grows.
She has drunk in thy beauty; she has lent
In sweet humility a listening ear
To thy pure language, fondly eloquent
To those whose hearts can hear.
In sweet humility a listening ear
To thy pure language, fondly eloquent
To those whose hearts can hear.
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Thy spirit is in her and has become
A portion of her being, as of mine,
Through thee we commune when our lips are dumb,
Through thee we intertwine
A portion of her being, as of mine,
Through thee we commune when our lips are dumb,
Through thee we intertwine
Our lives in one embrace! Ah River blest!
Thy tranquil charms were ever strong to stir
My heart to love thee, but I love thee best
That thou art dear to her;—
Thy tranquil charms were ever strong to stir
My heart to love thee, but I love thee best
That thou art dear to her;—
And oh! to whom but thee, descending River,
Shall I commit the message of my heart?
To her I dare not—for my voice would quiver,
And sudden mists would start
Shall I commit the message of my heart?
To her I dare not—for my voice would quiver,
And sudden mists would start
To eyes long tearless: and the words would fail
That rise from depths of feelings too intense
For light of speech, and nought would tell my tale
But the mute eloquence
That rise from depths of feelings too intense
For light of speech, and nought would tell my tale
But the mute eloquence
Of dim tear-clouded eyes that cannot weep:
But I can speak to thee, and thou canst hear,
And stay thy waters gliding half-asleep
Far hence, if she be near,—
But I can speak to thee, and thou canst hear,
And stay thy waters gliding half-asleep
Far hence, if she be near,—
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And with soft lispings tell my message sweet,
Kissing the shore she treads on: ah, how blest
So to be near her, kneeling at her feet
With a whole love confest;
Kissing the shore she treads on: ah, how blest
So to be near her, kneeling at her feet
With a whole love confest;
Yet is my heart half fearful to entrust
To thee its secret, for it might be so
That, as I spoke, some wild and wandering gust
Might hear, though soft and low
To thee its secret, for it might be so
That, as I spoke, some wild and wandering gust
Might hear, though soft and low
The words were whispered, and so hearing fly
Into the dark void of the midnight air
With mocking laughter, or sad shivering sigh,
Or moaning of despair.
Into the dark void of the midnight air
With mocking laughter, or sad shivering sigh,
Or moaning of despair.
Thyself shalt be my message downward flowing
In thy calm loveliness—thy glassy tide—
Thy meadows green—the shady alders growing,
The willows by thy side:
In thy calm loveliness—thy glassy tide—
Thy meadows green—the shady alders growing,
The willows by thy side:
And the sweet scent on steamy, summer eves
Of new mown hay, blent with the faint fresh smell
Of broken water, where the blade upheaves,
Or foamy wavelets swell:
Of new mown hay, blent with the faint fresh smell
Of broken water, where the blade upheaves,
Or foamy wavelets swell:
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The roar of distant weirs, the lazy plash
Of oars plied languidly on current strong,
The gentle rippling murmur from the wash
Of boats that speed along:
Of oars plied languidly on current strong,
The gentle rippling murmur from the wash
Of boats that speed along:
Thy little islets, and the heavenly glow
On unmown grass, and hanging foliage shed
Divinely sweet what time the sun is low
With dark clouds overhead:
On unmown grass, and hanging foliage shed
Divinely sweet what time the sun is low
With dark clouds overhead:
All these shall be as words from me to her,
Richer with meaning than my truest words,—
For if they mould her being, if they stir
Her deepest strongest chords,
Richer with meaning than my truest words,—
For if they mould her being, if they stir
Her deepest strongest chords,
Filling her heart with pure tranquillity,
With silent yearning and unending love,
Waking in her the thoughts they wake in me,
Lifting her eyes above,
With silent yearning and unending love,
Waking in her the thoughts they wake in me,
Lifting her eyes above,
As they have pointed mine—what force of speech
Could be a bond so potent as thou art
To wed us soul to soul, link each to each
In harmony of heart?
Could be a bond so potent as thou art
To wed us soul to soul, link each to each
In harmony of heart?
147
Dear River, then, flow downwards—haste below;
My love dwells there, why linger here above?
Flow on my tender message, sweetly flow
My message to my love.
My love dwells there, why linger here above?
Flow on my tender message, sweetly flow
My message to my love.
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EVEN TO THE END.
Love, when the day is wellnigh spent,
When the long shadows, dark and chill,
Steal slowly on till they are blent
Into one shade, and the dim sight
Waits for that deeper gloom of night,
When all is cold, and dead, and still;
When the long shadows, dark and chill,
Steal slowly on till they are blent
Into one shade, and the dim sight
Waits for that deeper gloom of night,
When all is cold, and dead, and still;
When the last dying purple gleam
Melts into darkness, while above
The pale moon, hanging like a dream,
Grows into life, and star by star
From its eternal world afar,
Comes out in grandeur, not in love,
Melts into darkness, while above
The pale moon, hanging like a dream,
Grows into life, and star by star
From its eternal world afar,
Comes out in grandeur, not in love,
For warmth and life are fading fast,—
Dearest! wilt thou be with me then
To that great moment, first and last,
When darkness ends the dying day,
And the loosed spirit is away
Into wide worlds beyond its ken.
Dearest! wilt thou be with me then
To that great moment, first and last,
When darkness ends the dying day,
And the loosed spirit is away
Into wide worlds beyond its ken.
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Wilt thou be with me then as now?—
For if that end be agony,
Thou must be near to cool my brow,
And lull its pain with thy soft kiss:
And Dearest! if the end be bliss,
I shall have sorer need of thee:
For if that end be agony,
Thou must be near to cool my brow,
And lull its pain with thy soft kiss:
And Dearest! if the end be bliss,
I shall have sorer need of thee:
For what is bliss where thou art not?
But if the cruel mists should come
And thy sweet face should be forgot
By vacant eyes,—yet do not go,
But watch the heart's faint ebb and flow,
Till it has grown for ever dumb.
But if the cruel mists should come
And thy sweet face should be forgot
By vacant eyes,—yet do not go,
But watch the heart's faint ebb and flow,
Till it has grown for ever dumb.
For there might come one moment's grace,
When, as the dying eyes reposed,
Suddenly they would know thy face
And be lit up with endless love,
And even the dying lips might move
To breathe one kiss before they closed.
When, as the dying eyes reposed,
Suddenly they would know thy face
And be lit up with endless love,
And even the dying lips might move
To breathe one kiss before they closed.
So thou wilt sit beside my bed,
And take my wasted hand in thine,
And say soft words, or lean thine head—
Where the great eyes have still their light,
And the long hair is brown and bright—
Upon the pillow, close to mine.
And take my wasted hand in thine,
And say soft words, or lean thine head—
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And the long hair is brown and bright—
Upon the pillow, close to mine.
While near and nearer grows the end,
And the damp chill mists gather fast,
And roll and mingle, till they send
That moment of intensest night—
That darkness of Eternal Light—
And—God has come to me at last.
And the damp chill mists gather fast,
And roll and mingle, till they send
That moment of intensest night—
That darkness of Eternal Light—
And—God has come to me at last.
Dearest! I often think that there
Just through that darkness thou wilt be:
Though a long after-life of care
Be thine—yet Time itself is dead,
And all thy years for me are fled
In that one instant's agony.
Just through that darkness thou wilt be:
Though a long after-life of care
Be thine—yet Time itself is dead,
And all thy years for me are fled
In that one instant's agony.
