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 | Love-Lore (1895) |  |
57
THE GODDESS OF POVERTY
Gold-sanded paths! and verdant heathy ground!
Ravines by the chamois loved!
And ye, grand mountains, constellation-crown'd!
Ye wandering torrents! forest-depths unproved!
Let the Good Goddess pass,
The Goddess of Poverty!
Ravines by the chamois loved!
And ye, grand mountains, constellation-crown'd!
Ye wandering torrents! forest-depths unproved!
Let the Good Goddess pass,
The Goddess of Poverty!
Since the world's life, since men came on the earth,
The world she traverseth;
She dwelleth among men, she poureth forth
Her travel-song, or singing laboureth:
The Goddess of Poverty.
The world she traverseth;
She dwelleth among men, she poureth forth
Her travel-song, or singing laboureth:
The Goddess of Poverty.
Some, met to crush her, found her far too fair,
Too agile, strong, and gay;
“Tear off her wings, enchain her, let her bear
“Blows that shall crush her, till she die away,—
The Goddess of Poverty.”
Too agile, strong, and gay;
“Tear off her wings, enchain her, let her bear
“Blows that shall crush her, till she die away,—
The Goddess of Poverty.”
They persecuted her, they beat and chain'd,—
But never could debase;
The poet's, peasant's, artist's soul remain'd,—
The saint's, the martyr's soul, thy refuge-place:
Goddess of Poverty!
But never could debase;
58
The saint's, the martyr's soul, thy refuge-place:
Goddess of Poverty!
More hath she wander'd than the Wandering Jew,
Than the swallow voyagèd;
Older than Prague's cathedral, yet more new
Than the egg o' the wren, more o'er the wide earth spread
Than strawberries on the Boehmer-Wald is she,—
The Goddess of Poverty.
Than the swallow voyagèd;
Older than Prague's cathedral, yet more new
Than the egg o' the wren, more o'er the wide earth spread
Than strawberries on the Boehmer-Wald is she,—
The Goddess of Poverty.
She hath had children many beyond count,
God's secret them hath taught;
She spoke to the heart of Jesus on the Mount,
To the eyes of the Queen Libussa as they sought
The Labourer, to John and Jerome's soul
On Constance' funeral pyre; more than the whole
Of the doctors and the bishops knoweth she:
The Goddess of Poverty.
God's secret them hath taught;
She spoke to the heart of Jesus on the Mount,
To the eyes of the Queen Libussa as they sought
The Labourer, to John and Jerome's soul
On Constance' funeral pyre; more than the whole
Of the doctors and the bishops knoweth she:
The Goddess of Poverty.
The grandest and the fairest things one sees
Upon the earth are hers;
She cultivates the soil, and prunes the trees,
And leads the flocks with music of sweet airs;
The first dawn-peep, the first sun-smile she wears:
The Goddess of Poverty.
Upon the earth are hers;
She cultivates the soil, and prunes the trees,
And leads the flocks with music of sweet airs;
The first dawn-peep, the first sun-smile she wears:
The Goddess of Poverty.
She builds the woodman's hut of the green bough,
And gives the eagle eye
Unto the poacher, rears the young ones high,
And lightens for old hands the spade and plough;
The Goddess of Poverty.
And gives the eagle eye
59
And lightens for old hands the spade and plough;
The Goddess of Poverty.
'Tis she inspires the poet; she who renders
The vagabond's flute divine,
And from the Moldau's to the Danube's source
Bears him with light-wing'd force,
Crowning his hair with dew-pearls, making shine
The stars for him with larger, clearer splendours:
The Goddess of Poverty.
The vagabond's flute divine,
And from the Moldau's to the Danube's source
Bears him with light-wing'd force,
Crowning his hair with dew-pearls, making shine
The stars for him with larger, clearer splendours:
The Goddess of Poverty.
She teacheth to the artisan his gear,
To fashion stone and steel;
She makes the thread supple and fine as hair
On the old mother's and the young girl's wheel:
The Goddess of Poverty.
To fashion stone and steel;
She makes the thread supple and fine as hair
On the old mother's and the young girl's wheel:
The Goddess of Poverty.
She holds the thatch'd hut shaken by the storm,
The torch and lamp maintains;
She kneads the household bread, and weaves the warm
And the cool vestments; feeds, and all sustains;
The Goddess of Poverty.
The torch and lamp maintains;
She kneads the household bread, and weaves the warm
And the cool vestments; feeds, and all sustains;
The Goddess of Poverty.
She built great castles and cathedrals old;
She bears both sword and gun,
Makes war and conquest, gathers death's wide fold,
Cares for the wounded, hides the vanquish'd one:
The Goddess of Poverty.
She bears both sword and gun,
Makes war and conquest, gathers death's wide fold,
Cares for the wounded, hides the vanquish'd one:
The Goddess of Poverty.
60
Thou art all mildness, patience, power to cope,
And pitying heart is thine;
Giving them charity and faith and hope,
Thou link'st thy children with a love divine:
Goddess of Poverty!
And pitying heart is thine;
Giving them charity and faith and hope,
Thou link'st thy children with a love divine:
Goddess of Poverty!
Their shoulders yet shall rest from the world-load,
Their labour-pain made worth;
Nor rich nor poor be in the coming times,
When all men shall possess the fruits of earth
And equally enjoy the gifts of God.
Thou wilt not be forgotten in their hymns,
Goddess of Poverty!
Their labour-pain made worth;
Nor rich nor poor be in the coming times,
When all men shall possess the fruits of earth
And equally enjoy the gifts of God.
Thou wilt not be forgotten in their hymns,
Goddess of Poverty!
Their mother and their nurse robust thou wast,
And their church-militant:
They will pour balm upon thy wounds and haste
That the fresh balmy earth may rest thy want:
Goddess of Poverty!
And their church-militant:
They will pour balm upon thy wounds and haste
That the fresh balmy earth may rest thy want:
Goddess of Poverty!
Ere the Day o' the Lord shall come, torrents and woods!
Ye mountains and ye vales!
Heaths with your bird and flower multitudes!
Gold-sanded paths o'er which no king prevails!
Let the Good Goddess pass,
The Goddess of Poverty!
Ye mountains and ye vales!
Heaths with your bird and flower multitudes!
Gold-sanded paths o'er which no king prevails!
Let the Good Goddess pass,
The Goddess of Poverty!
103
ODE TO YOUTH
Opeoples! heartless, soulless skeletons!—
O Youth! give me thy wings,
That I may mount aloft from this dead earth
And soar to where Enthusiasm flings
Its light on nobler things,
Waking new blossoms of most wondrous worth
And blessing Hope with dreams of her belovèd ones.
O Youth! give me thy wings,
That I may mount aloft from this dead earth
And soar to where Enthusiasm flings
Its light on nobler things,
Waking new blossoms of most wondrous worth
And blessing Hope with dreams of her belovèd ones.
For him whose sight is nigh eclipsed by age,
Whose wrinkled brow is bow'd unto the ground,
Be his pale vision's bound
The scant horizon of a measured page!
Whose wrinkled brow is bow'd unto the ground,
Be his pale vision's bound
The scant horizon of a measured page!
But Youth! thy vigourous sight
Should leap beyond the earth, and sun-like wend
Thorough the path of life, from height to height,
From end to end.
Should leap beyond the earth, and sun-like wend
Thorough the path of life, from height to height,
From end to end.
Look down! on yonder chaos, whose dark girth
Is wrapp'd in sluggishness as in a fog:
It is the earth.
104
It is the earth.
Lo where on that dead ocean, like a log,
Floats some strange reptile shell'd in shapeless rind,
Itself its ship, its pilot, and its helm,—
Feeding on what less reptiles it can find,
Now on the wave-top, now deep in the whelm,
All heedless of the unheeding tempest's shock.
Now bubble-like it bursts against a rock:
And no one of its life or burial wist.
It is the Egotist.
Floats some strange reptile shell'd in shapeless rind,
Itself its ship, its pilot, and its helm,—
Feeding on what less reptiles it can find,
Now on the wave-top, now deep in the whelm,
All heedless of the unheeding tempest's shock.
Now bubble-like it bursts against a rock:
And no one of its life or burial wist.
It is the Egotist.
Youth! the nectar of my life
Is only sweet when it it shared with others.
Let friendship's golden thread enlink you, brothers!
And heaven-joys shall in your hearts be rife.
Is only sweet when it it shared with others.
Let friendship's golden thread enlink you, brothers!
And heaven-joys shall in your hearts be rife.
Together, then, young friends!
Each one is happy in united ends
And strong, and in enthusiasm wise.
Together, then, young friends!
Nor is he hapless who nears not the aim.
Enthusiasm leading him, he dies,
In mid career struck down; his brethren rise
O'er him, as on a stair, toward eternal fame.
Each one is happy in united ends
And strong, and in enthusiasm wise.
Together, then, young friends!
Nor is he hapless who nears not the aim.
Enthusiasm leading him, he dies,
In mid career struck down; his brethren rise
O'er him, as on a stair, toward eternal fame.
Together, then, young friends!
Though steep and slippery be the path,
Though Violence or Weakness you prevent:
Let Wrath be vanquish'd by diviner Wrath,
And wrestle in youth with Weakness till her charms are spent!
Though steep and slippery be the path,
Though Violence or Weakness you prevent:
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And wrestle in youth with Weakness till her charms are spent!
Who could with baby hands the serpents quell
Can grapple with the centaur in his prime;
Will bring back victims from the throat of Hell,
And reach at last to Heaven's wreath sublime.
So reach thou far beyond the grasp of sight!
Burst through what thy mere reason can not pierce!
Youth! be thy soaring like the eagle's flight;
Thy arm a thunderbolt, so swift and fierce.
Can grapple with the centaur in his prime;
Will bring back victims from the throat of Hell,
And reach at last to Heaven's wreath sublime.
So reach thou far beyond the grasp of sight!
Burst through what thy mere reason can not pierce!
Youth! be thy soaring like the eagle's flight;
Thy arm a thunderbolt, so swift and fierce.
Hurrah! foot set to foot, with mighty hands
Our arms shall bind the sphere,
Our thoughts concentre here;
Our souls one will commands.
We'll tear this lump of earth from its deep base,
And push the sluggard on a newer track;
Rend off its mouldy rind, and give it back
Its spring of life, fresh as our youthful grace.
Our arms shall bind the sphere,
Our thoughts concentre here;
Our souls one will commands.
We'll tear this lump of earth from its deep base,
And push the sluggard on a newer track;
Rend off its mouldy rind, and give it back
Its spring of life, fresh as our youthful grace.
Over dark chaos and the void of eld,
Confusion with confusion wildly blent,
God's Word forth went:
And lo, the worlds appear'd, in space upheld.
Shouted the hurricane, the waters leap'd,
And myriad stars the heavens in splendour steep'd:
So in the nations' hearts is darkness now,—
Will, like the elements, with will contending:
Confusion with confusion wildly blent,
God's Word forth went:
And lo, the worlds appear'd, in space upheld.
Shouted the hurricane, the waters leap'd,
And myriad stars the heavens in splendour steep'd:
So in the nations' hearts is darkness now,—
Will, like the elements, with will contending:
106
But the divinity of Youth its brow
Uplifts, and lo, the agony is ending.
The new world issues from the gloom:
With Love henceforth upon its bright path wending,
And by Love's power upheld through the eternal doom.
Uplifts, and lo, the agony is ending.
The new world issues from the gloom:
With Love henceforth upon its bright path wending,
And by Love's power upheld through the eternal doom.
Light driveth down the sky the cloudy wrack
Of error; feeling bursts its icy bar.
Welcome, thrice welcome, Freedom's Morning Star!
The Saviour Sun close follows on thy track.
Of error; feeling bursts its icy bar.
Welcome, thrice welcome, Freedom's Morning Star!
The Saviour Sun close follows on thy track.
107
LOVE'S SHADOW
I loved, gave body and soul for dower,
Then he flung me from his heart.
What else? he had gather'd and worn the flower.
Let it fall! and so depart.
Then he flung me from his heart.
What else? he had gather'd and worn the flower.
Let it fall! and so depart.
I was a loved and duteous wife,
The wife of a worthy lord:
O, never worthier, nobler life
Deserved to be adored.
The wife of a worthy lord:
O, never worthier, nobler life
Deserved to be adored.
But I,—I daily, nightly pray'd,
As the loving need not pray:
Dear God! vouchsafe to me thine aid
To be true to him alway.
As the loving need not pray:
Dear God! vouchsafe to me thine aid
To be true to him alway.
And he I loved was my husband's friend.
I never loved man but him.
That passionate heaven so low did bend
My wifely eyes grew dim.
I never loved man but him.
That passionate heaven so low did bend
My wifely eyes grew dim.
Under the porch I stood alone
As through the limes he came:
Or ever his hand had touch'd my own
My blood was boiling flame.
As through the limes he came:
108
My blood was boiling flame.
O God, to lie on a loving breast,
Unable to make return!
And O for the fire that knows no rest,
That burneth, and aye must burn!
Unable to make return!
And O for the fire that knows no rest,
That burneth, and aye must burn!
