University of Virginia Library

SONNETS

I. GENOA.

III. IN MORTEM F. D. MAURICE.

So day by day my life, thus nearer drawn
Down the dark avenues unto the dawn,
Cries to Thee: O Lord, Lord of life and death,
Whom from our gaze the sad night sundereth,
Reveal Thyself; be unto us no more
A darkly felt thick darkness by the shore;
But like the wind, that wingeth cold and clear
Before the dawn by meadow-land and mere,
Blow on us; scatter from our sickly brains
The feverish fancies that ill conscience feigns;
Raise us to stand like men to meet the strife,
Fearless and grand, because within thy life
Our lives are hidden,—as is his to-day,
Thy servant who from sight hath passed away.

IV. WILLIAM SMITH

V. INSCRIBED ON A GRAVE:

TO THE READER.

VI. DEATH.

Since, small or great, and every man on earth,
Must know thee at the last, thy lonely gloom
Is bright with something of diviner birth—
The lamp of human love, that o'er our doom
Sheds undivided radiance. For in this
Our modern world of finely graded life,
The soul is nursed knowing nothing of the bliss
Of sorrow borne, since human. In this strife
Of complex individual interests
Poor man and princely, side by side, share not
One pain or passion of a common lot,
Till death, more liberal than life, invests
All men alike in his wide winding-sheet,
And in that suit of sorrow makes them meet.

VII.

[Thy presence is the sun. Yet since the swift]

VIII.

[Since, in thine hour of sorrow, unto thee]

Since, in thine hour of sorrow, unto thee
Came sweet remembrance of the summer sea
And one who sat beside it—in his eyes
The far-off thought of sea and summer skies:
Since in thine heart the visionary gleam
Of one half-wasted life, more like a dream,
Pale in its pleading, stood to be the sign
Of Love, as Love is, passionate, divine:
Ah! since in all this world no fuller sound
Than my faint spirit's utterance was found
Bidding thee cherish hope: so let it be.
Behold, beyond the summer and the sea
I utter not myself, but am His voice
Who bids all Nature live, and thee rejoice.

IX.

[Though I should never see thy face again]

Though I should never see thy face again,
Thy love in my remembrance shall remain
Purer than driven snow, than flameless fire
More stedfastly intense, than silver lyre
More sweetly magic-laden, than young mirth
More reckless of the sordid rules of earth,
More simple than the daisy in the grass,
Whereby a weary traveller doth pass
Nor knoweth, till he haply thinks thereon,
What wealth of subtle grace his heart hath won.
Fairer than all of these, thy love to me
Seems so surpassing fair that I would be
Endued with every grace, and for thy sake
From each fond thought of thee fresh beauty take.

X. SEVERANCE.

My life thy life unto itself doth fold
Closer than death. My soul clasps all of thine,
As in the bud rose-petals intertwine
Before the light divides them. I behold
Deep in the mystic shadow-caverns shine
Thine image on the fire-fed sources cold
Whereby my spirit dwells; and with the old
Foreboding unforgotten, dream divine,
Thou dost disturb me. Yet the dim-lit day
Dawns down between us, staring face to face,
Strange as the stormy Atlantic; with swift pace
We tread the track which sets our steps astray;
Thy lips are mute; mine move not; evermore
I wait and wearily knock at Death's dark door.

XI. TO A FAINT SOUL.

Sleep on, O soul! O delicate soul, sleep!
Thy life is calm and thickly fenced from care,
Thy couch is soft, and roses scattered there
Nurse thy quick senses while the night hours creep.
Around thee sway dim shadows of the deep,
Around thee circle sounds and visions fair,
And rise and wave their arms, and lull thee, where
Thou dreamest, ever deeply hid in sleep.
Vainly for thee the morning spreads her bright
Broad belt of heaven about the eastern shore;
Vainly for thee earth's fragrant odours pour
In clouds of incense up the arch of night.
Dream on, for eyes thou hast and canst not see;
Sleep on, O delicate soul, endlessly.

XII. THE LARGER LIFE.

Here, where the warm sun circles thy slight frame,
As water holds a swimmer in the sea,
And thousand sparkling beams from grass and tree
Exalt thy life and gird thee with the flame
Of Nature's vigour: here, in Nature's name
And God's, stretch high thy hands and wide, to be
Th' acceptance of this nobler unity;
Nor fear henceforth. For higher is this claim,
And worthier, than thine own life's; therefore feel
Its vibrant influence down thy fingers creep,
Rejoicing; for thee let each sunbeam seal
God's kiss upon thy lips; and if the sleep
Of weary limbs the way of Death reveal,
'Tis God himself who calls from deep to deep.

XIII. IT SHALL BE.

It shall be. Although far away the sound
Dies in the infinite silence of the sky,
Although obscure, and hid in the profound,
Our days stream outwards, onwards, and pass by.
It shall be. Behold, a new world is made
Out of the old, and the old dieth not;
For though the mountain-forms and flowers fade,
Ageless remains the far-informing Thought.
Ah! when this troublous dream and mortal sleep
Fades from our eyelids, and the end is near,
Down through the spaceless void and starry steep
Instinct with Love the dreaming soul shall hear
One whispered word; and all the past shall be
Up-gathered into Love's eternity.

XIV. WALDSTEIN SONATA. BEETHOVEN.

O changeless in thy beauty, stedfast, strong,
Exultant in the clam of victory,
A mighty poet flung thee forth, to be
A part of Nature. So that I, thus long
Listening to thy majestic voices, dream
Of some vast snow-veiled mountain far away,
Whose front is crimson fire at orient day;
Where in the dark Dian's silver lances gleam;
Where shadows of the tireless storm-wreathed mist
Move on in changeless interchange; where call
Clamorous echoes of the waterfall
From crag to crag; whom Night alone hath kissed,
And everlasting silence, and the far
Glimmering magic of the Morning star.