I know not—but if this be so,
The tears of sorrowing are thine,
Only for me they must not flow—
Love! as I love thee, I would pray
That Heaven would take thee first away,
And all the pain of life be mine.
The tears of sorrowing are thine,
Only for me they must not flow—
Love! as I love thee, I would pray
That Heaven would take thee first away,
And all the pain of life be mine.
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A DREAM.
There came to me once in my dreaming,
Such a woman as poets have sung:
Brightly her full eyes were gleaming,
Thickly her dark tresses hung.
Stately and rich her attire,
A glory of darkness and light;
From her arms, from her neck shone the fire
Of gems the most precious and bright.
Such a woman as poets have sung:
Brightly her full eyes were gleaming,
Thickly her dark tresses hung.
Stately and rich her attire,
A glory of darkness and light;
From her arms, from her neck shone the fire
Of gems the most precious and bright.
Softly she beckoned me to her,—
Warm, white and jewell'd her hand;
Kings might give kingdoms to woo her,—
Where were my grace to withstand?
Where? From what spring, from what hidden
Fountain of feeling within
Rose up the force that unbidden
Turned my delight into sin?—
Warm, white and jewell'd her hand;
Kings might give kingdoms to woo her,—
Where were my grace to withstand?
Where? From what spring, from what hidden
Fountain of feeling within
Rose up the force that unbidden
Turned my delight into sin?—
Fixed me there, numbed by its power,
Awe-stricken, motionless, mute,
Blighted the bloom of the flower,
Touched into ashes the fruit?
Made her allurement a terror,
Poisoned the sweets of her breath,
Wrought of her beauty a horror,
Wrote on her loveliness “Death?”
Awe-stricken, motionless, mute,
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Touched into ashes the fruit?
Made her allurement a terror,
Poisoned the sweets of her breath,
Wrought of her beauty a horror,
Wrote on her loveliness “Death?”
Are there not times in our being,
Moments that lure us along,
Rich with all treasures of seeing,
Rich with all thrillings of song;
With the gleam of the eye that rejoices,
Whose look is a whispering sweet,
With the liquidest singing of voices,
And the dreamiest dancing of feet?
Moments that lure us along,
Rich with all treasures of seeing,
Rich with all thrillings of song;
With the gleam of the eye that rejoices,
Whose look is a whispering sweet,
With the liquidest singing of voices,
And the dreamiest dancing of feet?
And they weave their enchantments to win us,
And woo us to float with the tide,
When lo! there arises within us
A strength, a resistance, a pride,
And the need of a vaster desire,
And a scorn for the pleasuring throng,
And we clasp our own selves, and aspire,
Conscious and lonely and strong.
And woo us to float with the tide,
When lo! there arises within us
A strength, a resistance, a pride,
And the need of a vaster desire,
And a scorn for the pleasuring throng,
And we clasp our own selves, and aspire,
Conscious and lonely and strong.
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Was it this feeling transmuted,
Witched by my dream into dread,
Held me there eager, yet rooted,—
Loathing, yet loth to have fled?
Told me those kisses were killing;
Each sound she uttered a knell;
Each gentle whisper, each thrilling
Accent a mutter from Hell?
Witched by my dream into dread,
Held me there eager, yet rooted,—
Loathing, yet loth to have fled?
Told me those kisses were killing;
Each sound she uttered a knell;
Each gentle whisper, each thrilling
Accent a mutter from Hell?
Was it? My vision is clouded—
Who when he wakes with the day
Knows through what world mist-enshrouded
Wandered his soul when away?
Far lands when sunlight is sinking
Awake to new life in its beams,
And far from the light of our thinking
Lies the dark country of dreams.
Who when he wakes with the day
Knows through what world mist-enshrouded
Wandered his soul when away?
Far lands when sunlight is sinking
Awake to new life in its beams,
And far from the light of our thinking
Lies the dark country of dreams.
Still she wooed—oh! how sweetly she wooed me,
And I yearned to find rest in her arms,
But sternly that power pursued me,
And it crushed and it crumbled her charms.
Yet richly her beauty upbraided
With eloquence mighty and mute,—
When lo! from mine eyes she had faded—
A phantom that baffled pursuit.
And I yearned to find rest in her arms,
But sternly that power pursued me,
And it crushed and it crumbled her charms.
Yet richly her beauty upbraided
With eloquence mighty and mute,—
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A phantom that baffled pursuit.
Then there grew drearily o'er me,
The presence of infinite dread,
Darkness was deepening before me,
Such as might dawn on the dead.
I was alone and forsaken,
Utterly, endlessly lone,
Never it seemed would there waken
The light and the life that had gone.
The presence of infinite dread,
Darkness was deepening before me,
Such as might dawn on the dead.
I was alone and forsaken,
Utterly, endlessly lone,
Never it seemed would there waken
The light and the life that had gone.
It was not the darkness that reigneth
From the dying of day to the dawn;
It told of no sunlight that waneth;
And lo! from its depths there were born
Strange things in endless procession,
A pageant that never began,
Each one some demon's expression,
Shaped as the face of a man.
From the dying of day to the dawn;
It told of no sunlight that waneth;
And lo! from its depths there were born
Strange things in endless procession,
A pageant that never began,
Each one some demon's expression,
Shaped as the face of a man.
Sighings of hopeless contrition,—
Smiles born of infinite care;—
Noddings of fiend-recognition,—
Sneers thinly veiling despair.
Wild tempest-ravings came after,
Storm-gusts low-moaning and sad,
Ghastliest wailings of laughter,
Hell-risen, meaningless, mad.
Smiles born of infinite care;—
Noddings of fiend-recognition,—
Sneers thinly veiling despair.
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Storm-gusts low-moaning and sad,
Ghastliest wailings of laughter,
Hell-risen, meaningless, mad.
Then the storm lulled, and the faces
Passed into darkness again,
Leaving a void in their places,
Fathomless, empty and vain.
Till—softly—like angel caresses—
Out of the depths of my doom
Floated the light of brown tresses,
Grew out sweet eyes from the gloom,
Passed into darkness again,
Leaving a void in their places,
Fathomless, empty and vain.
Till—softly—like angel caresses—
Out of the depths of my doom
Floated the light of brown tresses,
Grew out sweet eyes from the gloom,
Came from afar and grew nearer,
Melting the shades of the night,
Dawned on me clearer and clearer,
A sunrise of Heavenly light:
Some Angel of Love had descended,
That breathed on me, smiled on me, spoke;
And I knew that my horror was ended,
And laughing for gladness, I woke.
Melting the shades of the night,
Dawned on me clearer and clearer,
A sunrise of Heavenly light:
Some Angel of Love had descended,
That breathed on me, smiled on me, spoke;
And I knew that my horror was ended,
And laughing for gladness, I woke.
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THE SHRINE OF LOVE.
I hung a wreath on the shrine of Love:
Of the hopes of my heart I made it,
Of tender doubtings, and happy fears,
And thrillings of gladness, and mists of tears,
That rise when the soul is sweetly stirred;
And I vowed, and my vow the Angels heard,
That no lapse of time should fade it.
Of the hopes of my heart I made it,
Of tender doubtings, and happy fears,
And thrillings of gladness, and mists of tears,
That rise when the soul is sweetly stirred;
And I vowed, and my vow the Angels heard,
That no lapse of time should fade it.