Or ever his breath had woo'd my cheek,
Why doth the Lady blush?
Or ever his love had time to speak
My life toward him did rush.
Why doth the Lady blush?
Or ever his love had time to speak
My life toward him did rush.
Under the gnarled oaken boughs,
On a grey moss'd stone we sate;
Silent were both: what need of vows
In the presence of Love and Fate?
On a grey moss'd stone we sate;
Silent were both: what need of vows
In the presence of Love and Fate?
It was but two or three days at most
He came, scarce spoke, and went:
The very sun was a mooned ghost
In the dreary firmament.
He came, scarce spoke, and went:
The very sun was a mooned ghost
In the dreary firmament.
And daily, nightly, ever I pray'd:
Great need was now to pray:
O Truth! vouchsafe to me thine aid,
Lest I should fall away.
Great need was now to pray:
O Truth! vouchsafe to me thine aid,
Lest I should fall away.
109
Again, in the hot and sultry June,
The Presence is at my gate;
And my pulses throb to a lofty tune,
And my heart is all elate.
The Presence is at my gate;
And my pulses throb to a lofty tune,
And my heart is all elate.
For I will love him and do no wrong:
O Truth! upstay me now!
Thou and I, Belovèd! are strong:—
His lips were on my brow.
O Truth! upstay me now!
Thou and I, Belovèd! are strong:—
His lips were on my brow.
And so, weak heart! be brave awhile;
Parch'd lips! hope not to kiss.
I met my lord with a loyal smile;
But my soul was none of his.
Parch'd lips! hope not to kiss.
I met my lord with a loyal smile;
But my soul was none of his.
“Take her and love her more than I!”
For ruth I could not move:—
How I long'd to kiss him tenderly,
The man I did not love.
For ruth I could not move:—
How I long'd to kiss him tenderly,
The man I did not love.
Take her! And wherefore didst thou take?
My joy hath made me blind.
Love! I have left him for thy sake:
What welcome shall I find?
My joy hath made me blind.
Love! I have left him for thy sake:
What welcome shall I find?
Or ever grey autumn bronzed the leaves,
Poor Hope, that doubted ne'er,
Was cowering under her palace eaves:
The winds play'd with her hair.
Poor Hope, that doubted ne'er,
Was cowering under her palace eaves:
The winds play'd with her hair.
110
Mockingly then the Loved laugh'd out:
“My Beautiful! be content;
“Yes, I do worship thee, past all doubt,
“But a Wife I never meant.
“My Beautiful! be content;
“Yes, I do worship thee, past all doubt,
“But a Wife I never meant.
“Summer hath many a warm day yet;
“Ever must love be free.”
Carelessly laugh'd he,—“Cheeks tear-wet
“Will grow too pale for me.”
“Ever must love be free.”
Carelessly laugh'd he,—“Cheeks tear-wet
“Will grow too pale for me.”
Had he tired, his love been cold or dull,
Had desire been satisfied,—
But a flower for my lord Caprice to cull
And then to fling aside!
Had desire been satisfied,—
But a flower for my lord Caprice to cull
And then to fling aside!
Or he loved another: but far, far worse,
The doom he brought me nigh,—
The sorrow, the shame, the clinging curse
Of loving unworthily.
The doom he brought me nigh,—
The sorrow, the shame, the clinging curse
Of loving unworthily.
Loving—O more than heaven above;
And to feel that all return
Is the low desire which is not love,—
A “love” which can seek and spurn.
And to feel that all return
Is the low desire which is not love,—
A “love” which can seek and spurn.
Scornfully laugh'd he as I went:
“What wouldst thou have? Sweet Life!
“Little matters for love's content
“That empty name of Wife.”
“What wouldst thou have? Sweet Life!
“Little matters for love's content
“That empty name of Wife.”
111
So a year pass'd by, and we two ne'er met;
And I tried to loathe his name;
And no one cared for the cheeks tear-wet
But the one I would not claim.
And I tried to loathe his name;
And no one cared for the cheeks tear-wet
But the one I would not claim.
A long long year. And then again
We two were side by side.
By the death-bed of my lord we twain
Were watching, till he died.
We two were side by side.
By the death-bed of my lord we twain
Were watching, till he died.
Then love's dark hate pass'd out of me,
And I pray'd again: True Heart!
Love me and wed me. “Love is free,”
He answer'd: “We will part.”
And I pray'd again: True Heart!
Love me and wed me. “Love is free,”
He answer'd: “We will part.”
Scornfully laugh'd he as he went—
“Tis better we part, Sweet Life!
“Thou wouldst hardly be more content
“Even with the name of Wife.”
“Tis better we part, Sweet Life!
“Thou wouldst hardly be more content
“Even with the name of Wife.”
Ere I look'd through the mist of tears
He, the Belovèd, was gone.
How could I meet my widow'd years,
Unlovely and alone?
He, the Belovèd, was gone.
How could I meet my widow'd years,
Unlovely and alone?
Then Love stood manifest in Wrath:
I cursed him franticly;
And slipp'd the Avenger on his path:—
Who could avenge but I?
I cursed him franticly;
And slipp'd the Avenger on his path:—
Who could avenge but I?
112
And step by step I follow'd him,
I track'd him everywhere;
In vain he hid,—the tigress grim
Could never miss her lair.
I track'd him everywhere;
In vain he hid,—the tigress grim
Could never miss her lair.
Daily and nightly, his gate before,
I lean'd at the lintel-post—
O never, never I loved him more
Thau when I hated most.
I lean'd at the lintel-post—
O never, never I loved him more
Thau when I hated most.
At length we met. And gaze for gaze.
He laugh'd, but his voice was kind:
The full rich voice of the summer days,
Till I grew sick and blind
He laugh'd, but his voice was kind:
The full rich voice of the summer days,
Till I grew sick and blind
And dizzy in Love's great glare of light.
Then fell Love's Shadow—Hate:
And ere the cloud had left my sight
The Man, the Loved, my life's delight,
Lay dead at his own gate.
Then fell Love's Shadow—Hate:
And ere the cloud had left my sight
The Man, the Loved, my life's delight,
Lay dead at his own gate.
113
TARQUIN THE PROUD
Rejoicing in imperiousness of will,
Sits Tarquin. One allow'd
Enters his presence; standeth proudly still
Before “The Proud.”
Sits Tarquin. One allow'd
Enters his presence; standeth proudly still
Before “The Proud.”
The Sybil standeth there before the King,
Waiting his question. He—
What wantest thou, and wherefore dost thou bring
Those books to me?
Waiting his question. He—
What wantest thou, and wherefore dost thou bring
Those books to me?
To sell them to thee, Tarquin! They are dear.
If thou wilt have them, say!
Quick as his “No!” the form doth disappear,
Too proud to stay.
If thou wilt have them, say!
Quick as his “No!” the form doth disappear,
Too proud to stay.
But after a brief while she comes again,
With—I have burn'd a third.
At the same price the other six remain:
Again—thy word?
With—I have burn'd a third.
At the same price the other six remain:
Again—thy word?
No! says the haughty King: too large the sum.
And laugheth at the thought.
Again she leaveth, even as she did come,—
Unstay'd, unsought.
And laugheth at the thought.
Again she leaveth, even as she did come,—
Unstay'd, unsought.
114
And yet a third time comes she to the King.
Tarquin the Proud is wroth.
What are these books thou wilt persist to bring
To me, so loath?
Tarquin the Proud is wroth.
What are these books thou wilt persist to bring
To me, so loath?
Angry, but moved by unaccustom'd fear,
Tarquin bows to her will,
And takes the remnant, although trebly dear,—
Haughtily still.
Tarquin bows to her will,
And takes the remnant, although trebly dear,—
Haughtily still.
Now tell me, Augurs! what delay hath lost!
O King! thou shouldst have bought.
Even these are worth far more than all their cost,
So treasure-fraught.
O King! thou shouldst have bought.
Even these are worth far more than all their cost,
So treasure-fraught.
These books contain of good and ill to Rome
The certain prophecy,
And all the weal or woe to thine own house
That draweth nigh.
The certain prophecy,
And all the weal or woe to thine own house
That draweth nigh.
Lay them in Jove's own temple, under guard!
Too late, too late to find
The lost and the refused, the high reward
Thou wouldst not mind.
Too late, too late to find
The lost and the refused, the high reward
Thou wouldst not mind.
Tarquin the Proud hath perish'd in his pride,
Who grudged the price to learn.
He sought the Sybil. Never till he died
Did she return.
Who grudged the price to learn.
He sought the Sybil. Never till he died
Did she return.
115
QUESTIONING
I—THE PARIAH
Outcast,—and bad,—I dare say you are right.
I am a villain, viler than you think.
I've done most things men say are wickedness,
And not much cared to set myself to square
With what you call commandments. I had strength,
And will and appetite,—a lusty man
Even from my youth,—could eat and could enjoy,
And never chose to give enjoyment up
For stupid sacrifice or love of God.
I loved my wenchings more, and plenty of meat,
And drink that made me almost like a god—
Even if it sometimes made a fool of me.
Commandments! I cared nothing for command;
But liked to live, and lived most as I liked.
I ate and drank. When I was short of food,
I stole it. Was not that my natural right?
And your rich folk had only stolen from me.
What is a man if he may not eat and drink,
And kiss his woman? O, when life was young
I had my time of it. Now I grow old,
I am no humbug to repent and whine.
I am a villain, viler than you think.
I've done most things men say are wickedness,
And not much cared to set myself to square
With what you call commandments. I had strength,
And will and appetite,—a lusty man
Even from my youth,—could eat and could enjoy,
And never chose to give enjoyment up
For stupid sacrifice or love of God.
I loved my wenchings more, and plenty of meat,
And drink that made me almost like a god—
Even if it sometimes made a fool of me.
Commandments! I cared nothing for command;
But liked to live, and lived most as I liked.
I ate and drank. When I was short of food,
I stole it. Was not that my natural right?
And your rich folk had only stolen from me.
What is a man if he may not eat and drink,
116
I had my time of it. Now I grow old,
I am no humbug to repent and whine.
But there are other things. Of course there are.
Trees grow, have higher branches and more leaves.
There's nought I'll take the trouble to deny.
Why should I? Shame and I have never met.
Shame is a decently dress'd and pretty maid,
Brought up in a Sunday School, and kept in-doors
By a good mistress, and not fed too high
For fear her parish cheeks get too much blood
And tempt some sinner as she crawls from church
In the summer evenings. I'd not watch for such.
I'd scarcely turn my head to look at her,
Even though I lay in the grass not half asleep
While she pass'd by with hymn-book under arm,
Looking demurely down upon her gloves.
There was no one like Shame I ever knew:
I kept no company with such as She.
Red cheeks with rich blood in them, full thick lips
That ask'd to be bitten, limbs as firm as mine:
I thought these better than your modesties.
We were wild beasts then, and we liked it well.
Trees grow, have higher branches and more leaves.
There's nought I'll take the trouble to deny.
Why should I? Shame and I have never met.
Shame is a decently dress'd and pretty maid,
Brought up in a Sunday School, and kept in-doors
By a good mistress, and not fed too high
For fear her parish cheeks get too much blood
And tempt some sinner as she crawls from church
In the summer evenings. I'd not watch for such.
I'd scarcely turn my head to look at her,
Even though I lay in the grass not half asleep
While she pass'd by with hymn-book under arm,
Looking demurely down upon her gloves.
There was no one like Shame I ever knew:
I kept no company with such as She.
Red cheeks with rich blood in them, full thick lips
That ask'd to be bitten, limbs as firm as mine:
I thought these better than your modesties.
We were wild beasts then, and we liked it well.
But there were other things—you said just now.
I am not for denial. I'm not shamed.
I have had blood upon my hands. What then?
I wash'd it off. The man had injured me.
I heard the other day a gentleman
Shot down his friend for something he had done,
Or something he had only said of him:
I mind not what. Why should not I the same?
A knife was handier, and a deal more sure.
Done in hot blood—your gentleman in cold!
I've done that too: but it was self-defence.
I had as good a right to fish as they;
Better, for I was hungry, well nigh starved.
I was not fond too of inside the jail.
So, when he laid his hand upon my wrist,
I put my other hand up to his throat,
Tripping him with a quick heel. 'Twas no use
To let him up again. I made an end,
And sent him down the stream to fish for himself.
I have kill'd others too that stood in my way,—
And got no medals for it, soldier-like.
They were my enemies: shall not I fight for myself
As well as for the State that casts me out?
I am not for denial. I'm not shamed.
I have had blood upon my hands. What then?
I wash'd it off. The man had injured me.
I heard the other day a gentleman
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Or something he had only said of him:
I mind not what. Why should not I the same?
A knife was handier, and a deal more sure.
Done in hot blood—your gentleman in cold!
I've done that too: but it was self-defence.
I had as good a right to fish as they;
Better, for I was hungry, well nigh starved.
I was not fond too of inside the jail.
So, when he laid his hand upon my wrist,
I put my other hand up to his throat,
Tripping him with a quick heel. 'Twas no use
To let him up again. I made an end,
And sent him down the stream to fish for himself.
