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Lyric and Elegiac Poems.
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WORDSWORTH.
O thou who labourest in life's weary ways,With eyes grown dim in unavailing gaze
For some dim goal that ever seems to flee,
Some mocking shade of fruitless phantasy—
If but thy soul can vibrate in reply
To air-borne spells of potent poesy,
If of thyself thou canst indeed rejoice
To hear the mighty Mother's solemn voice—
Come, whosoe'er thou art, and rest thy head
Where Wordsworth bears thee to a mountain bed:
There are wild flowers, more fair than gardens grow,
That on moist rock and breezy moorland blow,
Parnassian stars of tender-veinëd white,
Or frail anemones, the spring's delight,
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And, best of all, the wind-swept heather's breath.
There shalt thou hear the happy summer through
The unwearying murmur of the stock-dove's coo,
Or else, more wondrous for the poet's word,
‘At once far off and near,’ the cuckoo-bird.
And herewithal shall come to thee the sound
Of crag-born waters falling aye around,
Where fern and birch beside the amber pool
Quiver in bright spray of the torrent cool.
And when from that fair couch thou shalt arise,
His hand shall lead thee on toward the skies.
Then higher yet, beyond the voice of rills,
Drink in the holy silence of the hills.
There tarrying late thou first shalt know aright
The choral starry congress of the night:
And thy still soul in free exulting awe
Shall feel the majesty of duteous law.
No farther needs the hand that led thee on,
Thou art alone, thy gentle guide is gone.
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Plunged in the world, thy weary heart may sigh,
Shall that kind poet lead thee forth again
To those calm heights, and ease thee of thy pain.
Therefore for ever let his name be blest,
For tired souls sought him, and he gave them rest.
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A GARDEN FABLE.
A bird once loved a flower,
The flower shrank afraid;
Her life so brief an hour
Had gemmed the garden glade.
The flower shrank afraid;
Her life so brief an hour
Had gemmed the garden glade.
Each day the bird returning
Sang to her long and long:
More tender notes and burning
Were never poured in song.
Sang to her long and long:
More tender notes and burning
Were never poured in song.
Still seemed she unrelenting,
Though half her heart was won:
Heart-chilled, the bird lamenting
Flew forth through wind and sun.
Though half her heart was won:
Heart-chilled, the bird lamenting
Flew forth through wind and sun.
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Quick goer and quick comer,
He roved with changing flight;
In cares and joys of summer
Forgot his first delight.
He roved with changing flight;
In cares and joys of summer
Forgot his first delight.
Of many a phase and fashion
The after songs he sung,
But ne'er so pure a passion
As when the year was young.
The after songs he sung,
But ne'er so pure a passion
As when the year was young.
The flower still unfolding
Beneath the lengthening days
Gathered from all beholding
Wonder and love and praise.
Beneath the lengthening days
Gathered from all beholding
Wonder and love and praise.
Yet still her heart was lonely;
Though gayer birds might sing,
One voice she longed for only,
That voice she heard in spring.
Though gayer birds might sing,
One voice she longed for only,
That voice she heard in spring.
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But when the winter slew her
She ne'er had heard again
That song the west wind blew her,
That pure and eager strain.
She ne'er had heard again
That song the west wind blew her,
That pure and eager strain.
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AN EXILE.
Ah childlike soul and tender,
How came she all this way?
What fate severe could send her
To seek our dreary day?
How came she all this way?
What fate severe could send her
To seek our dreary day?
Or did compassion draw her
To this dim world of care,
That all might know who saw her
Her home was otherwhere?
To this dim world of care,
That all might know who saw her
Her home was otherwhere?
Our cloudy gloom clings round her,
She knows not whence she came,
The frost of life has bound her
And hates her seraph flame.
She knows not whence she came,
The frost of life has bound her
And hates her seraph flame.
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Yet halting still or speeding
Some lamp of light she bears,
While through the world unheeding
Her lonely way she fares.
Some lamp of light she bears,
While through the world unheeding
Her lonely way she fares.
For still with wistful longing
She fain would play her part,
The angel thoughts are thronging
About her wounded heart.
She fain would play her part,
The angel thoughts are thronging
About her wounded heart.
But loads her touch had lightened
For her sake heavier grow,
And souls her grace had brightened
Are darker for her woe.
For her sake heavier grow,
And souls her grace had brightened
Are darker for her woe.
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SPONSA DEO.
It is enough; let be; she may not riseTo follow with thy feet: she may not hear
Love's words or thine, only because her ear
Is hearkening some diviner harmonies.
And in the liquid depth of those pure eyes
Some inward vision of a far-off sphere
Aloof, apart, for ever holdeth her,
A virgin consecrate to holier skies.
So leave her thus, that spirit dear and fair,
Nor wronging her nor wronged, for all thy pain;
But deem thee one who, caught up unaware
Into some place of Paradise, again
Earthward must fall once more, yet still may bear
Within him echoes of the angel-strain.
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STANZAS.
The fabled sculptor's idol fair,
Whereto his spirit service kept,
By stress of love's long-ambient air
To life of glowing gladness leapt.
Whereto his spirit service kept,
By stress of love's long-ambient air
To life of glowing gladness leapt.
But thou, alas, beloved head,
Hast felt the subtle spell reversed,
The life-blood drop by drop has fled
From that bright face we knew at first.