I hung a wreath on the shrine of Love,
Ah! fair were the flowers that met there;
How sweetly they blended their scent and hue!
And the fond Forget-me-not's limpid blue
Encircled them all in a magic ring,
And I knew they were safe in its prisoning—
There was nought that I could forget there.
Ah! fair were the flowers that met there;
How sweetly they blended their scent and hue!
And the fond Forget-me-not's limpid blue
Encircled them all in a magic ring,
And I knew they were safe in its prisoning—
There was nought that I could forget there.
And once I went to the shrine of Love,—
From my heart fresh flowerets giving:
There hung a wreath by my own wreath's side,
And I knew whose fingers the flowers had tied,
And the colours mingled in harmony
Till wreath into wreath seemed half to die—
Death sweet beyond all living.
From my heart fresh flowerets giving:
There hung a wreath by my own wreath's side,
And I knew whose fingers the flowers had tied,
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Till wreath into wreath seemed half to die—
Death sweet beyond all living.
Again I went to the shrine of Love,
And I found that the wreaths were fading;
The colours were dying, and some were dead,
And the blended odours had well-nigh fled,
And wrinkled and sere was each budding cup,
And the blue Forget-me-not looked up
With meek, mute eye upbraiding.
And I found that the wreaths were fading;
The colours were dying, and some were dead,
And the blended odours had well-nigh fled,
And wrinkled and sere was each budding cup,
And the blue Forget-me-not looked up
With meek, mute eye upbraiding.
I turned away from the shrine of Love,
And the world grew dark before me;
For my heart, I knew, was twined with the wreath,
And I bowed my head, and I prayed for Death,
And with faltering lips my grief I spoke,
Till a sudden light on my darkness broke—
For an angel was standing o'er me.
And the world grew dark before me;
For my heart, I knew, was twined with the wreath,
And I bowed my head, and I prayed for Death,
And with faltering lips my grief I spoke,
Till a sudden light on my darkness broke—
For an angel was standing o'er me.
He bade me go to the shrine of Love;
And he said, “What led thee hither?
Love dwells not here; thou must take away
The wreath that is hanging in drear decay,
And bring it to God, and where'er He tells
There hang it up, for where true Love dwells
No wreath can ever wither.”
And he said, “What led thee hither?
Love dwells not here; thou must take away
The wreath that is hanging in drear decay,
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There hang it up, for where true Love dwells
No wreath can ever wither.”
I took the wreath from my shrine of Love:
I did as the angel had bidden:
I prayed from my heart one yearning prayer,
And opened my eyes, and was standing there
In the very temple of Love Divine,
And I hung my withered wreath on the shrine,
And the wreath from my eyes was hidden.
I did as the angel had bidden:
I prayed from my heart one yearning prayer,
And opened my eyes, and was standing there
In the very temple of Love Divine,
And I hung my withered wreath on the shrine,
And the wreath from my eyes was hidden.
Again I went to the shrine of Love,
And in sudden joy I started,
For there was that wreath I had left behind,
With its flowers fresh as when newly twined,
And my own linked with it in sweet embrace—
And I knew they were in Love's dwelling-place—
I knew they would ne'er be parted.
And in sudden joy I started,
For there was that wreath I had left behind,
With its flowers fresh as when newly twined,
And my own linked with it in sweet embrace—
And I knew they were in Love's dwelling-place—
I knew they would ne'er be parted.
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TO DEATH.
Come when the chill breeze shivers
At the grey cold dawning of day:
Come when the sunset glory
Is fading faintly away:
Come in the depths of midnight,
Come in the blaze of noon,
Come in the glimmer of starlight,
Come to me soon—oh! soon.
At the grey cold dawning of day:
Come when the sunset glory
Is fading faintly away:
Come in the depths of midnight,
Come in the blaze of noon,
Come in the glimmer of starlight,
Come to me soon—oh! soon.
Come with thy stillness and slumber;
I am weary of drawing breath;
Come with thy deep, dread darkness,
Come to me sweet, sweet Death.
I am weary of drawing breath;
Come with thy deep, dread darkness,
Come to me sweet, sweet Death.
Come when the frosts are loosened
By the magic touch of spring,
And I wait for the far off May-time
With its budding, and blossoming.
Come when the summer meadows
Are scented, and warm, and bright,
And I watch how the shadows lengthen,
And know it will soon be night.
By the magic touch of spring,
And I wait for the far off May-time
With its budding, and blossoming.
Come when the summer meadows
Are scented, and warm, and bright,
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And know it will soon be night.
Come when the soaking showers
Weep through the autumn woods,
And I think how the flow'rs have faded
That laughed in those solitudes.
Come when the blasts of winter
Are bleak, and piercing, and cold,
And tell of some frozen sorrow
Deep-hidden, unwept, untold.
Weep through the autumn woods,
And I think how the flow'rs have faded
That laughed in those solitudes.
Come when the blasts of winter
Are bleak, and piercing, and cold,
And tell of some frozen sorrow
Deep-hidden, unwept, untold.
Come to me grey and endless;
I am weary of drawing breath;
Unchanged with the changing seasons,
Draw near to me quiet Death.
I am weary of drawing breath;
Unchanged with the changing seasons,
Draw near to me quiet Death.
Come when my blood is fevered
With the frenzy, and whirl, and rush,
Where the weak are swept with the current,
And trampled down in the crush.
Come when my brain is wearied
Of thinking its riddle out;
And baffled, and mocked, and wildered,
And meshed in a maze of doubt.
With the frenzy, and whirl, and rush,
Where the weak are swept with the current,
And trampled down in the crush.
Come when my brain is wearied
Of thinking its riddle out;
And baffled, and mocked, and wildered,
And meshed in a maze of doubt.
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Come when my heart is tired
Of chasing the phantom light,
That is still behind and before it,
And beckons and fades from sight.
Come when my soul is bleeding
That wanders in search of God,
And torn by the clinging briars,
And bruised by the chastening rod.
Of chasing the phantom light,
That is still behind and before it,
And beckons and fades from sight.
Come when my soul is bleeding
That wanders in search of God,
And torn by the clinging briars,
And bruised by the chastening rod.
Come to me, calm me, cool me;
I am weary of drawing breath;
Kiss my brow till it aches no longer,
Be kind to me, gentle Death.
I am weary of drawing breath;
Kiss my brow till it aches no longer,
Be kind to me, gentle Death.
Come most to me when Love falters,
When heaven's own brightness pales,
When the fire on the holiest altars
Burns low, and flickers, and fails.
Oh! come to me then, come quickly;
I am weary of drawing breath;
Oh! fold me, clasp me, and take me,
I have need of thee, dear, dark Death.
When heaven's own brightness pales,
When the fire on the holiest altars
Burns low, and flickers, and fails.
Oh! come to me then, come quickly;
I am weary of drawing breath;
Oh! fold me, clasp me, and take me,
I have need of thee, dear, dark Death.
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DE PROFUNDIS.
Ever when the western sky is burning
With the splendour of the sinking sun,
There awakes in me a passionate yearning
For the light that heart has never won.
With the splendour of the sinking sun,
There awakes in me a passionate yearning
For the light that heart has never won.
And I watch the mystic glow of even
In its fitful beauty round me shed,
On the fir-stems where their roof is riven,
On the banks of heather ripe and red;
In its fitful beauty round me shed,
On the fir-stems where their roof is riven,
On the banks of heather ripe and red;
On the rich green meadows by the river,
On the foliage of the hanging trees,
On the stream unruffled by the shiver
Of the scarce awakening evening breeze.