I have kill'd others too that stood in my way,—
And got no medals for it, soldier-like.
They were my enemies: shall not I fight for myself
As well as for the State that casts me out?
Yes! I broke laws, a plenty. Some of you
Are paid for keeping them. If not, perhaps—
I don't much heed laws, and I never did.
I was not bred to the fashion. From a boy
I have been taught quite other sort of work.
Who makes your laws? I know not, but I know
They bite like wolves' teeth into my free will.
Why shonld I heed them? Tell you, I do not.
I'll drink, wench, poach, and steal, while I have strength;
And when that fails—then you may pray for me.
Much good may it do me when I've lost my teeth.
Are paid for keeping them. If not, perhaps—
I don't much heed laws, and I never did.
I was not bred to the fashion. From a boy
I have been taught quite other sort of work.
Who makes your laws? I know not, but I know
They bite like wolves' teeth into my free will.
Why shonld I heed them? Tell you, I do not.
I'll drink, wench, poach, and steal, while I have strength;
And when that fails—then you may pray for me.
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Still I am sorry for one thing I did:
When I play'd false to one who trusted me,
And who was true and more than kind, poor soul!
I saw some one I fancied more for the time.
She was a fool ever to find it out.
But what did it matter? She was none the worse.
I'd not have liked her though at the same game.
Perhaps she was no better than myself.
There's no good now in thinking over that.—
I tell you, Parson! I'm too stiff to kneel.
When I play'd false to one who trusted me,
And who was true and more than kind, poor soul!
I saw some one I fancied more for the time.
She was a fool ever to find it out.
But what did it matter? She was none the worse.
I'd not have liked her though at the same game.
Perhaps she was no better than myself.
There's no good now in thinking over that.—
I tell you, Parson! I'm too stiff to kneel.
Who was Saint Simon? Stuck himself atop
Of a great pillar—so I have been told—
That men might see his utter filthiness.
I am a saint too, standing very high
On my own chosen perch of villainy.
But did I choose it? Say the Devil chose.
The Devil indeed! You parsons talk of him
Like an old friend. Your Devil is so like God
I don't know one from the other. Do I know
There's either? May be there is only one,—
“God” for you rich men, “Devil” for us poor.
Well then, the Devil or God, no matter which,
Has made a saint of me. Of a queer sort?
Not queerer than Saint Simon. Look you now!
Just see, my masters! I am as good as he:
May be almost as dirty, and full of sores
Inside and out, not more of sores than sins:
A thief, a lecher, and a murderer too;
And took my pleasures without caring where,
Or how, or who was worse for what I took.
Was I much worse than most of other men?
I have done just what a lusty fellow would:
Reap'd the world wide and eaten of the best,—
The best within my reach, at any rate.
How do I know but that the Lord mean'd this,
And I've been doing his work at his own wage?
Not too good pay for all I have gone through.
I've not been one of the prosperous of the earth,
Nor known much of fine linen, purple robes,
Lolling in carriages or on soft beds.
Yet I had appetites. I am a man.
Shall I have less than any beastly swine?
The Lord not liking, why did he make me so?
Besides, I mind me that you spoke but now
Of a people who were used to drench their slaves
So their mad pranks might warn the masters' sons
From drinking. May be I'm a saint for that:
A chosen vessel to put vileness in
That better folk may see the worst o' the bad
And so keep better,—for the flesh is weak.
Let me alone! What can you do with me?
Show me to naughty boys to make them good?
I'm a fine scarecrow. Tell you, I'm a saint:
Saint Simon,—or more like Saint Lazarus,
With sins for sores. You dumb dogs lick at them
As if you liked the job of curing me.
Another of your stories! How do you know
I am not set in the dirt to grow for heaven:
A flower for Abraham's bosom some fine day?
Of a great pillar—so I have been told—
That men might see his utter filthiness.
I am a saint too, standing very high
On my own chosen perch of villainy.
But did I choose it? Say the Devil chose.
The Devil indeed! You parsons talk of him
Like an old friend. Your Devil is so like God
I don't know one from the other. Do I know
There's either? May be there is only one,—
“God” for you rich men, “Devil” for us poor.
Well then, the Devil or God, no matter which,
Has made a saint of me. Of a queer sort?
Not queerer than Saint Simon. Look you now!
Just see, my masters! I am as good as he:
May be almost as dirty, and full of sores
Inside and out, not more of sores than sins:
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And took my pleasures without caring where,
Or how, or who was worse for what I took.
Was I much worse than most of other men?
I have done just what a lusty fellow would:
Reap'd the world wide and eaten of the best,—
The best within my reach, at any rate.
How do I know but that the Lord mean'd this,
And I've been doing his work at his own wage?
Not too good pay for all I have gone through.
I've not been one of the prosperous of the earth,
Nor known much of fine linen, purple robes,
Lolling in carriages or on soft beds.
Yet I had appetites. I am a man.
Shall I have less than any beastly swine?
The Lord not liking, why did he make me so?
Besides, I mind me that you spoke but now
Of a people who were used to drench their slaves
So their mad pranks might warn the masters' sons
From drinking. May be I'm a saint for that:
A chosen vessel to put vileness in
That better folk may see the worst o' the bad
And so keep better,—for the flesh is weak.
Let me alone! What can you do with me?
Show me to naughty boys to make them good?
I'm a fine scarecrow. Tell you, I'm a saint:
Saint Simon,—or more like Saint Lazarus,
With sins for sores. You dumb dogs lick at them
As if you liked the job of curing me.
Another of your stories! How do you know
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A flower for Abraham's bosom some fine day?
Here's your health, Parson! and more luck to you.
II—THE PARSON
First sin, and then the Judgment. It is so.
Father and God! how came this man to sin?
How may I medicine his agony?
What shall I do to help the Impenitent?
Shall I condemn, or shall I speak of peace?
What peace for sin? what peace to the depraved?
What peace before the threatenings of thy wrath?
Father and God! how came this man to sin?
How may I medicine his agony?
What shall I do to help the Impenitent?
Shall I condemn, or shall I speak of peace?
What peace for sin? what peace to the depraved?
What peace before the threatenings of thy wrath?
Are these Thy martyrs? God! Even at the stake,
Before the strangling smoke can ease his pains,
Or underneath the pile of crushing stones,
The Saint upraises his exultant hymn;
Upon the battle-field, too proud to flee,
Or in the last ditch of a long defeat,
Or on the scaffold drench'd with noblest blood,
The hero and the patriot smiling falls,
Passing to Thee with triumph on his brows,
Knowing the future harvest of his loss;
The good physician, the yet tenderer nurse,
Struck down beside the dying or the saved;—
All who for Truth or for the common weal
Have given or risk'd their lives, all these we know:
The glorious army of the Sacrificed,
Thy saints, Thy chosen, who shall reign with Thee,
Their glory as eternal as their worth.
The sufferer who has borne disease or grief—
A daily task from Thee—without complaint;
The beggar Thou translatest up to heaven,
For he was rich in patience; and the poor,
Who knew not, had not, and yet sinn'd not, good
In spite of ignorance: we know them too:
The kingdom of heaven is of such as these.
Surely they are not martyrs, all of whom
Pass crowned conquerors through the gates of love.
The sinning are Thy martyrs, Father! Thou
Seëst them too. Since not a sparrow falls
Unnoticed or unorder'd of Thy Will.
Before the strangling smoke can ease his pains,
Or underneath the pile of crushing stones,
The Saint upraises his exultant hymn;
Upon the battle-field, too proud to flee,
Or in the last ditch of a long defeat,
Or on the scaffold drench'd with noblest blood,
The hero and the patriot smiling falls,
Passing to Thee with triumph on his brows,
Knowing the future harvest of his loss;
The good physician, the yet tenderer nurse,
Struck down beside the dying or the saved;—
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Have given or risk'd their lives, all these we know:
The glorious army of the Sacrificed,
Thy saints, Thy chosen, who shall reign with Thee,
Their glory as eternal as their worth.
The sufferer who has borne disease or grief—
A daily task from Thee—without complaint;
The beggar Thou translatest up to heaven,
For he was rich in patience; and the poor,
Who knew not, had not, and yet sinn'd not, good
In spite of ignorance: we know them too:
The kingdom of heaven is of such as these.
Surely they are not martyrs, all of whom
Pass crowned conquerors through the gates of love.
The sinning are Thy martyrs, Father! Thou
Seëst them too. Since not a sparrow falls
Unnoticed or unorder'd of Thy Will.
Thou dost not order sin. For is not sin
Itself disorder? Yet disease is Thine.
And vice is but disease of mind or will:
Poorness or imbecility of soul.
If Thou dost order it, it must be good:
And imbecility may be forgiven,
And poorness led to wealth, nor always left
Outside the porch of Thy benevolence.
Why then—the saint and sinner are alike
In Thy esteem: the righteous and the knave:
The rain of Thy compassion falls on both.
The cripple climbeth to the angel's place;
Thou liftest up the loathsome to Thy side,
Not reckoning as wrong what wrought Thy will.
And truly, if these wretches enter heaven,
Good deeds and faith have but an equal claim,
Our righteousness is but as filthy rags,
And saintly Dives sups with Lazarus.
Itself disorder? Yet disease is Thine.
And vice is but disease of mind or will:
Poorness or imbecility of soul.
If Thou dost order it, it must be good:
And imbecility may be forgiven,
And poorness led to wealth, nor always left
Outside the porch of Thy benevolence.
Why then—the saint and sinner are alike
In Thy esteem: the righteous and the knave:
The rain of Thy compassion falls on both.
The cripple climbeth to the angel's place;
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Not reckoning as wrong what wrought Thy will.
And truly, if these wretches enter heaven,
Good deeds and faith have but an equal claim,
Our righteousness is but as filthy rags,
And saintly Dives sups with Lazarus.
Shall we then envy Wrong and doubt of Right?
Is Evil then all pleasant? and is Good
Only a travail, painful, and in vain?
Not so! not so! Although Thy heaven were not,
Evil and Good are their own sure reward.
Sin yet remaineth sin; and vice is vice,—
The parent of unhappiness and shame,
Weakness, and fear, and heathenish despair—
When not debased to very brutishness.
Right is even here the lord of higher joy
Than ever the voluptuary knew.
Take every pleasure sense and will exchange,
Even in the heyday of their hottest blood,
And one pure thought of duty fairly done—
Whatever be the cost to life or hope—
Outweighs it all. Is holiness so poor,
Or man's best heritage so little worth,
The prodigal is envied for his husks?
We thank Thee, God! we know that Thou art just.
Is Evil then all pleasant? and is Good
Only a travail, painful, and in vain?
Not so! not so! Although Thy heaven were not,
Evil and Good are their own sure reward.
Sin yet remaineth sin; and vice is vice,—
The parent of unhappiness and shame,
Weakness, and fear, and heathenish despair—
When not debased to very brutishness.
Right is even here the lord of higher joy
Than ever the voluptuary knew.
Take every pleasure sense and will exchange,
Even in the heyday of their hottest blood,
And one pure thought of duty fairly done—
Whatever be the cost to life or hope—
Outweighs it all. Is holiness so poor,
Or man's best heritage so little worth,
The prodigal is envied for his husks?
We thank Thee, God! we know that Thou art just.
And yet the piteous question cometh back:
How came this man to sin? Born, bred in it:
His parents evil livers like himself:
Lustful and lawless, vilely unrestrain'd,
All better impulses were so o'ergrown
And overshadow'd like good herbs by weeds
And poisonous trees, until the garden-ground
Became a wilderness weed-choked and cursed:
Cursed for his parents' sins as they for theirs;
Cursed for that Evil came into the world,—
Evil of weakness, of disease, of death,
Of all that hinders strength of healthy growth,—
Evil—the worm that dieth not. Alas!
So was he cursed: though God is merciful.
How came this man to sin? Born, bred in it:
His parents evil livers like himself:
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All better impulses were so o'ergrown
And overshadow'd like good herbs by weeds
And poisonous trees, until the garden-ground
Became a wilderness weed-choked and cursed:
Cursed for his parents' sins as they for theirs;
Cursed for that Evil came into the world,—
Evil of weakness, of disease, of death,
Of all that hinders strength of healthy growth,—
Evil—the worm that dieth not. Alas!
So was he cursed: though God is merciful.
I travel round unto my grief again:
The sorrow of sorrows,—for that there is ill,—
Our ill, though all be very good with Thee,—
Ill—love is yet too weak to remedy,
Ill—which our hope dares hardly look upon,
Ill—that even faith can but behold through tears.
The sorrow of sorrows,—for that there is ill,—
Our ill, though all be very good with Thee,—
Ill—love is yet too weak to remedy,
Ill—which our hope dares hardly look upon,
Ill—that even faith can but behold through tears.
All-loving One! Thy Lazarus is dead:
Bound with the grave-cloths, laid within the tomb.
Forgive the impatience praying for Thy Word—
“Not dead, but sleeping: Lazarus! come forth.”
Bound with the grave-cloths, laid within the tomb.
Forgive the impatience praying for Thy Word—
“Not dead, but sleeping: Lazarus! come forth.”