Hast felt the subtle spell reversed,
The life-blood drop by drop has fled
From that bright face we knew at first.
Yet hast thou gained more touching grace
For all the brightness sorrow stole,
This marble beauty of thy face,
This holy sadness of thy soul.
For all the brightness sorrow stole,
This marble beauty of thy face,
This holy sadness of thy soul.
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STANZAS.
Nay, ask me not if she be wise,
Most loving heart of hearts is she,
And like a yearling babe's her eyes
Are large with love's solemnity.
Most loving heart of hearts is she,
And like a yearling babe's her eyes
Are large with love's solemnity.
‘Yet this and that were better done
Far otherwise: why dwell with dreams?’—
The gentlest words of blame begun
Fade on my lips, because it seems
Far otherwise: why dwell with dreams?’—
The gentlest words of blame begun
Fade on my lips, because it seems
As though some tender fawn had fled
Far from the herd, and glided near,
And in my hand had laid her head,
Too tired to think of doubt or fear.
Far from the herd, and glided near,
And in my hand had laid her head,
Too tired to think of doubt or fear.
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And I must rear upon the plain
Some shelter from the torrid heat,
And soothe one hour from toil and pain
That throbbing heart, those weary feet.
Some shelter from the torrid heat,
And soothe one hour from toil and pain
That throbbing heart, those weary feet.
The hour is short, the mountain-steep
Far off hath called me to depart;
Fair thing, what meanest thou to weep
And wound my all unwilling heart?
Far off hath called me to depart;
Fair thing, what meanest thou to weep
And wound my all unwilling heart?
Even hadst thou strength with me to go,
Yet by mysterious destiny
Thou no abiding aid may'st know
From any hand that eye can see.
Yet by mysterious destiny
Thou no abiding aid may'st know
From any hand that eye can see.
Ah may some aid auguster far
And some far mightier hand than mine
Lead thee where those still waters are
For which thy heart and spirit pine.
And some far mightier hand than mine
Lead thee where those still waters are
For which thy heart and spirit pine.
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It must be. Soul without a home,
This word is in thy wistful eyes,
That somewhere thy true kindred roam
The God-lit plains of Paradise.
This word is in thy wistful eyes,
That somewhere thy true kindred roam
The God-lit plains of Paradise.
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THE DOUBTS OF GRIEF.
And is she truly dear to God
Who made a thing so fair of her?
The painful path her feet have trod
Has not for that been easier.
Who made a thing so fair of her?
The painful path her feet have trod
Has not for that been easier.
Perchance beyond the barrier dim
Whereto her sad steps draw anigh
God waits for her whose eyes on him
Are waiting till their daylight die.
Whereto her sad steps draw anigh
God waits for her whose eyes on him
Are waiting till their daylight die.
Perchance, perchance—but ah, we know
Of all this nothing; it may be
That where the thin ghosts gloomward go
Is sleep, and silence utterly.
Of all this nothing; it may be
That where the thin ghosts gloomward go
Is sleep, and silence utterly.
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At least even so no dreams shall mock
That sleep with their beguiling wings
Which now her fitful slumbers rock,
Then leave her to the truth of things.
That sleep with their beguiling wings
Which now her fitful slumbers rock,
Then leave her to the truth of things.
That sleep it is another sleep
Than any she has known before,
Dreamless it is, and calm, and deep,
And needs not any watching o'er.
Than any she has known before,
Dreamless it is, and calm, and deep,
And needs not any watching o'er.
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TO THE WEST WIND.
Thy name is sweet in song, ‘wind of the western sea,’
But not as those sweet songs call call I to-night to thee,
I to no nursling's nest, no love-enfolded home,
Beckon the beat of thy wings to sweep o'er the flying foam.
But not as those sweet songs call call I to-night to thee,
I to no nursling's nest, no love-enfolded home,
Beckon the beat of thy wings to sweep o'er the flying foam.
Sweep onward o'er the land, yet another sea sweep o'er,
Greet her I greeted once but now may greet no more,
Mingle thy sighs with hers, if yet her breast can sigh,
And breathe upon her brows, West Wind, breathe tenderly.
Greet her I greeted once but now may greet no more,
Mingle thy sighs with hers, if yet her breast can sigh,
And breathe upon her brows, West Wind, breathe tenderly.
I see her stand in the twilight and gaze from the alien shore,
Her sweet eyes dim with watching and her heart with sorrow sore:
For the pang of an ancient longing, thro' the dreary day represt,
At the tender touch of the even has risen and rent her breast.
Her sweet eyes dim with watching and her heart with sorrow sore:
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At the tender touch of the even has risen and rent her breast.
Surely her eyes were soft, surely her voice was mild,
And her heart crystal-clear as the holy heart of a child,
And the stars beheld her praying, the morning and evening star;
But the burden of time was heavy, the hand of God was afar.
And her heart crystal-clear as the holy heart of a child,
And the stars beheld her praying, the morning and evening star;
But the burden of time was heavy, the hand of God was afar.
Therefore I would, strong Wind, that the rush of thy wandering wings
Might seize and sweep her away from all these evil things:
She was ever more spirit than earth, and the fetters of earth are outworn;
Let her spirit arise and be free, as a breath with thy breath to be borne.
Might seize and sweep her away from all these evil things:
She was ever more spirit than earth, and the fetters of earth are outworn;
Let her spirit arise and be free, as a breath with thy breath to be borne.
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