On the foliage of the hanging trees,
On the stream unruffled by the shiver
Of the scarce awakening evening breeze.
And I long with still intense desire,
With a strength that none may ever know,
Long to bathe me in that flood of fire,
Long to be transfigured by that glow.
With a strength that none may ever know,
Long to bathe me in that flood of fire,
Long to be transfigured by that glow.
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Then I follow it, but cannot find it:
See 'tis shining—I will seek it there:
Ah! a moment past I was behind it—
It has vanished now, I know not where.
See 'tis shining—I will seek it there:
Ah! a moment past I was behind it—
It has vanished now, I know not where.
Then I turn my face, and it is gleaming
In the very spot where I had been—
Light—mysterious beyond all dreaming—
Nearest evermore when most unseen.
In the very spot where I had been—
Light—mysterious beyond all dreaming—
Nearest evermore when most unseen.
Well I know that when to-day has faded
Far into the years that wait for it,
It will seem no longer grey and shaded,—
No—but bathed in sunset, glory-lit.
Far into the years that wait for it,
It will seem no longer grey and shaded,—
No—but bathed in sunset, glory-lit.
Now I see the brightness of to-morrow,
And I journey towards it rich in hope,
Doomed instead to find the dusk of sor row,
Doomed through deep'ning twilight shades to grope.
And I journey towards it rich in hope,
Doomed instead to find the dusk of sor row,
Doomed through deep'ning twilight shades to grope.
Once it seemed that I was strangely near it:
Joyously I went to where it shone:
Ah! the fault was in my wayward spirit—
When I gained the glow, the glow had gone.
Joyously I went to where it shone:
Ah! the fault was in my wayward spirit—
When I gained the glow, the glow had gone.
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Peace—oh! peace—the day is fast declining,
Faintly fades away the mystic light:
Ay, and even now the moon is shining,
And the fields are damp, and cold, and white.
Faintly fades away the mystic light:
Ay, and even now the moon is shining,
And the fields are damp, and cold, and white.
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IN LOVE WITH LOVE.
Oh! my darling, when your eyes were gleaming
Out of lustrous darkness full on me,
Did I ever dream that they were dreaming
Of what had not been, and what might be?
Out of lustrous darkness full on me,
Did I ever dream that they were dreaming
Of what had not been, and what might be?
Of what might have been, but will be never,
For life's current swept our souls apart,
Joined us for awhile that it might sever,
Whirled us in a moment heart from heart.
For life's current swept our souls apart,
Joined us for awhile that it might sever,
Whirled us in a moment heart from heart.
Did I ever think your mind was thinking,
Dearest, of the thoughts that stirred in mine?
Did your eyes drink in what mine were drinking,
While I watched and waited for a sign?
Dearest, of the thoughts that stirred in mine?
Did your eyes drink in what mine were drinking,
While I watched and waited for a sign?
Was it so, and has it all no meaning?
Does life's failure hang so sure a screen?
Can it be that long years intervening
Make the past as it had never been?
Does life's failure hang so sure a screen?
Can it be that long years intervening
Make the past as it had never been?
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Was it nothing that, when day had ended,
And my soul was dreaming and astray,
Your sweet face was somehow strangely blended
With each shifting scene that marked its way?
And my soul was dreaming and astray,
Your sweet face was somehow strangely blended
With each shifting scene that marked its way?
Was it nothing that your bright eyes floated
Through the darkness as I lay awake?
Nothing that your shadowy form I noted
In the glimmer of the wan day-break?
Through the darkness as I lay awake?
Nothing that your shadowy form I noted
In the glimmer of the wan day-break?
What was each of these but Love's true token?
Are they meaningless—then Love is nought;
Dead, forsooth because her vows are broken,
Killed by gaining all that she had sought.
Are they meaningless—then Love is nought;
Dead, forsooth because her vows are broken,
Killed by gaining all that she had sought.
No—it cannot be; Love lives for ever—
Love the very glory of God's face—
Though her enemies, with dark endeavour,
League to break her beauty, mar her grace;
Love the very glory of God's face—
Though her enemies, with dark endeavour,
League to break her beauty, mar her grace;
Tearing from her arms what she would cherish,
Turning cold each heart that she would wed;
Yet it cannot be that Love should perish,
She is living when we deem her dead.
Turning cold each heart that she would wed;
Yet it cannot be that Love should perish,
She is living when we deem her dead.
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Dead and knelled by mocking demon laughter,
But her truest life is born of Death,
Life that grows into the great Hereafter,
Till men breathe her in at every breath.
But her truest life is born of Death,
Life that grows into the great Hereafter,
Till men breathe her in at every breath.
And I loved—and you, my own! my dearest!
Loved, and both of us with hearts aflame
Reached forth yearning hands to what was nearest,
Eager to embrace whatever came.
Loved, and both of us with hearts aflame
Reached forth yearning hands to what was nearest,
Eager to embrace whatever came.
Yes, for was it not that wondrous season,
When the inner Being wakes from sleep,
And wild Fancy, spurning calmer Reason,
Boldly springs into the airy deep?
When the inner Being wakes from sleep,
And wild Fancy, spurning calmer Reason,
Boldly springs into the airy deep?
Then I, fierce with fervent aspiration,
Crossed your pathway, and you saw me pass;
And you clothed me with your heart's creation,
With a beauty more than mine, alas!
Crossed your pathway, and you saw me pass;
And you clothed me with your heart's creation,
With a beauty more than mine, alas!
And you turned on me such eyes of yearning,
That I failed for longing and delight;
For, I thought, the soul is surely burning
Through those orbs that are so strangely bright.
That I failed for longing and delight;
For, I thought, the soul is surely burning
Through those orbs that are so strangely bright.
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And I drew your soul to mine and kissed it,
Kissed, and held it in a long embrace,
Clinging close to it,—but once I missed it,
And my arms were clasping empty space.
Kissed, and held it in a long embrace,
Clinging close to it,—but once I missed it,
And my arms were clasping empty space.
Was it strange that, when our souls were waking,
We should grasp at light beyond our reach;
Dream, perchance, that heart for heart was breaking,
Dream that we were yearning, each for each?
We should grasp at light beyond our reach;
Dream, perchance, that heart for heart was breaking,
Dream that we were yearning, each for each?
Till, as from an evil dream, you started,
Slowly faltering, “it can never be;”
For your love like slumber had departed,
And you tore away your heart from me:—
Slowly faltering, “it can never be;”
For your love like slumber had departed,
And you tore away your heart from me:—
Me—not me—for oh! you never knew me,
Never dug into the depths within:
I was shy, and you were slow to woo me,
Till you deemed that there was nought to win.
Never dug into the depths within:
I was shy, and you were slow to woo me,
Till you deemed that there was nought to win.
Child! I bless you, though you love no longer,
Bless you for the love that once you bore;—
Flows the river fuller, deeper, stronger,
Though the flooding showers fall no more.
Bless you for the love that once you bore;—
Flows the river fuller, deeper, stronger,
Though the flooding showers fall no more.
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As a thunder cloud in gorge of mountain,
Darkening day with many a vivid gleam,
Strikes the cradle of some thirsty fountain,
Startles into life the trickling stream;—
Darkening day with many a vivid gleam,
Strikes the cradle of some thirsty fountain,
Startles into life the trickling stream;—
Till from rock to rock the torrent roaring,
Flashing onwards with resistless might,
Thunders to the vale beneath it, pouring
Foam and fury down its craggy course.