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MAHMOUD'S FLIGHT
Only with water-gourd and dates for food,
Mahmoud is in the Desert, to evade
The enemy who may not be withstood,
Fleeing dismay'd.
Mahmoud is in the Desert, to evade
The enemy who may not be withstood,
Fleeing dismay'd.
Night after night the warning voice had cried,
“The Sultan's Vanquisher is on his way!”
The unknown danger not to be defied
Bred his dismay.
“The Sultan's Vanquisher is on his way!”
The unknown danger not to be defied
Bred his dismay.
His women and his palaces are left:
“All a man hath he for his skin will give.”
Nay! would he care although of skin bereft,
So he might live?
“All a man hath he for his skin will give.”
Nay! would he care although of skin bereft,
So he might live?
But whither flee? To some far distant land
Where none have heard of his world-reaching fame,
Where none his proclamations understand
Or know his name.
Where none have heard of his world-reaching fame,
Where none his proclamations understand
Or know his name.
Far, far in the Desert! Let the camel take
His way unguided, with the rein on neck,
With wide foot-prints,—the swift sand hides the wake;
The merest speck,
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With wide foot-prints,—the swift sand hides the wake;
The merest speck,
Not man and camel, but a point scarce seen,
Lost soon as seen, is all the horizon shows.
Safe is he even as if he ne'er had been
Afraid of foes.
Lost soon as seen, is all the horizon shows.
Safe is he even as if he ne'er had been
Afraid of foes.
And now the rein may tighten: past the might
Of ill however closely it pursue.
There is no track upon the star-lit night,
No fear in view.
Of ill however closely it pursue.
There is no track upon the star-lit night,
No fear in view.
Rest for the night! But in the night his fear
Wakens and bids him farther from the foe.
What if through accident he draweth near?
How can one know?
Wakens and bids him farther from the foe.
What if through accident he draweth near?
How can one know?
So on, yet on, rest not for night or day,
While the last strain of sinew bears him through.
On, on, pursue the solitary way,
Though none pursue!
While the last strain of sinew bears him through.
On, on, pursue the solitary way,
Though none pursue!
So hastening tow'rd the safely distant land
Beyond o'ertaking, he one evening meets
A poor lorn wretch who crouching in the sand
Him humbly greets.
Beyond o'ertaking, he one evening meets
A poor lorn wretch who crouching in the sand
Him humbly greets.
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A poor weak failing wretch, so weak, so poor,
'Twere worse than shame to pass such wretched one,—
Though the gourd empty is and all the store
Of dates is gone.
'Twere worse than shame to pass such wretched one,—
Though the gourd empty is and all the store
Of dates is gone.
Mahmoud alighteth. “I have nought for thee.”
He looketh up and answereth—“It is said.
What hast thou for thyself? Why come to me?”
Then bows his head.
He looketh up and answereth—“It is said.
What hast thou for thyself? Why come to me?”
Then bows his head.
Bow'd down, he wraps him in his mantle-folds,
Maketh no sign, nor other word he saith.
Mahmoud sinks down beside him—and beholds
The face of Death.
Maketh no sign, nor other word he saith.
Mahmoud sinks down beside him—and beholds
The face of Death.
Far, far into the Desert he had fled
To avoid the Unavoidable: and there
They sit in the sand together—dead with dead,
Death and Despair.
To avoid the Unavoidable: and there
They sit in the sand together—dead with dead,
Death and Despair.
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NIGHT AND MORNING
NIGHT—
Now is the house asleep, and I may climb
To my hope's heaven. You are trembling, Love!
—My maid lies in the chamber next to mine,
And she sleeps lightly.
To my hope's heaven. You are trembling, Love!
—My maid lies in the chamber next to mine,
And she sleeps lightly.
—She will never hear
Our kisses.
Our kisses.
—What if she were sick, or fear'd,
And came to seek me, lying in your arms?
It may not be. I dare not. What is that?
—A mouse in the wainscot. There's no need of fear.
When may this fortunate hour return again?
Your husband absent, none suspecting us.
Kiss me again, and come! Is this your tryst?
—My tryst! There was another trysting-time
He trusts me still, and I: I loved him once.
I thought so, till you came.
And came to seek me, lying in your arms?
It may not be. I dare not. What is that?
—A mouse in the wainscot. There's no need of fear.
When may this fortunate hour return again?
Your husband absent, none suspecting us.
Kiss me again, and come! Is this your tryst?
—My tryst! There was another trysting-time
He trusts me still, and I: I loved him once.
I thought so, till you came.
—But now your love
Is mine.
Is mine.
—And should you change as I have done.
My God! I who am false. You'ld have me so?
—Not false, but true unto the higher truth,
Your love for me: your heart's truth known at last.
—I dare not. O, I dare not. Say good night!
And leave me!
My God! I who am false. You'ld have me so?
—Not false, but true unto the higher truth,
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—I dare not. O, I dare not. Say good night!
And leave me!
—Did you appoint me but for this?
Nay! but we part not so.
Nay! but we part not so.
—I will call out.
—And tell the household what hath frighted you?
Tell the occasion made to fetch me here,
And of our yet moist kisses? Say, so far
You ventured, found it pleasant; on the brink
(Good husband will not mind that) you drew back,
Fearing the deeper current?
—And tell the household what hath frighted you?
Tell the occasion made to fetch me here,
And of our yet moist kisses? Say, so far
You ventured, found it pleasant; on the brink
(Good husband will not mind that) you drew back,
Fearing the deeper current?
—You are hard.
—As you who loving would deny your love.
You love me. The swift hour asks why we wait.
—You would not force me?
—You miscall it force
—As you who loving would deny your love.
You love me. The swift hour asks why we wait.
—You would not force me?
When love at heart consents. I would but spare
Your timorous conscience, making mine the blame.
—For honour, if you love me, let me pass!
—You have given yourself to me and you are mine,
My own. Your love acknowledges my right.
—I do not love you. He I loved was one
Who lured me by his very nobleness:
A king to claim allegiance. You are not
The man I loved. You would lay shame on me
For your vile pleasure. I could loathe you now.
—Is it so? Then honour lift me up again
To the former height! O thou Belovèd One!
I would not wrong you. But your chamberlain:
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—(As she throws herself on her bed,)
And I do love him. God be merciful!
MORNING—
Return'd already? Sure, I thought to-day
Given to fond epitaphs on joys self-slain.
The inconvenient husband, was he home
Too soon for moral lie-abeds? But say,
How fares the fair Bianca? Lost in tears,
Rain of Love's Morning after a close night?
—Are you a gentleman?
Given to fond epitaphs on joys self-slain.
The inconvenient husband, was he home
Too soon for moral lie-abeds? But say,
How fares the fair Bianca? Lost in tears,
Rain of Love's Morning after a close night?
—Are you a gentleman?
—Well, it may be.
—I pray you then repeat no more her name
Coupled with my desires.
—I pray you then repeat no more her name
Coupled with my desires.
—Shifts the wind so?
Cupid! a most proud lover! Now, I'll bet
She has jilted you at last. 'Tis so, 'tis so.
A little dreg of virtue left in the flask,
Has spoil'd a night-draught. She would yet will not.
And hesitating, opportunity
Has sent you back: the husband none the worse.
—You're slow to take my meaning.
Cupid! a most proud lover! Now, I'll bet
She has jilted you at last. 'Tis so, 'tis so.
A little dreg of virtue left in the flask,
Has spoil'd a night-draught. She would yet will not.
And hesitating, opportunity
Has sent you back: the husband none the worse.
—You're slow to take my meaning.
—So, you ask
Am I a gentleman? And your good friend.
I would be sorry too, but your mishap
You have not told me. Only by your looks,
Which intimate you have not been quite in luck.
Why, man! you can but try again and have.
Another night—
Am I a gentleman? And your good friend.
I would be sorry too, but your mishap
You have not told me. Only by your looks,
130
Why, man! you can but try again and have.
Another night—
—I pray you, Sir! have done.
A virtuous lady—
A virtuous lady—
—Very good, i' faith.
A virtuous lady (most respectful phrase)
Stays you in the antechamber of her hope.
We know the angler's craft.
A virtuous lady (most respectful phrase)
Stays you in the antechamber of her hope.
We know the angler's craft.
—Peace! peace! your thought
Is slanderous, false as Hell. That lady's soul
Is spotless.
Is slanderous, false as Hell. That lady's soul
Is spotless.
—You were disappointed then.
Pshaw, man! she does but hold you off, the more
To contemplate your longing. She is like
The rest of them.
Pshaw, man! she does but hold you off, the more
To contemplate your longing. She is like
The rest of them.
—By the All-living Truth,
If you repeat that, I will write it false
In your heart's blood. Draw, and defend yourself!
—Not I, against a madman baulk'd in love.
The woman's chaste because she bids him wait.
Well, some of us are fools. I can but laugh.
And so, Good-morning and next time more speed!
If you repeat that, I will write it false
In your heart's blood. Draw, and defend yourself!
—Not I, against a madman baulk'd in love.
The woman's chaste because she bids him wait.
Well, some of us are fools. I can but laugh.
And so, Good-morning and next time more speed!
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TWO BROTHERS
Unlucky man! whom Fortune not affects
For all his courtship, though his keen respects
Watch, like a faithful hound, before her gate,
Waiting her coming forth both early and late.
It is not every wooer wins her smile.—
So it meseem'd when, on a certain while,
Two Brothers treading were the self-same path:
One born for favour, and one vow'd to wrath.
And yet is Fortune not alone to blame:
He well may miss the birds whose lower aim
Marks only rabbits in the road-side grass.
The equal sun-light entereth through the glass
Or open door: who will put up his blind
May not complain that he no warmth can find,—
He would not when he might. Some seekers lose;
But there are whose dull eyes the darkness choose.
My tale shows partly this. I pray your leave.
Some joy may be in it, not all to grieve.
For all his courtship, though his keen respects
Watch, like a faithful hound, before her gate,
Waiting her coming forth both early and late.
It is not every wooer wins her smile.—
So it meseem'd when, on a certain while,
Two Brothers treading were the self-same path:
One born for favour, and one vow'd to wrath.
And yet is Fortune not alone to blame:
He well may miss the birds whose lower aim
Marks only rabbits in the road-side grass.
The equal sun-light entereth through the glass
Or open door: who will put up his blind
May not complain that he no warmth can find,—
He would not when he might. Some seekers lose;
But there are whose dull eyes the darkness choose.
My tale shows partly this. I pray your leave.
Some joy may be in it, not all to grieve.
132
Upon a morn of Spring, when youthful blood
Is restless and only to live seems good,
These two I spake of pass'd upon their way.
The younger one, hight Fridolin, was gay
And carol'd as he went; and, light of foot,
As prompt for motion as the mellow fruit
Upon the bough when a wish brings it down,
The ripe blood tingling in him—sole to crown,
Ready of eye, and lithe in every limb,
He went as all he met were glad of him.
So debonair, and every motion grace,
Even in the shade the sunlight lit his face,
And the birds' songs for ever in his ears
Pour'd music—or he heard that of the spheres,
So that his voice was tuneful as a girl's.
His brow was shelter'd with brown crisped curls;
And when he laugh'd he laugh'd both mouth and eye,
Though both were firm if ill were lurking nigh;
And quick his hand was and his footing sure.
This bachelor—I trow no maid more pure—
Had Beauty's self to be his paramour:
So great his gain of Nature, whose sweet power
Had fill'd his veins with sentience of all good,
In bower, or hall, or city, or green wood.
Everywhere Gladness hasten'd to his side,
Bold as a wife and trustful as a bride.
And as he chirp'd and sang along the road,
You felt a full heart was his only load.
In the young golden buds he found delight
And pleasure in the air, No anchorite
Was he to hide content in his mind-cell;
But some bright fancy ever had to tell
In tones that made the hearer's pleasure more.
And for the poor his pity bubbled o'er,
As doth some way-side well o'erflow its brink
When the hot traveler, halting, stoops to drink.
Is restless and only to live seems good,
These two I spake of pass'd upon their way.
The younger one, hight Fridolin, was gay
And carol'd as he went; and, light of foot,
As prompt for motion as the mellow fruit
Upon the bough when a wish brings it down,
The ripe blood tingling in him—sole to crown,
Ready of eye, and lithe in every limb,
He went as all he met were glad of him.
So debonair, and every motion grace,
Even in the shade the sunlight lit his face,
And the birds' songs for ever in his ears
Pour'd music—or he heard that of the spheres,
So that his voice was tuneful as a girl's.
His brow was shelter'd with brown crisped curls;
And when he laugh'd he laugh'd both mouth and eye,
Though both were firm if ill were lurking nigh;
And quick his hand was and his footing sure.
This bachelor—I trow no maid more pure—
Had Beauty's self to be his paramour:
So great his gain of Nature, whose sweet power
Had fill'd his veins with sentience of all good,
In bower, or hall, or city, or green wood.
Everywhere Gladness hasten'd to his side,
Bold as a wife and trustful as a bride.
And as he chirp'd and sang along the road,
You felt a full heart was his only load.