Flashing onwards with resistless might,
Thunders to the vale beneath it, pouring
Foam and fury down its craggy course.
So the fervour of my sudden passion
Quickened all the fountains of my love,
Filled and fed them in unwonted fashion,
Hurled them seawards from the heights above.
Quickened all the fountains of my love,
Filled and fed them in unwonted fashion,
Hurled them seawards from the heights above.
Now the stream, its foam and fury ended,
In calm majesty that is not sleep,
Journeys onward waiting to be blended
With the limitlessly rolling deep.
In calm majesty that is not sleep,
Journeys onward waiting to be blended
With the limitlessly rolling deep.
Dream not dearest that my heart is colder;
Though no more its whitening waters dash
'Gainst the barrier of each broken boulder,
Though no more they froth and foam and flash;
Though no more its whitening waters dash
'Gainst the barrier of each broken boulder,
Though no more they froth and foam and flash;
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Still the river of my love is rushing,
Gathering force and fulness as it goes,
Pure as when its infant wave was gushing
From the storm-girt cradle whence it flows—
Gathering force and fulness as it goes,
Pure as when its infant wave was gushing
From the storm-girt cradle whence it flows—
Yes, it flows, and love was never aimless,
Yet I know not what I pant to gain,
For the mistress of my heart is nameless,
And to find her is to lose again.
Yet I know not what I pant to gain,
For the mistress of my heart is nameless,
And to find her is to lose again.
And the light of life is ever fleeing;
Still I follow it—my faith is strong:
I shall somewhere find the phantom being,
That has led and lured me on so long.
Still I follow it—my faith is strong:
I shall somewhere find the phantom being,
That has led and lured me on so long.
Dark the way through which I needs must travel;
Little do I know of now or then:
Tangled is the maze I must unravel;
Wide the world that lies beyond my ken.
Little do I know of now or then:
Tangled is the maze I must unravel;
Wide the world that lies beyond my ken.
And my heart, whose hopes seem born to perish,
Waits for guiding light from Heav'n above:
Only this I know, and this I cherish,—
I am evermore in love with love.
Waits for guiding light from Heav'n above:
Only this I know, and this I cherish,—
I am evermore in love with love.
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TO LOVE.
Two-faced, as Janus of old, oh, Maiden! I see thee stand,
With a message to man on thy lips, and gifts in thine outstretched hand:
To each thou comest in turn; we see thee and hear thy voice,
And gaze on thy twofold beauty, and waver, and make our choice.
With a message to man on thy lips, and gifts in thine outstretched hand:
To each thou comest in turn; we see thee and hear thy voice,
And gaze on thy twofold beauty, and waver, and make our choice.
For here thou art nobly fair, and strong, and calm, and serene,
And some for a while have shrunk from the sternness of thy mien—
The sternness of strangled sorrow—but thou art not dark or drear,
For thine eyes, like the Virgin Mother's, are bright with an unwept tear.
And some for a while have shrunk from the sternness of thy mien—
The sternness of strangled sorrow—but thou art not dark or drear,
For thine eyes, like the Virgin Mother's, are bright with an unwept tear.
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But there thou art gay and beauteous, as the sunshine of April days,
Scattering light and mirth on flowery, thornless ways.
For before thee a richer verdure falls on the grassy sod,
And flowers awake behind thee, wherever thy feet have trod.
Scattering light and mirth on flowery, thornless ways.
For before thee a richer verdure falls on the grassy sod,
And flowers awake behind thee, wherever thy feet have trod.
These lips are simple of speech, and few are the words they say,
But straight to the inmost soul their message hath pierced its way;
From those there is ever flowing the murmur of laughing words,
Like the babble of woodland brooks, or the twilight chirping of birds.
But straight to the inmost soul their message hath pierced its way;
From those there is ever flowing the murmur of laughing words,
Like the babble of woodland brooks, or the twilight chirping of birds.
This face is grave and earnest, and seldom or sadly smiles;
That ripples with endless laughter, and wantons with wayward wiles.
And this with imperious grace commands the homage of hearts;
That lures with a laugh and a look, and woos with a siren's arts.
That ripples with endless laughter, and wantons with wayward wiles.
And this with imperious grace commands the homage of hearts;
That lures with a laugh and a look, and woos with a siren's arts.
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Yet thou, as the sun in heaven, that seemeth to rise and wane,
Art changeless and ever one,—'tis we who have made thee twain;
For we look behind and before: we are fashioned of gold and clay:
We are blind in the gloom of night, and blind in the blaze of day.
Art changeless and ever one,—'tis we who have made thee twain;
For we look behind and before: we are fashioned of gold and clay:
We are blind in the gloom of night, and blind in the blaze of day.
And then as the years roll on, and the struggle begins to close,
And we, who are worn and wearied, are waiting for death's repose,
We see that the earth was moving around the unchanging sun,
We know it was we who wavered, and know thee that thou art One.
And we, who are worn and wearied, are waiting for death's repose,
We see that the earth was moving around the unchanging sun,
We know it was we who wavered, and know thee that thou art One.
Then they who have only gazed on the calm and steadfast face,
And cherished its living image of mild and majestic grace,
And given their years to toiling, and waited a weary while,
In the hope of haply gaining the guerdon of one sweet smile:
And cherished its living image of mild and majestic grace,
And given their years to toiling, and waited a weary while,
In the hope of haply gaining the guerdon of one sweet smile:
174
On these thou smilest at last, as, after a stormy day,
When mists no longer threaten, and showers have passed away,
The sun bursts forth in a blaze of light on the earth below,
And the clouds are edged with glory, and deepen the evening glow.
When mists no longer threaten, and showers have passed away,
The sun bursts forth in a blaze of light on the earth below,
And the clouds are edged with glory, and deepen the evening glow.
Then the tear is a sparkling pearl; the frown is a fringe of light;
Each word is a psalm of joy, to those who listen aright;
And thine is the saintly grace of an angel of Heav'n above;
And sorrow enriches gladness, and duty is lost in Love.
Each word is a psalm of joy, to those who listen aright;
And thine is the saintly grace of an angel of Heav'n above;
And sorrow enriches gladness, and duty is lost in Love.
But they who have turned from law, and followed the siren voice,
That whispered of love unfettered, and bade them take and rejoice;
Who have yielded their deepest souls to thy soft and subtle wiles,
Contented to lie and bask in the sunshine of thy smiles.
That whispered of love unfettered, and bade them take and rejoice;
Who have yielded their deepest souls to thy soft and subtle wiles,
Contented to lie and bask in the sunshine of thy smiles.
175
Who have lived for the moment's joy, nor recked of the years beyond,—
These find they are more than slaves, and they cannot break their bond:
Loathing they labour on: their pleasures are bitter pains;
And the singing that charmed them once is the cruel clanking of chains.
These find they are more than slaves, and they cannot break their bond:
Loathing they labour on: their pleasures are bitter pains;
And the singing that charmed them once is the cruel clanking of chains.
And those sunny features of thine, that laughed like a rippling brook,
Are swept by a sudden storm; and a dark despairing look
Breaks from beneath each smile: Oh! horror—for who may tell
Of the hungry and haggard eyes of a harlot risen from Hell?
Are swept by a sudden storm; and a dark despairing look
Breaks from beneath each smile: Oh! horror—for who may tell
Of the hungry and haggard eyes of a harlot risen from Hell?
Oh! Love, for I held thee fair, dost thou change thy features so,—
Now bright as the sky above, now dark as the depths below;
When we shrink, and shudder, and tremble, is it Love in wrath we see?—
Ah! no it is thou no longer, but the awful absence of thee.
Now bright as the sky above, now dark as the depths below;
When we shrink, and shudder, and tremble, is it Love in wrath we see?—
Ah! no it is thou no longer, but the awful absence of thee.
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THE IVORY GATE.
Beautiful, burning eyes, that I have prayed to forget,
Why do you trouble my dreams? Why do you haunt me yet?
Lit, as of old, by love that shone in the vanished years
Through a mist, that else were hidden,—a lustre of happy tears,
Why do you trouble my dreams? Why do you haunt me yet?
Lit, as of old, by love that shone in the vanished years
Through a mist, that else were hidden,—a lustre of happy tears,
Lovely and laughing eyes, that I have prayed to forget,
Why do you vex my visions? Why do you haunt me yet?
Bright as of old with laughter that rippled o'er every look,
As the wayward sunbeams ripple o'er a dancing woodland brook?
Why do you vex my visions? Why do you haunt me yet?
Bright as of old with laughter that rippled o'er every look,
As the wayward sunbeams ripple o'er a dancing woodland brook?
Deep—dark—dreamy eyes, that I have prayed to forget,
Why do you break my slumber? Why do you haunt me yet?
Rapt as of old from earth, again you try to forecast
The joys of a happy future—now only a shattered past.
Why do you break my slumber? Why do you haunt me yet?
Rapt as of old from earth, again you try to forecast
The joys of a happy future—now only a shattered past.
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Sweet eyes, I scarcely marvel that you should pursue me yet,
For the soul in dreams remembers what it has prayed to forget,
Is wreathed in flowers of joyaunce, when it should be garbed in care,—
Forgets what it should remember, and hopes when it should despair.
For the soul in dreams remembers what it has prayed to forget,
Is wreathed in flowers of joyaunce, when it should be garbed in care,—
Forgets what it should remember, and hopes when it should despair.
'Tis vain, bright eyes, I cannot—I know not how to forget;
Love laughs at the lapse of ages; I love you, I love you yet.
Oh! come to me in my visions: I will bear for the brief delight
The cold grey dawn that glimmers after the dreams of night.
Love laughs at the lapse of ages; I love you, I love you yet.
Oh! come to me in my visions: I will bear for the brief delight
The cold grey dawn that glimmers after the dreams of night.
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DESIDERIA.
Hast thou ever been haunted, belovèd! I wonder
By yearnings for me,
Since that hour when the Fates tore our bosoms asunder,
And reft me of thee?
By yearnings for me,
Since that hour when the Fates tore our bosoms asunder,
And reft me of thee?
Has there come to thee ever a craving, a hunger,
A moment's regret,
For the days in the past when our spirits were younger,
Nor world-worn as yet;
A moment's regret,
For the days in the past when our spirits were younger,
Nor world-worn as yet;
When fancy was wilder and freer, nor chains of the Real
Had fettered her wings,
That soared unrestrained to the blue, the Ideal,
As a lark soars and sings?
Had fettered her wings,
That soared unrestrained to the blue, the Ideal,
As a lark soars and sings?
Dost thou ever recall, when the Heavens are flushing
With glory divine,
How, floodlike, our joy in the sunset went rushing
Through thy soul and mine?
With glory divine,
How, floodlike, our joy in the sunset went rushing
Through thy soul and mine?
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Or on sweet summer nights when the hay-scentèd river
Is starlit and still,
Or rippled perchance by the breeze's faint shiver,
Or the far distant mill;
Is starlit and still,
Or rippled perchance by the breeze's faint shiver,
Or the far distant mill;
Dost thou think how we loved it together, or ponder
How each loved it best
Because it was dear to the other to wander
Afloat on its breast?
How each loved it best
Because it was dear to the other to wander
Afloat on its breast?
Or in dark wintertide when the earth and her daughters
Lie smitten with death,
When the wind is beginning to cover the waters
With the ice of his breath;
Lie smitten with death,
When the wind is beginning to cover the waters
With the ice of his breath;
When the curtains are drawn, and the closely-barred shutters
Keep the chill darkness out,
While the rich ruddy firelight flickers and flutters
As the blasts rave without;
Keep the chill darkness out,
While the rich ruddy firelight flickers and flutters
As the blasts rave without;
When you all gather round and encircle the fire—
Sweet moments and brief!—
Does there fall from thee ever a sigh of desire,—
A teardrop of grief—
Sweet moments and brief!—
Does there fall from thee ever a sigh of desire,—
A teardrop of grief—
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For the sweet twilight hours of a frozen December,
That vanished too fast?
Is it pain to thee then, my beloved, to remember
The days that are past?
That vanished too fast?
Is it pain to thee then, my beloved, to remember
The days that are past?
Ah! my child, I have drunk of the torture of yearning
For joys that are not;—
I would pray, as I love thee, the years unreturning
Were wholly forgot.
For joys that are not;—
I would pray, as I love thee, the years unreturning
Were wholly forgot.
And yet as I loved what our lives have forsaken,
And trust in it yet,
I would pray there were hours in the past that awaken
A pang of regret.
And trust in it yet,
I would pray there were hours in the past that awaken
A pang of regret.
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A RETROSPECT.
A belt of wooded country lies
Between the mountains and the shore;
Northward the city's chimneys rise
Through smoke and glare, and in the west
Each barren, heath-empurpled crest
Is bathed in sunset as of yore.
Between the mountains and the shore;
Northward the city's chimneys rise
Through smoke and glare, and in the west
Each barren, heath-empurpled crest
Is bathed in sunset as of yore.
I see the river down below
Glide out into the broadening bay;
Between the seawalls to and fro
The many masts are moving still;
Beyond, the rugged island hill
Slopes down to rocks and whitening spray.
Glide out into the broadening bay;
Between the seawalls to and fro
The many masts are moving still;
Beyond, the rugged island hill
Slopes down to rocks and whitening spray.
The heights are veiled in violet gold;
The evening blue is on the sea;
All things are lovely as of old:
I cannot, if I would, forget,—
The very past confronts me,—yet
There is a world of change for me.
The evening blue is on the sea;
All things are lovely as of old:
I cannot, if I would, forget,—
The very past confronts me,—yet
There is a world of change for me.
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Autumnal tints and sunset hues
Are beautiful on hill and plain;
They are not ours to guard or lose—
But something from within is given,
Some faint reflected flash of Heaven,
That fades away while these remain.
Are beautiful on hill and plain;
They are not ours to guard or lose—
But something from within is given,
Some faint reflected flash of Heaven,
That fades away while these remain.
And they are changed and yet the same—
The light that sparkles on the shower,—
The subtle and æthereal flame,
That dying, mocks our vain pursuit,
That is the bloom upon the fruit,—
The scent of April on the flower,—
The light that sparkles on the shower,—
The subtle and æthereal flame,
That dying, mocks our vain pursuit,
That is the bloom upon the fruit,—
The scent of April on the flower,—
Is swift to go, as swift to come;
Some kindred spirit is estranged—
Some dear familiar lips are dumb,—
Eyes that lit up my life with love,
No longer beacon from above—
And all they looked upon is changed.