In the young golden buds he found delight
133
Was he to hide content in his mind-cell;
But some bright fancy ever had to tell
In tones that made the hearer's pleasure more.
And for the poor his pity bubbled o'er,
As doth some way-side well o'erflow its brink
When the hot traveler, halting, stoops to drink.
The elder was for gainfulness and trade:
He only cared how money might be made.
He miss'd the skies; of flowers he had no heed,
Seeing no worth—he said—in a mere weed,
Unless he sold it as medicinal.
A flower, it was a flower, and that was all.
Colour was only colour; songs of birds
To his conceit were but as empty words
From some lame poet's scroll, and loss of time;
He loathed to hear the woods' autumnal chime;
Nor saw the stars, were winter nights most clear,
Though much abroad. But then he had his cheer
In a large profit; and sometimes could laugh,
When subtle hints raised his percentage half.
The only book he cared for was slate:
He deem'd him wisest who could calculate,
Carrying usury always in his head.
The poor were but an idle lot—he said;
And for the weak—well, each man had his load.
His strength bore his own burthen, thanks to God,
And other men had better shoulder theirs
Than hinder neighbours by importunate prayers.
Wealth welcomes him who did not waste his days
A-wandering off the high road in vain ways
Of pleasantness: he held the Preacher's saw—
That all was vanity; and as a law
The parable of the Hid Talent kept,
Planning new profit as he dreamily slept.
He had great store of proverbs such as these:—
Of early worms, and leaving grapes to freeze
From lack of a due greedy diligence:
For greed and thrift he call'd intelligence.
No loiterer on idle ways was he;
But with a shambling gait went hastily.
He only cared how money might be made.
He miss'd the skies; of flowers he had no heed,
Seeing no worth—he said—in a mere weed,
Unless he sold it as medicinal.
A flower, it was a flower, and that was all.
Colour was only colour; songs of birds
To his conceit were but as empty words
From some lame poet's scroll, and loss of time;
He loathed to hear the woods' autumnal chime;
Nor saw the stars, were winter nights most clear,
Though much abroad. But then he had his cheer
In a large profit; and sometimes could laugh,
When subtle hints raised his percentage half.
The only book he cared for was slate:
He deem'd him wisest who could calculate,
Carrying usury always in his head.
The poor were but an idle lot—he said;
And for the weak—well, each man had his load.
His strength bore his own burthen, thanks to God,
And other men had better shoulder theirs
Than hinder neighbours by importunate prayers.
134
A-wandering off the high road in vain ways
Of pleasantness: he held the Preacher's saw—
That all was vanity; and as a law
The parable of the Hid Talent kept,
Planning new profit as he dreamily slept.
He had great store of proverbs such as these:—
Of early worms, and leaving grapes to freeze
From lack of a due greedy diligence:
For greed and thrift he call'd intelligence.
No loiterer on idle ways was he;
But with a shambling gait went hastily.
Outstripping soon the cheerful wayfarer,
He reach'd the forest edge, and entering there,
Where the old oaks their antler boughs outspread,
Counting some coined venture in his head,
He heard the song of the axe, and inly thought,
How much the sale had to the seller brought,
And what the buyer's cost, and what his gain;
And then it seem'd to him almost a pain
Another but himself should so have reap'd.
And so to a clear'd place he came where heap'd
The naked limbs of the hewn trees were laid:
A wild lone place, deep in the forest shade,
Where round the fire the charcoal-burners stood,
Leaning against the giants of the wood:
Giants themselves, harsh-featured, muscular,
Rude, and uncouth,—the iron men who are
Accusom'd to hard toil, sun-bronzed and grim,
The Anakim of Labour. Seeing him,
They moved to meet him, stepping in his path
And one, more close, upon his shoulder hath
Laid a strong hand and with rough action stay'd
The startled man, wide-looking and dismay'd.
He reach'd the forest edge, and entering there,
Where the old oaks their antler boughs outspread,
Counting some coined venture in his head,
He heard the song of the axe, and inly thought,
How much the sale had to the seller brought,
And what the buyer's cost, and what his gain;
And then it seem'd to him almost a pain
Another but himself should so have reap'd.
And so to a clear'd place he came where heap'd
The naked limbs of the hewn trees were laid:
A wild lone place, deep in the forest shade,
Where round the fire the charcoal-burners stood,
Leaning against the giants of the wood:
Giants themselves, harsh-featured, muscular,
Rude, and uncouth,—the iron men who are
Accusom'd to hard toil, sun-bronzed and grim,
135
They moved to meet him, stepping in his path
And one, more close, upon his shoulder hath
Laid a strong hand and with rough action stay'd
The startled man, wide-looking and dismay'd.
But here retrace our course a little way,
To tell what haps had usher'd in this day:
Leaving our elder by the charcoal-pit,
Foreseeing nought, and knowing not a whit
Of what is in the swarthy burner's mind.
Return we unto him who lagg'd behind!
To tell what haps had usher'd in this day:
Leaving our elder by the charcoal-pit,
Foreseeing nought, and knowing not a whit
Of what is in the swarthy burner's mind.
Return we unto him who lagg'd behind!
Our lad—the younger of the brothers twain—
For honourable employment had been fain
To serve as lady's page; as such had grown
In years and grace, and favour,—not alone
With his dear mistress, but with her lord too,
A knight whose worth was overmatch'd by few,
Of prowess and great state, nor wanting wealth.
Noting the boy so full of pith and health,
He had him taught all necessary things
Leading to knighthood, with intentionings
Of more advancement; and the gentle dame—
Whose goodness perfect was as her good name—
God wot, she loved him for his pretty ways
And gentilesse, and for the many days
He had made cheery with his scraps of song.
The lady, soothly, had no thought of wrong;
But, as a cloud comes in the clearest sky,
So happen'd it: for lo there, by and by,
The husband must grow jealous of the boy
And hated him, and sought for his annoy;
Until at length, his hate o'ermastering him
And his sick vision making honour dim,
He will'd to compass the lad's death, his fear—
So wicked men are—only lest appear
Proof of his guilt, still tender for his wife.
Determined then to take the stripling's life,
He sent him forth this morning; but before
Sped word of doom. The evil message bore
One whom he trusted in his worser mood.
This one had yesterday been to the wood,
And to the charcoal-burners gave command—
“Who cometh first to-morrow to your hand,
Treat him as though he were a stick of wood!”
So when the elder came, they understood
That this was he, their master's enemy,
The man appointed on the morn to die;
And made no pause, nor stay'd they to inquire,
But seized the wretch and flung him on the fire,
Heaping fresh logs on him.
For honourable employment had been fain
To serve as lady's page; as such had grown
In years and grace, and favour,—not alone
With his dear mistress, but with her lord too,
A knight whose worth was overmatch'd by few,
Of prowess and great state, nor wanting wealth.
Noting the boy so full of pith and health,
He had him taught all necessary things
Leading to knighthood, with intentionings
Of more advancement; and the gentle dame—
Whose goodness perfect was as her good name—
God wot, she loved him for his pretty ways
And gentilesse, and for the many days
He had made cheery with his scraps of song.
The lady, soothly, had no thought of wrong;
But, as a cloud comes in the clearest sky,
136
The husband must grow jealous of the boy
And hated him, and sought for his annoy;
Until at length, his hate o'ermastering him
And his sick vision making honour dim,
He will'd to compass the lad's death, his fear—
So wicked men are—only lest appear
Proof of his guilt, still tender for his wife.
Determined then to take the stripling's life,
He sent him forth this morning; but before
Sped word of doom. The evil message bore
One whom he trusted in his worser mood.
This one had yesterday been to the wood,
And to the charcoal-burners gave command—
“Who cometh first to-morrow to your hand,
Treat him as though he were a stick of wood!”
So when the elder came, they understood
That this was he, their master's enemy,
The man appointed on the morn to die;
And made no pause, nor stay'd they to inquire,
But seized the wretch and flung him on the fire,
Heaping fresh logs on him.
Again look back
To Fridolin! who, following on his track
Came singing on as blithe as any bird:
As yet far off, so that he nothing heard
Of the other's death-cry. Now beside the lake
He stoop'd o'er some young may-fly scarce awake
Clung to the stalk of an unopen'd bud;
Or watch'd the small fry hiding in the mud
Of their own hurrying; sometime he would fling
A stone in the blue depths, or make it sing
Leaping along the surface, child-like pleased
With simplest playthings; then his song he ceased
To steal upon and view the plaided snake
Uncoil'd in the sunshine; or admired the brake
With all its crook-like fronds, as if forgot
By fairy shepherds fleeing from the spot
At his approach (yet sure no fay nor elf
Had fright of one as natural as itself);
Now he pull'd down some honeysuckle bough,
As yet with only green leaves on it; now
Gladden'd his eyes with the rich purple tips
Of the new oak-leaves; or put to his lips
A curl'd up maple-leaf, as boys will do,
Sending his breath melodiously through;
Now counted nest eggs, with no thought of harm;
Then ran and leapt; and as the day grew warm
Unbutton'd to the cooler wind his vest,
Giving to sight his smooth throat and fair breast,
White as a maid's—he was so maiden fair
And delicate-skinn'd. What sigh was on the air?
Forsaken Dryad! didst thou see again
Thy Rhaicos. and recall thy loving pain?—
My master, Landor, sang of that so well,
Methinks I do but stammer as I tell
This later story. Take it for its truth,
And listen to the end!—So went the youth:
Now on the road; one moment on the edge
Of the broad water, seeking among the sedge
Some painted worm; the next cast on the ground:
And certes many lessons there he found,
From curious creatures who were quick to tell,
To him had sense to mind, their magic spell.
So on his way he garner'd various lore,
And of delights he got them by the score;
And little sermons in Dame Nature's book
Had time to read, open to those who look.
Yet he stepp'd briskly onward, and ne'er lost
Remembrance of his object, howso cross'd
By thoughts and sights he wore as one may wear
The flowers embroider'd on his robe, and bear
Himself more proudly, but who will not stint
Therefore his play of limb, less firmly print
His foot in the road sand. And now he raught
A winding height, and with new impulse sought
The points of the wide landscape, miles of trees
Mapp'd out before him, forest mysteries
Crowding his soul with wonders; then anon
Descended to the woodland depth, just gone
By the elder; and so came in little while
Unto the other's funeral pyre. His smile
Was in its wonted place as he stepp'd in
Among the burners, noting not the grin
With which they welcomed him, supposing he
Had been sent after that the doom might be
Reported. He was known throughout these parts.
And always welcome,—for he won men's hearts
With his first word—ofttimes before he spoke.
There lounged or lay, beneath a centuried oak,
The woodmen; round about was piled the yield
Of the fell'd oak-trees, there all freshly peel'd
For the sake of that strong bark the tanners use;
And the big naked trunks, branch'd like to thews
Of huge preAdamite monsters, fallen hard by,
Look'd as if they might crawl away; and nigh
To these were heaps of the small peeled boughs;
And not far off the woodmen's turf-built house;
And in the midst of all the charcoal pit,
Smouldering, and charring all was thrown in it,—
Nothing within its depth but blacken'd coal.
May God forgive, and save that wretched soul!
It was the noontide rest: the axe that swung
So lately in the tree's heart, till it flung
The ages' master to the sward, now lay
Unused; the sturdy woodmen, some at play,
Some at their meal, outstretch'd upon the grass,
Gave greeting to the youth ere he could pass;
And one of the burners rose, and pointing said—
“The will of the Lord his servants have obey'd.”
The youth not understanding answer'd then—
“'Tis well,” And, passing the unheeding men,
Unwondering, went on his joyous way.
God send him his deliverance every day
To Fridolin! who, following on his track
Came singing on as blithe as any bird:
As yet far off, so that he nothing heard
Of the other's death-cry. Now beside the lake
He stoop'd o'er some young may-fly scarce awake
Clung to the stalk of an unopen'd bud;
Or watch'd the small fry hiding in the mud
137
A stone in the blue depths, or make it sing
Leaping along the surface, child-like pleased
With simplest playthings; then his song he ceased
To steal upon and view the plaided snake
Uncoil'd in the sunshine; or admired the brake
With all its crook-like fronds, as if forgot
By fairy shepherds fleeing from the spot
At his approach (yet sure no fay nor elf
Had fright of one as natural as itself);
Now he pull'd down some honeysuckle bough,
As yet with only green leaves on it; now
Gladden'd his eyes with the rich purple tips
Of the new oak-leaves; or put to his lips
A curl'd up maple-leaf, as boys will do,
Sending his breath melodiously through;
Now counted nest eggs, with no thought of harm;
Then ran and leapt; and as the day grew warm
Unbutton'd to the cooler wind his vest,
Giving to sight his smooth throat and fair breast,
White as a maid's—he was so maiden fair
And delicate-skinn'd. What sigh was on the air?
Forsaken Dryad! didst thou see again
Thy Rhaicos. and recall thy loving pain?—
My master, Landor, sang of that so well,
Methinks I do but stammer as I tell
This later story. Take it for its truth,
And listen to the end!—So went the youth:
Now on the road; one moment on the edge
Of the broad water, seeking among the sedge
138
And certes many lessons there he found,
From curious creatures who were quick to tell,
To him had sense to mind, their magic spell.
So on his way he garner'd various lore,
And of delights he got them by the score;
And little sermons in Dame Nature's book
Had time to read, open to those who look.
Yet he stepp'd briskly onward, and ne'er lost
Remembrance of his object, howso cross'd
By thoughts and sights he wore as one may wear
The flowers embroider'd on his robe, and bear
Himself more proudly, but who will not stint
Therefore his play of limb, less firmly print
His foot in the road sand. And now he raught
A winding height, and with new impulse sought
The points of the wide landscape, miles of trees
Mapp'd out before him, forest mysteries
Crowding his soul with wonders; then anon
Descended to the woodland depth, just gone
By the elder; and so came in little while
Unto the other's funeral pyre. His smile
Was in its wonted place as he stepp'd in
Among the burners, noting not the grin
With which they welcomed him, supposing he
Had been sent after that the doom might be
Reported. He was known throughout these parts.
And always welcome,—for he won men's hearts
With his first word—ofttimes before he spoke.
There lounged or lay, beneath a centuried oak,
139
Of the fell'd oak-trees, there all freshly peel'd
For the sake of that strong bark the tanners use;
And the big naked trunks, branch'd like to thews
Of huge preAdamite monsters, fallen hard by,
Look'd as if they might crawl away; and nigh
To these were heaps of the small peeled boughs;
And not far off the woodmen's turf-built house;
And in the midst of all the charcoal pit,
Smouldering, and charring all was thrown in it,—
Nothing within its depth but blacken'd coal.
May God forgive, and save that wretched soul!
It was the noontide rest: the axe that swung
So lately in the tree's heart, till it flung
The ages' master to the sward, now lay
Unused; the sturdy woodmen, some at play,
Some at their meal, outstretch'd upon the grass,
Gave greeting to the youth ere he could pass;
And one of the burners rose, and pointing said—
“The will of the Lord his servants have obey'd.”
The youth not understanding answer'd then—
“'Tis well,” And, passing the unheeding men,
Unwondering, went on his joyous way.
God send him his deliverance every day
140
EPITHALAMIUM
Shine brightly, Sun! to greet this happy while:
Shine brightly, Sun! maintaining old belief,—
“Happy the Bride on whom the day doth smile.”
Glad Time! make her ripe happiness the sheaf
Of all her years!
Her happiness: is it not his also?
Are not they henceforth One for all the twain shall know
Of good or ill,
Of joy or woe,
Of hope or fear?
But Joy and Hope alone
We now admit. Fear! be thou still;
And Doubt! begone;
Nor let your shadows stray
Athwart the flower-strown way
Of our young lovers, with triumphant feet
Entering the porch of life's true perfectness!
Hymen! we bid thee bless
These votaries, and grant them full increase
Of future joy and peace—
A life complete.
Fly hence, all Mischiefs that disturb the Home!
Wrath and Contention! never venture here!
False Double-tonguèdness! suspicious Fear!
Avoid this door; nor even glance within!
Vile Jealousy! let not your slime be seen
On this clean threshold; nor Distrust begin
To rot the roof-tree, gnawing there between
The rafters!—But thou hither come,
Frank-spoken Faith! Love's handmaid! ever wait
To keep the order'd house; nor lift the latch
Nor ope the outmost gate
For those unwelcomed! fairest Faith! attend
The Married, as true servant and best friend!
Shine brightly, Sun! maintaining old belief,—
“Happy the Bride on whom the day doth smile.”
Glad Time! make her ripe happiness the sheaf
Of all her years!
Her happiness: is it not his also?
Are not they henceforth One for all the twain shall know
Of good or ill,
Of joy or woe,
Of hope or fear?
But Joy and Hope alone
We now admit. Fear! be thou still;
And Doubt! begone;
Nor let your shadows stray
Athwart the flower-strown way
Of our young lovers, with triumphant feet
Entering the porch of life's true perfectness!
Hymen! we bid thee bless
These votaries, and grant them full increase
Of future joy and peace—
A life complete.
141
Wrath and Contention! never venture here!
False Double-tonguèdness! suspicious Fear!
Avoid this door; nor even glance within!
Vile Jealousy! let not your slime be seen
On this clean threshold; nor Distrust begin
To rot the roof-tree, gnawing there between
The rafters!—But thou hither come,
Frank-spoken Faith! Love's handmaid! ever wait
To keep the order'd house; nor lift the latch
Nor ope the outmost gate
For those unwelcomed! fairest Faith! attend
The Married, as true servant and best friend!
If Sorrow should approach—alas the hour!
Come, thou not always enemy to man!
Not in thy panoply of dreadful power,
Storm-messaging, but, as God's Angel can,
With that sad smile on thy unwilling lips
Telling them only of an hour's eclipse
Of the continual sun! Sit at their board,
The while thou sojournest,
A courteous stranger, and an honour'd guest!
Brief be thy stay;
And as thou passest, with some thanks away,
A blessing thy last word!
Come, thou not always enemy to man!
Not in thy panoply of dreadful power,
Storm-messaging, but, as God's Angel can,
With that sad smile on thy unwilling lips
Telling them only of an hour's eclipse
Of the continual sun! Sit at their board,
The while thou sojournest,
A courteous stranger, and an honour'd guest!
Brief be thy stay;
And as thou passest, with some thanks away,
A blessing thy last word!
No more! we would not that a slightest shade
Should soil the orange-blossoms' dainty white.
Pure as those blooms be all your years, as bright
Your life, fair Maid!
Fair Maid no more, but fairer, happier Wife.
O Wife! O Husband! bearing each a name
More royal than the style of Queen or King,—
When Time shall bring
The higher Father-Mother-hood, Love's aim
So reach'd, may ye
In your like children see
Your happiness repeated, and your worth,
As years spring forth,
Year following year with grander garnering!
Should soil the orange-blossoms' dainty white.
142
Your life, fair Maid!
Fair Maid no more, but fairer, happier Wife.
O Wife! O Husband! bearing each a name
More royal than the style of Queen or King,—
When Time shall bring
The higher Father-Mother-hood, Love's aim
So reach'd, may ye
In your like children see
Your happiness repeated, and your worth,
As years spring forth,
Year following year with grander garnering!
Now even you, Good Wishes! stand aside!
The Bridegroom and the Bride
Would be alone.—
Atone
With no less wishful silence, for rude speech!
Utter but one more spell—
Heart-breathed from all and each—
Fare well!
The Bridegroom and the Bride
Would be alone.—
Atone
With no less wishful silence, for rude speech!
Utter but one more spell—
Heart-breathed from all and each—
Fare well!
169
LOVE-LORE
[1887]
Changeful as Proteus, vagrant as the air,
Love has three names,—Hope, Rapture, and Despair.
Love has three names,—Hope, Rapture, and Despair.
171
PROLOGUE
In the days when Earth was young
Beauty had not found a tongue:
For the Gods forbade her speech,
Lest her voice too soon should teach
All the bliss that Love bestows,
All the lore that heaven knows.
Beauty had not found a tongue:
For the Gods forbade her speech,
Lest her voice too soon should teach
All the bliss that Love bestows,
All the lore that heaven knows.
Through the bleak world wandering,
Silent Beauty yet could bring
Unto many an anxious thought
Dreams of heaven, else untaught:
Everywhere that she might come
She of heaven spoke, though dumb.
Silent Beauty yet could bring
Unto many an anxious thought
Dreams of heaven, else untaught:
Everywhere that she might come
She of heaven spoke, though dumb.
Waited all the Gods the event,—
Love alone impatient:
Unto Beauty then he led,
Blushing as he whispered,
One who kiss'd her. So her tongue
Was freed, and the first poet's song.
Love alone impatient:
Unto Beauty then he led,
Blushing as he whispered,
One who kiss'd her. So her tongue
Was freed, and the first poet's song.
172
YET AGAIN
Yet again! yet again!
Dearest Love! you do but feign.
That a kiss?
Or that? or this?
Must I ask you yet again?
Dearest Love! you do but feign.
That a kiss?
Or that? or this?
Must I ask you yet again?
173
Yet again! yet again,
Lover mine! as you were fain
Me to kiss!
What is amiss,
You permit me—to complain?
Lover mine! as you were fain
Me to kiss!
What is amiss,
You permit me—to complain?
Yet again! yet again!
Kisses should be swift as rain:
Every kiss
Repeats its bliss:
Kiss me now, and then again!
Kisses should be swift as rain:
Every kiss
Repeats its bliss:
Kiss me now, and then again!
174
HYMENEAL
O love! behold this Pair
By Hymen brought together:
Look on them young and fair,
Give them fair weather!
Make them to be
As He and She
Were but time-sunder'd, and now brought together
Eternally must pair!
By Hymen brought together:
Look on them young and fair,
Give them fair weather!
Make them to be
As He and She
Were but time-sunder'd, and now brought together
Eternally must pair!
Make each according heart
So one with the other coupled
That, each of the other part,
'Tis one heart doubled:
So made to be
That He and She
Estrangement conquer'd, now in concord coupled,
Must own one single heart.
So one with the other coupled
175
'Tis one heart doubled:
So made to be
That He and She
Estrangement conquer'd, now in concord coupled,
Must own one single heart.
Love! hold thou fast this Pair;
Hymen! keep them together;
Whatever storms they share,
Whate'er the weather:
Yet leave them free:
That He and She
Love gladly—not as slaves compell'd together,
An ever-willing Pair.
Hymen! keep them together;
Whatever storms they share,
Whate'er the weather:
Yet leave them free:
That He and She
Love gladly—not as slaves compell'd together,
An ever-willing Pair.
177
THE FAIR UNFAIR
Too fair for me whose grief is thy unfairness,
O Fair Unfair! and most unfair to me:
Beguiler, whose rich beauty lack'd no rareness
Except that rarest beauty, constancy!
Why didst thou take my heart with loving words,
To break, and fling away the worthless sherds?
O Fair Unfair! and most unfair to me:
Beguiler, whose rich beauty lack'd no rareness
Except that rarest beauty, constancy!
Why didst thou take my heart with loving words,
To break, and fling away the worthless sherds?
These rude sad sobs, poor fragments of lamenting,
My heart-remains, I render back to thee,
O fairest Falsehood! unto truth consenting,
Then turning, true but to inconstancy.
Take my last gift, my lost heart's worthless sherds,
All that is due to One whose vows were words.
My heart-remains, I render back to thee,
O fairest Falsehood! unto truth consenting,
Then turning, true but to inconstancy.
Take my last gift, my lost heart's worthless sherds,
All that is due to One whose vows were words.
WEED-LIKE
Did you not say you loved me?
And I—Enough, your word
I could not doubt,—I heard.
What change hath now removed me
Out of the garden of your thought,
As if I were a weed unsought?
And I—Enough, your word
I could not doubt,—I heard.
What change hath now removed me
Out of the garden of your thought,
As if I were a weed unsought?
178
The flower of love you cherish'd
In me (I had your word,
That like some passing bird
Dropp'd a fair seed), unperish'd,
Must it be only weeded out
By that worst foe of the garden, Doubt?
In me (I had your word,
That like some passing bird
Dropp'd a fair seed), unperish'd,
Must it be only weeded out
By that worst foe of the garden, Doubt?
O Love! who this forsaking
Seëst, I have no word
Of prayer; but thou hast heard,
And carest for this heart-aching.
Thine is the hurt when in dark hours
Men cast away thy very flowers.
Seëst, I have no word
Of prayer; but thou hast heard,
And carest for this heart-aching.
Thine is the hurt when in dark hours
Men cast away thy very flowers.
181
OF INCONSTANCY
What wonder when the Sun's away
We wander by the paler light?
What wonder at the close of day
We listen to the bird of night?
And yet the Sun may be our choice,
The lark's song most our souls rejoice.
We wander by the paler light?
What wonder at the close of day
We listen to the bird of night?
And yet the Sun may be our choice,
The lark's song most our souls rejoice.
Of better Burgundy deprived,
Bordeaux contents me for a while:
Is it not so, though haply wived,
One may accept a passing smile?
Because I love Thee more than all,
Must none thy loveliness recall?
Bordeaux contents me for a while:
Is it not so, though haply wived,
One may accept a passing smile?
Because I love Thee more than all,
Must none thy loveliness recall?
When Mars was absent, was it shame
That Venus for young Adon pined?
When Mars return'd, her constant flame
Tow'rd him as steadily inclined.
Dear! if the Mother of Love can change,
Dost wonder Cupid's votaries range?
That Venus for young Adon pined?
When Mars return'd, her constant flame
Tow'rd him as steadily inclined.
Dear! if the Mother of Love can change,
Dost wonder Cupid's votaries range?
183
WHY I LOVE
Not for all thy beauty's splendour,
Not for all the loving tender
Of thy grace to me observant,
Am I, Dear! thy grateful servant,—
Nor for all thy gifts and graces,—
But because my thought still places
Thee with other things divine,
Do I love thee, Lady mine!