Some kindred spirit is estranged—
Some dear familiar lips are dumb,—
Eyes that lit up my life with love,
No longer beacon from above—
And all they looked upon is changed.
Oh! strength of habit, how my feet
Obedient to thy guidance move,
For thou art strong because so sweet,—
Though wrapped in silence and in dreams,
I wander aimless, yet it seems
I hold a purpose while I rove.
Obedient to thy guidance move,
For thou art strong because so sweet,—
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I wander aimless, yet it seems
I hold a purpose while I rove.
Born in another happier time,
Unconscious habit be my guide;
I need not woo thee in my rhyme,
If I forget thee thou wilt stay;—
Ah, whither leads this winding way,
With shadowing trees on either side?
Unconscious habit be my guide;
I need not woo thee in my rhyme,
If I forget thee thou wilt stay;—
Ah, whither leads this winding way,
With shadowing trees on either side?
Oh! surely to the woodland flowers,
That decked the springtide of my days;
Oh! surely to the sweetest hours
That ever lit the lamp of joy;
No depth of darkness can destroy
Those pure, imperishable rays.
That decked the springtide of my days;
Oh! surely to the sweetest hours
That ever lit the lamp of joy;
No depth of darkness can destroy
Those pure, imperishable rays.
I follow, follow to my fate—
Now leftward down the gentle slope,
Then pass the little iron gate,
And climb the steps, and stand again
With throbbing heart that throbs in vain
With memory—Ah! where is hope?
Now leftward down the gentle slope,
Then pass the little iron gate,
And climb the steps, and stand again
With throbbing heart that throbs in vain
With memory—Ah! where is hope?
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But dare I pass within the door
Even in fancy, for within
The phantom of long years before
Is waiting for me? Dare I pray
The intervening years away?
The years of falsehood and of sin.
Even in fancy, for within
The phantom of long years before
Is waiting for me? Dare I pray
The intervening years away?
The years of falsehood and of sin.
Yes, for my soul is all athirst
To wander through the woodland ways;
Yes, for my life is so accurst
With darker memories, that I
Yearn for the blissful agony
Of bringing back beloved days.
To wander through the woodland ways;
Yes, for my life is so accurst
With darker memories, that I
Yearn for the blissful agony
Of bringing back beloved days.
Torture it may be to rejoice,
But death in life to stand without:
I see the form—I hear the voice,
Whose accents thrilled my boyish blood,
Till the soul rolled a fuller flood,
And deepened and grew grandly out.
But death in life to stand without:
I see the form—I hear the voice,
Whose accents thrilled my boyish blood,
Till the soul rolled a fuller flood,
And deepened and grew grandly out.
Oh! wondrous waking-time of life,
How sweet thou art when thou art near,
And oh! how sweeter when the strife
Of manhood comes, and summer's heat
To autumn sunsets leads the feet,—
To icy winter dead and drear.
How sweet thou art when thou art near,
And oh! how sweeter when the strife
185
To autumn sunsets leads the feet,—
To icy winter dead and drear.
For every flow'ret whispers love,
And every cloud and every breeze,
The cooing of the distant dove,
The rippling rustling sounds of spring,
And all those hours of blossoming,
That hang a mantle on the trees.
And every cloud and every breeze,
The cooing of the distant dove,
The rippling rustling sounds of spring,
And all those hours of blossoming,
That hang a mantle on the trees.
And each new flutter of delight,
Each thrill of vague and aimless hope,
Each waking vision in the night,
Each flash from bright, beloved eyes
Of sympathy,—each sweet surprise
That gains the soul a freer scope,
Each thrill of vague and aimless hope,
Each waking vision in the night,
Each flash from bright, beloved eyes
Of sympathy,—each sweet surprise
That gains the soul a freer scope,
Is as a dancing mountain beck,
That springs from some half-hidden source
'Mid heather or the mossy wreck
Of shattered stones, then hurries down,—
With waters crystal-clear and brown—
A wayward, wild, impetuous course,
That springs from some half-hidden source
'Mid heather or the mossy wreck
Of shattered stones, then hurries down,—
With waters crystal-clear and brown—
A wayward, wild, impetuous course,
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To join the stream of Love, whose might
Is in the mingling of the flow
Of many brooklets; none aright
Point to its one and truest fount—
Such morning mists enwrap the mount,
We can but know the vale below.
Is in the mingling of the flow
Of many brooklets; none aright
Point to its one and truest fount—
Such morning mists enwrap the mount,
We can but know the vale below.
And well I knew through what a glen
Of wood, and rock, and verdurous sod,
My stream of Love was wandering then,
And in each lisping sound it gave,
I caught a murmur from the wave
Of the eternal love of God,—
Of wood, and rock, and verdurous sod,
My stream of Love was wandering then,
And in each lisping sound it gave,
I caught a murmur from the wave
Of the eternal love of God,—
The ocean rolling far away,
Wherein all rivers rest at last:
Oft has my spirit yearned to pray—
Yet knew the prayer were madly vain—
That it might trace the stream again
In windings through the precious past;
Wherein all rivers rest at last:
Oft has my spirit yearned to pray—
Yet knew the prayer were madly vain—
That it might trace the stream again
In windings through the precious past;
From where its fuller flood began
Until a spongy, porous soil
Absorbed its waters, and it ran
Through sunless gloom without a ray
Of rippling radiance half-astray
To bless its endless, onward toil.
Until a spongy, porous soil
Absorbed its waters, and it ran
187
Of rippling radiance half-astray
To bless its endless, onward toil.
I feared those caverns lost to light;—
No swallow brushed it with its wing,
No waterfowl with plashy plight
Ruffled it—no forget-me-not,
Or golden lily lay afloat
Swayed with its dreamy murmuring.
No swallow brushed it with its wing,
No waterfowl with plashy plight
Ruffled it—no forget-me-not,
Or golden lily lay afloat
Swayed with its dreamy murmuring.
I feared to leave the light and grope
Blinded wherever love might go—
For is there love uncheered by hope?
And could the woman's heart unbend
To the boy's ardour, or descend
Like moonlight on the land below?
Blinded wherever love might go—
For is there love uncheered by hope?
And could the woman's heart unbend
To the boy's ardour, or descend
Like moonlight on the land below?
“Never,” I answered, and my soul
Was stirred to trouble; then I sought
By wilful efforts to control
Its destiny, and draw aside
The tangled mazes of its tide,
So with deliberate hands I wrought,
Was stirred to trouble; then I sought
By wilful efforts to control
Its destiny, and draw aside
The tangled mazes of its tide,
So with deliberate hands I wrought,
188
Cleaving a channel broad and deep
Between the river and the slopes:
With joy I watched the waters sweep
Out of the old familiar bed,
Till the new waterway was fed,
And filled beyond my highest hopes.
Between the river and the slopes:
With joy I watched the waters sweep
Out of the old familiar bed,
Till the new waterway was fed,
And filled beyond my highest hopes.
Ah! Love herself must cleave her way,
Or she will never flow aright;
The work went on for many a day,
Then grew a toil, and in the end
A reef of rocks, I could not rend,
Rose grimly up in Love's despite.
Or she will never flow aright;
The work went on for many a day,
Then grew a toil, and in the end
A reef of rocks, I could not rend,
Rose grimly up in Love's despite.
Then in a moment from my eyes
Fell scales of blindness, and I scanned
My wasted work: no bright blue skies
Were mirrored in a crystal stream,
And nowhere could I catch the gleam
Of pebbles set in silver sand.