Not for all the loving tender
Of thy grace to me observant,
Am I, Dear! thy grateful servant,—
Nor for all thy gifts and graces,—
But because my thought still places
Thee with other things divine,
Do I love thee, Lady mine!
For thy truth and holiest chasteness,
Where thy love as in a fastness
Welcomes me, for thy devotion
To haught honour, thine emotion—
Pitiful yet justly dealing
Spite of womanliest feeling,—
For thou art perfection's sign,
Do I love thee, Lady mine!
Where thy love as in a fastness
Welcomes me, for thy devotion
To haught honour, thine emotion—
Pitiful yet justly dealing
Spite of womanliest feeling,—
For thou art perfection's sign,
Do I love thee, Lady mine!
Were I all thy virtues telling,
Heralds' catalogues outswelling,
Other reasons well could measure
Why in thee my love has pleasure:
But I need not fill the story,—
Whoso know thee see the glory
Circling round thy face divine,
Why I love thee, Lady mine!
Heralds' catalogues outswelling,
Other reasons well could measure
Why in thee my love has pleasure:
But I need not fill the story,—
Whoso know thee see the glory
184
Why I love thee, Lady mine!
185
LEAP-YEAR
Venus leans her cheek against
His shoulder turn'd away:
“Love me, Adon! though thou feignst:
Thou wilt love me,—say!”
His shoulder turn'd away:
“Love me, Adon! though thou feignst:
Thou wilt love me,—say!”
186
“Loveliest face!” she draws it down;
And “Push me not away!”
Adon answers with a frown;
“Thou wilt love me?” Nay!
And “Push me not away!”
Adon answers with a frown;
“Thou wilt love me?” Nay!
She has kiss'd his close cold lips,
Her fond whisper may
But repeat her kiss; she clips
Him closer: yet 'tis Nay!
Her fond whisper may
But repeat her kiss; she clips
Him closer: yet 'tis Nay!
Venus! vainly dost thou tempt:
Love but yesterday
Thee forsook. O Love-exempt!
Wherefore dost thou pray?
Love but yesterday
Thee forsook. O Love-exempt!
Wherefore dost thou pray?
188
LOST LOVE
As the rain-drops on the sand,
As the snow-flakes on the sea,
Is my love, with lavish hand
Shower'd in vain on thee:
To be lost
Like the frost
Of yet green mornings smiled on sunnily.
As the snow-flakes on the sea,
Is my love, with lavish hand
Shower'd in vain on thee:
To be lost
Like the frost
Of yet green mornings smiled on sunnily.
As the the rain-drops on the sand,
As the snow-flakes on the sea,
Is my love: thy empty hand
Wastes it, spurning me.
Love's cold ghost,
Like the frost
Of wintry mornings, lingereth sullenly.
As the snow-flakes on the sea,
Is my love: thy empty hand
Wastes it, spurning me.
Love's cold ghost,
Like the frost
Of wintry mornings, lingereth sullenly.
189
ACROSS THE WORLD
Across the world, my Dear!
My hope shall reach to thee;
Nor Joy, nor Doubt, nor Fear,
Our severance be.
My hope shall reach to thee;
Nor Joy, nor Doubt, nor Fear,
Our severance be.
Joy will some echo wake,
Bringing thee ever near;
And Doubt for thy dear sake
Departs with Fear.
Bringing thee ever near;
And Doubt for thy dear sake
Departs with Fear.
And Grief herself shall look
On me with those dear eyes,
As absently she took
Her one disguise.
On me with those dear eyes,
As absently she took
Her one disguise.
Across the world, my Dear!
Though I may seem to roam,
My heart is ever here
With thee, at home.
Though I may seem to roam,
My heart is ever here
With thee, at home.
190
HEAVENLY EYES
Tell me not of heavenly eyes,
Suddenly glancing to surprize
(As the sun in days which are
Cloudy) eyes that watch and dare!
Suddenly glancing to surprize
(As the sun in days which are
Cloudy) eyes that watch and dare!
Tell me not of bosom'd snow,
With volcanic depths below
Of a heart whose hidden fires
Kindle uncontroul'd desires!
With volcanic depths below
Of a heart whose hidden fires
Kindle uncontroul'd desires!
Tell me not of wisest ways,
And the subtlety bewrays
How love's waited for, and yet
Is not sure it will be met!
And the subtlety bewrays
How love's waited for, and yet
Is not sure it will be met!
Tell me rather of a soul
Loving, but with such controul
O'er itself that it may be
Sure of its serenity!
Loving, but with such controul
O'er itself that it may be
Sure of its serenity!
Tell me of a form so fair
I scarce think of fairness there,
Knowing how it doth enshrine
All that love holds most divine!
I scarce think of fairness there,
Knowing how it doth enshrine
All that love holds most divine!
191
Tell me of sufficient wit
Love need not be shamed of it!
Fair or foul, as others deem,
Thts is She I hold supreme.
Love need not be shamed of it!
Fair or foul, as others deem,
Thts is She I hold supreme.
Be she homely, ay! as true,
Thorough-loving, trusting through,
Though she have not heavenly eyes,
This is She as heaven I prize.
Thorough-loving, trusting through,
Though she have not heavenly eyes,
This is She as heaven I prize.
WAITING
Why should I wait, O Lover!
Hearing thy call? I come.
Wait? when thou dost discover
Thy heart—my home.
Hearing thy call? I come.
Wait? when thou dost discover
Thy heart—my home.
Why should I wait, Belovèd!
Ready to meet thy call?
What though thou be unprovèd,
Thine am I, all.
Ready to meet thy call?
What though thou be unprovèd,
Thine am I, all.
Yet could I wait, dear Lover!
Wanting thy voice (O heart!)
Were it but one step over
To where thou art.
Wanting thy voice (O heart!)
Were it but one step over
To where thou art.
193
COUNT OF TIME
How shall we count our hours?
Nay, Love! our kisses count
Our love's amount
While the fount of time is ours.
Nay, Love! our kisses count
Our love's amount
While the fount of time is ours.
Count we our moments? Dear!
Each moment is a kiss:
Why, 'twere amiss
To account for even a year.
Each moment is a kiss:
Why, 'twere amiss
To account for even a year.
Who counts his kisses knows
How much he did expend
At his love's end.
Our love shall have no close.
How much he did expend
At his love's end.
Our love shall have no close.
194
HERO'S SONG
“Yet again, O my Leander!—
Ere the happier Hours depart,
Watching thee while thou dost wander
Far from where thou leavest thy heart.
Yet again, before the dullness
Of the daylight hides thy form!
Love! O Love! be ours the fullness
Of delight before the storm.
Ere the happier Hours depart,
Watching thee while thou dost wander
Far from where thou leavest thy heart.
Yet again, before the dullness
Of the daylight hides thy form!
Love! O Love! be ours the fullness
Of delight before the storm.
195
“Night! Day can not lend thee splendour,
Night that brings Leander here:
Hasten, Day! thy joys surrender
For the presence of my Dear.
Day of gloom! Night had such glory:”—
Ere she mourn'd her Castaway.
Readers of Leander's story
Love the night before the day.
Night that brings Leander here:
Hasten, Day! thy joys surrender
For the presence of my Dear.
Day of gloom! Night had such glory:”—
Ere she mourn'd her Castaway.
Readers of Leander's story
Love the night before the day.
201
GRIEF
Draw thy hand across thine eyes!
Turn away!
No tear fall for One who lies
There to-day!
Turn away!
No tear fall for One who lies
There to-day!
Speak no word, nor seem to heed
What they say!
Can a dead heart care indeed?
Thine to-day.
What they say!
Can a dead heart care indeed?
Thine to-day.
One in grave and One grief-slain,
Clay to clay!
Parted ne'er to meet again:
Pass away!
Clay to clay!
Parted ne'er to meet again:
Pass away!
202
MY MAIDEN
Fair is she, as a morn most fair,
And pure as earliest dew;
Like Spring's first gold her crisped hair,
Like heaven her eyes' deep blue;
Her form is as the leopard's lithe,
Her step as a wild fawn's free;
And like her heart her song is blithe
With loving thoughts of me.
And pure as earliest dew;
Like Spring's first gold her crisped hair,
Like heaven her eyes' deep blue;
Her form is as the leopard's lithe,
Her step as a wild fawn's free;
And like her heart her song is blithe
With loving thoughts of me.
203
Glad thoughts, a halo round her face,
Her heart is so astir:
O love, my love, give me the grace
Of thoughts as worthy Her!
Sweet Heart! the very Gods were glad
Its sweet outcome to see;
And I a God since when She had
Glad loving thoughts of me.
Her heart is so astir:
O love, my love, give me the grace
Of thoughts as worthy Her!
Sweet Heart! the very Gods were glad
Its sweet outcome to see;
And I a God since when She had
Glad loving thoughts of me.
WHICH OF US
Surely we both loved passing well.
How it happen'd I can not tell,
But so it came:
Was She fickle or was I tired?
Whose the blame?
Say that neither of us inquired
Of that same.
How it happen'd I can not tell,
But so it came:
Was She fickle or was I tired?
Whose the blame?
Say that neither of us inquired
Of that same.
But this happen'd: one hazy day
One of the twain was far astray;
But how it came,
Whether 'twas I or She who went,
'Tis no blame.
Both may be wrong yet innocent
All the same.
One of the twain was far astray;
But how it came,
Whether 'twas I or She who went,
'Tis no blame.
Both may be wrong yet innocent
All the same.
209
WHICH
Which art thou? boy or girl, with face
So frank, devoid of shame,
And closely curling hair,
And with that rare
Ingenuousness which would dishearten Blame,
If Blame dared bring disgrace.
So frank, devoid of shame,
And closely curling hair,
And with that rare
Ingenuousness which would dishearten Blame,
If Blame dared bring disgrace.
Art thou Apollo?—here again
In simple shepherd guise,
Simple, but gracious too,
As when he knew
To please Admetus, with those level eyes
Of most divine disdain.
In simple shepherd guise,
Simple, but gracious too,
As when he knew
To please Admetus, with those level eyes
Of most divine disdain.
Art Dian, only chastely hymn'd?—
Or Nymph of Dian's Court,
At home in the green wood?
Methinks I could
Attempt Actæon—happy in such sort,
My sight thereafter dimm'd.
Or Nymph of Dian's Court,
At home in the green wood?
Methinks I could
Attempt Actæon—happy in such sort,
My sight thereafter dimm'd.
Which art thou?—I need ask no more:
For my too venturing speech
Hath scarcely touch'd thy cheek,
And what I seek
Is found in the swift blush, red as a peach,
Mantling thy sweet face o'er.
For my too venturing speech
Hath scarcely touch'd thy cheek,
210
Is found in the swift blush, red as a peach,
Mantling thy sweet face o'er.
212
A HEALTH
A health to the damosel tall!
A health to my lass, though small!
Black eyes, or blue,
Or brown will do,—
Or green: we will drink to all.
A health to my lass, though small!
Black eyes, or blue,
Or brown will do,—
Or green: we will drink to all.
A health to the maiden slim,
If her eyes but with love are dim!
Here's to the stout,
Loving, no doubt!
I'd pledge them both for a whim.
If her eyes but with love are dim!
Here's to the stout,
Loving, no doubt!
I'd pledge them both for a whim.
Drink, drink to both dark and fair!
To the girl with the golden hair;
To her with the black;
And never slack
Till the red has a handsome share!
To the girl with the golden hair;
To her with the black;
And never slack
Till the red has a handsome share!
A health to—The sort don't mind.
Since your wine is of various kind,
Toast each, as they pass,
In a separate glass!
Remembering Love is blind.
Since your wine is of various kind,
Toast each, as they pass,
In a separate glass!
Remembering Love is blind.
213
ADVICE TO A MAIDEN
Wilt thou yield because he presses?
Easily earn'd is quickly spent.
Bind him, Maiden! with thy tresses!
Hasten not event!
Easily earn'd is quickly spent.
Bind him, Maiden! with thy tresses!
Hasten not event!
Careless who too soon possesses:
Lo, he came and went.
Hold thy falcon in his jesses,
For a while content!
Lo, he came and went.
Hold thy falcon in his jesses,
For a while content!
But she said—“The giver blesses:
Love is given, not lent.”
And I thought her fond caresses
Not improvident.
Love is given, not lent.”
And I thought her fond caresses
Not improvident.
215
DROUGHT
The wind waves over the grass:
Will it bring the rain?
I know not. Sad heart! alas!
Tears will not ease thy pain.
Will it bring the rain?
I know not. Sad heart! alas!
Tears will not ease thy pain.
We are wanting the rain for the seeds
Lying hard in the earth;
And our hopes have come up as weeds
For the harvest of dearth.
Lying hard in the earth;
And our hopes have come up as weeds
For the harvest of dearth.
217
THE IDEAL
Never for what She is
Man loves, unknown her kind.
And woman's love, like his,
Is also blind.
Each looks, but neither sees;
Hidden from both the Real:
And all Love's ecstasies
Adore the Ideal.
Man loves, unknown her kind.
And woman's love, like his,
Is also blind.
Each looks, but neither sees;
Hidden from both the Real:
And all Love's ecstasies
Adore the Ideal.