Fell scales of blindness, and I scanned
My wasted work: no bright blue skies
Were mirrored in a crystal stream,
And nowhere could I catch the gleam
Of pebbles set in silver sand.
No life flowed on—No current swum—
But level cuts and stagnant pools,
Wearing a green and clammy scum
Of matted weeds, were all I saw:
Oh! might of violated law,—
Oh! broken self-avenging rules.
But level cuts and stagnant pools,
Wearing a green and clammy scum
189
Oh! might of violated law,—
Oh! broken self-avenging rules.
Oh! Love, I knew thee fierce, aflame,
A lurid-red and baleful star;
A rush of passionate yearning came
For the dim distant Ocean shore,
Lost—lost to me for evermore,
And mighty murmurs, faint and far,
A lurid-red and baleful star;
A rush of passionate yearning came
For the dim distant Ocean shore,
Lost—lost to me for evermore,
And mighty murmurs, faint and far,
Seemed ever echoing in my soul;
And in my fancy I could see
The free, unbounded billows roll,
And knew my being's inmost tide
Had ceased to flow, and could not glide
Down into Love's eternity.
And in my fancy I could see
The free, unbounded billows roll,
And knew my being's inmost tide
Had ceased to flow, and could not glide
Down into Love's eternity.
Oh! Love; pure love! oh! light of Heaven,
Even in anger bearing bliss,
Surely that yearning rush was given
By thee in mercy: surely thou
Wert calm and kindly then as now,
But I was blind and saw amiss.
Even in anger bearing bliss,
Surely that yearning rush was given
By thee in mercy: surely thou
Wert calm and kindly then as now,
But I was blind and saw amiss.
190
This is thy vengeance, when we hide
Our hearts from thee—thou drawest nigh
Once and once only to our side
In majesty of loveliness,
And to our brow thy lips dost press
Murmuring, “Kiss me or I die:”
Our hearts from thee—thou drawest nigh
Once and once only to our side
In majesty of loveliness,
And to our brow thy lips dost press
Murmuring, “Kiss me or I die:”
And if thou diest what are we
But frozen blocks of lifeless stone?
Oh! in that very agony
Of passionate, self-answered prayer,
It was thy face divinely fair
That came and blest me lost and lone.
But frozen blocks of lifeless stone?
Oh! in that very agony
Of passionate, self-answered prayer,
It was thy face divinely fair
That came and blest me lost and lone.
Ay, and the river long forgot
In limestone caverns lost to view
Was flowing, though I knew it not,
Was flowing ever, on and on,
Until at last the daylight shone,
And on its waters broke the blue.
In limestone caverns lost to view
Was flowing, though I knew it not,
Was flowing ever, on and on,
Until at last the daylight shone,
And on its waters broke the blue.
Then from a thousand springs it gushed
New into being, as unseen
Some Titan ocean stream has rushed
Out of its giant fountain head,
And welled along its coiling bed
Down walls of water, cold and green.
New into being, as unseen
Some Titan ocean stream has rushed
191
And welled along its coiling bed
Down walls of water, cold and green.
Oh! just return to see aright
The sin and treason of the soul,
And love beside it dazzling white,
To clasp her and be clasping still,
And know her passed beyond the will,
Beyond the conscious, false control.
The sin and treason of the soul,
And love beside it dazzling white,
To clasp her and be clasping still,
And know her passed beyond the will,
Beyond the conscious, false control.
I have no hope, but such as lives
In sweet and infinite desire,
Or such as blessèd memory gives,
Fair as the promise of the morn,
That burns, before the night be born,
In the autumnal sunset fire.
In sweet and infinite desire,
Or such as blessèd memory gives,
Fair as the promise of the morn,
That burns, before the night be born,
In the autumnal sunset fire.
No hope, alas! of love's return,
But endless hope, oh! love in thee;
And hope shall lean on thee, and learn
Thy language, “Be not sick to feed
Each narrow momentary need,
But be content and lean on me.”
But endless hope, oh! love in thee;
And hope shall lean on thee, and learn
Thy language, “Be not sick to feed
Each narrow momentary need,
But be content and lean on me.”
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No hope—and now the waters wide
Are salt and bitter to the taste;
Ay—but that tells how far the tide
Of Ocean eager, uncontrolled
Into the river's heart is rolled
Through level marsh, or sandy waste.
Are salt and bitter to the taste;
Ay—but that tells how far the tide
Of Ocean eager, uncontrolled
Into the river's heart is rolled
Through level marsh, or sandy waste.
It whispers of the living rest,
The passion-pulse of life to be,
When we are clasped to Love's own breast.—
When somewhere, somewhere far below
We floating down no more shall know
Which is the stream and which the sea.
The passion-pulse of life to be,
When we are clasped to Love's own breast.—
When somewhere, somewhere far below
We floating down no more shall know
Which is the stream and which the sea.
193
THE COAST OF CLARE.
FOUR SONNETS.
I.—LISCANNOR BAY.
Two walls of precipices black and steep,The storm-lashed ramparts of a naked land,
Are parted here by leagues of lonely sand
That make a bay; and up it ever creep
Billowy ocean ripples half asleep,
That cast a belt of foam along the strand,
Seething and white, and wake in cadence grand
The everlasting thunder of the deep.
And there is never silence on that shore—
Alike in storm and calm foam-fringes gird
Its desolation, and the Atlantic's roar
Makes mighty music. Though the sea be stirred
By scarce a breath of breeze, yet evermore
The sands are whitened, and the thunder heard.
194
II.—NEAR KILKEE.
I once did wander on a misty dayIn solitary mood along the verge
Of those dark cliffs that hear the mournful dirge
Of billows breaking in Intrinsic Bay;
Far, far below rose sheets of blinding spray
Flung from the waves that ceaselessly submerge
The fallen fragments of the cliffs, and surge,
And foam, and boil, and then are sucked away.
White sea-mists hid the waters waste and wide:
The winds were hushed, yet broke eternally
The melancholy thunder of the sea,
That voice of solitude: companionless
I wandered on: there reigned on every side
The majesty of utter loneliness.
195
III.—LOOP HEAD.
A sheer surf-beaten island fronts the shore,Close to the headland cliffs, whence stormy waves
Have rent it: there the sea imprisoned raves
Between dark dungeon walls, and evermore
Deep in that chasm, with sullen booming roar,
Comes surging in a rushing raging tide,
That pants and boils, and climbs each dripping side,
Then sinks as madly as it rose before.
Beyond, bright crests of ocean waves are tost
Into the far faint haze that ends the view:
Northward, the headlands of a rocky coast
Are white with surf—while southward, broad and blue,
The Shannon rolls, in tranquil majesty,
Into the billows of the boundless sea.
196
IV.—FROM THE CLIFFS OF BALTARD.
Across the heaving ocean's billowy flow,Lie paths of gold that deepen into red:
The west is bright: black storm-clouds overhead
Give a strange sweetness to the evening glow.
The swell of the Atlantic breaks below,
With thunderous resonance: long lines of white
Tell where the iron coast beats back the might
Of stormy seas:—dark headlands fringed with snow—
From blue Loophead to Arran's sunken strand—
Deep gloomy precipice-encircled bays,
Sheer craggy islets, flats of whitened sand,
Are all scarce dimmed by veils of purpling haze:
While somewhere in the glory of the west
Lie the enchanted islands of the blest.
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