Wherefore, our wit so scant,
Love we? Alas the hour!
Ask why the full-grown plant
Puts forth the flower!
Track o'er the pathless seas
The wild birds' way,
And yet Love's mysteries
Thou shalt not say.
Love we? Alas the hour!
Ask why the full-grown plant
Puts forth the flower!
Track o'er the pathless seas
The wild birds' way,
And yet Love's mysteries
Thou shalt not say.
218
Seekers of what is not,
The prize each one would win
Is Beauty without spot
And Truth within.
Be glad if Hope can seize
Some image of the Real,
And calm sweet memories
Still hold the Ideal!
The prize each one would win
Is Beauty without spot
And Truth within.
Be glad if Hope can seize
Some image of the Real,
And calm sweet memories
Still hold the Ideal!
THE COUNTERFEIT
If I could fashion Thee in stone,
Fair as thyself, Belovèd One!
Even Phidias were content to see
The world's most beauteous effigy;
And I with gazing on the stone
Should wish myself Pygmalion.
Fair as thyself, Belovèd One!
Even Phidias were content to see
The world's most beauteous effigy;
And I with gazing on the stone
Should wish myself Pygmalion.
Could I upon the canvas paint
Thy likeness, my love's worshipt Saint!
To Raffaele's dreams a grace I'd lend,
And with great Titian contend;
All lesser painters should despair
To express a face so more than fair.
Thy likeness, my love's worshipt Saint!
To Raffaele's dreams a grace I'd lend,
And with great Titian contend;
All lesser painters should despair
To express a face so more than fair.
O might I borrow Sidney's quill,
Or Jonson's rare poetic skill,
And trace thy loveliness of mind
In words of heart, till thine inclined
To thank the poet at thy feet,—
What song could be so honey-sweet?
Or Jonson's rare poetic skill,
219
In words of heart, till thine inclined
To thank the poet at thy feet,—
What song could be so honey-sweet?
But in thy gloriousness of face,
And in thy form's unstudied grace,
I find such charms I must despair
To fashion thy resemblance fair;
And sculpture, painting, poesy,
Are weak for counterfeiting Thee.
And in thy form's unstudied grace,
I find such charms I must despair
To fashion thy resemblance fair;
And sculpture, painting, poesy,
Are weak for counterfeiting Thee.
LOVING FAITH
Say the worst! Ere all is said
Love hath fully answerèd.
Defamation still may say
And Detraction hold her way;
All is said, and Love yet smiles:
Loving faith no falsehood files.
Love hath fully answerèd.
Defamation still may say
And Detraction hold her way;
All is said, and Love yet smiles:
Loving faith no falsehood files.
Yet, were slander true as troth,
Censure likely as now loath,
Or if—Peace! the loving still
Love, as Love for ever will.
All is done: Love only smiles.
Loving faith no doubt defiles.
Censure likely as now loath,
Or if—Peace! the loving still
Love, as Love for ever will.
All is done: Love only smiles.
Loving faith no doubt defiles.
222
AIME MOI
Aimez moi, je vous en prie!
Never a word she understood:
But her eyes told me she would,
Said—Je t' aime, mon bel ami!
Never a word she understood:
But her eyes told me she would,
Said—Je t' aime, mon bel ami!
Aimez moi, je vous en prie!
Not a word could she understand,
But the pressure of her hand
Said—Je t' aime, mon bel ami!
Not a word could she understand,
But the pressure of her hand
Said—Je t' aime, mon bel ami!
Aimè moi, and je t'en prie!
Never a word her lips pass'd by:
Sweeter kisses gave reply,
Said—Je t' aime, mon bel ami!
Never a word her lips pass'd by:
Sweeter kisses gave reply,
Said—Je t' aime, mon bel ami!
223
FOR LOVE'S SAKE
I would I were a fly on my Love's cheek, Or flea
On her white bosom, or poor humble bee
To sting her lip when I would honey seek:
Since flies or fleas may come my Mistress nigh,
All happier than I.
On her white bosom, or poor humble bee
To sting her lip when I would honey seek:
Since flies or fleas may come my Mistress nigh,
All happier than I.
O Love! transform me. No shape were amiss To take.
Her four-legg'd favourite, centipede, or snake,
I'd be if She my prettiness would kiss,
And fondle me: so I might crawl beside
This most dear Thing of Pride.
Her four-legg'd favourite, centipede, or snake,
I'd be if She my prettiness would kiss,
And fondle me: so I might crawl beside
This most dear Thing of Pride.
Change me to anything that She can love! A toad:
The jewel in my head I would unload;
Some happier day She might the gift approve.
Or make me (bully Jove! Love's memory jog,)
A beautiful bull-frog!
The jewel in my head I would unload;
Some happier day She might the gift approve.
Or make me (bully Jove! Love's memory jog,)
A beautiful bull-frog!
224
THRENODY
Bring thy saddest tears, O Earth!
Never canst thou have
Such great Worth
Thy grief to crave.
Pour from all thy crystal springs
Full sorrowings,
Nor mind the after dearth!
Never canst thou have
Such great Worth
Thy grief to crave.
Pour from all thy crystal springs
Full sorrowings,
Nor mind the after dearth!
Strew on Her, O Trees! your leaves;
Flowers, Blossoms! fade.
Winter reaves
And clouds must shade
Your joys in Summer's jocund time,
Since in her prime
Death binds Her in his sheaves.
Flowers, Blossoms! fade.
Winter reaves
And clouds must shade
Your joys in Summer's jocund time,
Since in her prime
Death binds Her in his sheaves.
Springs, and Groves, all things of Earth!
Mourn since She is gone!
Life's great mirth
Is changed to moan;
Hope, when She was laid in tomb,
Dared not to bloom:
So Loss defeated Worth.
Mourn since She is gone!
Life's great mirth
Is changed to moan;
Hope, when She was laid in tomb,
Dared not to bloom:
So Loss defeated Worth.
225
FORTUNA
How many wouldst thou love? fair Maid!
Sad was my heart, God wot:
Thou makèst Love himself afraid,
And yet who loves thee not?
Sad was my heart, God wot:
Thou makèst Love himself afraid,
And yet who loves thee not?
“I love, I love thee!” Such words said,
Glad was my heart, God wot:
Upon my heart thy fair head laid.
And yet thou lovedst me not.
Glad was my heart, God wot:
Upon my heart thy fair head laid.
And yet thou lovedst me not.
She loved, she said; and left me so:
Sad was my heart, God wot.
Thy love of change so many know,
And yet who loves thee not?
Sad was my heart, God wot.
Thy love of change so many know,
And yet who loves thee not?
Once leaving me thou didst look back
(Glad was my heart, God wot,)
As bidding me to keep thy track:
And yet thou lovedst me not.
(Glad was my heart, God wot,)
As bidding me to keep thy track:
And yet thou lovedst me not.
O Love, whom Love hath made so fair!
Sad is my heart, God wot:
Thou leavest thy lovers to despair.
And yet who loves thee not?
Sad is my heart, God wot:
Thou leavest thy lovers to despair.
And yet who loves thee not?
231
SAPPHIC
I love him, and he loves me not: alas
That this should be!
How should a maiden come to such a pass,
A maiden free?
Woe's me!
That this should be!
How should a maiden come to such a pass,
A maiden free?
Woe's me!
Free once as wind: but were I as the wind,
To him I'd flee,
Breathe my love sighingly, and loving bind
The now love-free.
Woe's me!
To him I'd flee,
Breathe my love sighingly, and loving bind
The now love-free.
Woe's me!
I love him and he loves me not. O Grief!
My helper be;
Wind! bear me unto him, as a dead leaf
Is borne by thee.
Woe's me!
My helper be;
Wind! bear me unto him, as a dead leaf
Is borne by thee.
Woe's me!
234
SLEEP
Be still! She sleeps.
Thy whitest smile, O Moon!
(As once Endymion)
In pallor steeps
Her fair face while she sleeps.
Thy whitest smile, O Moon!
(As once Endymion)
In pallor steeps
Her fair face while she sleeps.
Be still! She sleeps.
No leaf let fall, May-bloom!
But sweet perfume,
Where Silence creeps
To watch her as she sleeps.
No leaf let fall, May-bloom!
But sweet perfume,
235
To watch her as she sleeps.
Be hush'd! She sleeps.
O tender-winged Moth!
Have care, as loath
To assail the keeps
Where she still smiling sleeps.
O tender-winged Moth!
Have care, as loath
To assail the keeps
Where she still smiling sleeps.
238
THE LAST TOAST
Fling your hearts in the bowl till the liquor runs o'er!
We have drunk many healths, there remaineth one more:
We have named the Belovèd, the Fond and the Fair;—
One toast yet invites us while time is to spare.
We have drunk many healths, there remaineth one more:
We have named the Belovèd, the Fond and the Fair;—
One toast yet invites us while time is to spare.
Fling your hearts in the bowl, for the red wine runs low;
And my toast must be had ere one man of us go.
We have honour'd the Absent, and thought of the Dead
In the silence of love when no tear may be shed.
And my toast must be had ere one man of us go.
We have honour'd the Absent, and thought of the Dead
In the silence of love when no tear may be shed.
Fling your hearts in again! there's enough for a health:
To the Fair whom we name not but worship by stealth?
To the Fair long since loved? We remember'd them all.—
To the “Unfair,” at leisure, or foul you befall!
To the Fair whom we name not but worship by stealth?
To the Fair long since loved? We remember'd them all.—
To the “Unfair,” at leisure, or foul you befall!
Full glasses to Her whom Love seems to forget,
Whom Joy, narrow-minded, asks not to his set,
To her the unworship'd, unwed, and unwoo'd,
The Childless, the Martyr to life-solitude!
239
To her the unworship'd, unwed, and unwoo'd,
The Childless, the Martyr to life-solitude!
Alone,—ay, heart-lonely! Unlovely? Alas!
Love himself the Most Lovely hath brought to this pass.
Drink! drink! Who'll refuse, but to quit him of wrong;
Or grudge her the Poet's poor solace of song?
Love himself the Most Lovely hath brought to this pass.
Drink! drink! Who'll refuse, but to quit him of wrong;
Or grudge her the Poet's poor solace of song?
241
DETUR PULCHRIORI
My Lady's eyes have heaven's hue,
Serenely bright and blue.
My Love's are black as deepest night
By lightning's light.
Serenely bright and blue.
My Love's are black as deepest night
By lightning's light.
My Lady's face, like blushing rose,
With swift emotion glows.
And mine is pale, as marble fair,
With feeling rare.
With swift emotion glows.
And mine is pale, as marble fair,
With feeling rare.
Her hair is golden as the round
On royal foreheads bound.
Her's is more dark than ebon twine
Of Proserpine.
On royal foreheads bound.
Her's is more dark than ebon twine
Of Proserpine.
As gently-carriaged as the dove
Of Venus, She I love.
And She is goddess-like in mien
As Jove's great Queen.
Of Venus, She I love.
And She is goddess-like in mien
As Jove's great Queen.
So strove they; then unto a third
The high dispute referr'd:
He on his tablets this set down—
My girl is brown.
The high dispute referr'd:
He on his tablets this set down—
My girl is brown.
243
LAIS
For ever stumbling to a fall,
And still afraid to look behind,
Infirm of will, but wilful, all
Thy native gifts have sown the wind.
And still afraid to look behind,
Infirm of will, but wilful, all
Thy native gifts have sown the wind.
We found thy beauty but a lure,
Thy ready tongue a treacherous bait.
Thy love a fancy—to endure
So long as fickleness could wait.
Thy ready tongue a treacherous bait.
Thy love a fancy—to endure
So long as fickleness could wait.
High-placed as fair, with wit and sense,
Love was thine own and honour lent:
Hadst thou escaped incontinence,
Thy happier life had known content.
Love was thine own and honour lent:
Hadst thou escaped incontinence,
Thy happier life had known content.
LINGERING
Shall I for a woman pine
When she cares not to be mine?
Or, if she'll not have me her's,
Come with the other servitors?
Eager Love would droop and die,
Waiting for so slow reply.
When she cares not to be mine?
Or, if she'll not have me her's,
Come with the other servitors?
244
Waiting for so slow reply.
I would be the first to woo,
But would have her ready too:
If she will not understand
Asking pressure of the hand,
Or the swift prayer of an eye,
Dullness take her! what care I?
But would have her ready too:
If she will not understand
Asking pressure of the hand,
Or the swift prayer of an eye,
Dullness take her! what care I?
Nay! and yet she must not haste:
Hurried having is disgraced.
But, as she sees me inclined,
Let her only know her mind,
To be prompt with her reply!
Doubtful love is apt to die.
Hurried having is disgraced.
But, as she sees me inclined,
Let her only know her mind,
To be prompt with her reply!
Doubtful love is apt to die.
245
PARIS JUSTIFIED
What else had Paris but to choose
The Queen of Beauty for his prize?
What else when he had eyes to use,
And sense to justify his eyes?
The Queen of Beauty for his prize?
What else when he had eyes to use,
And sense to justify his eyes?
Poor Wisdom, knowing not of love
Or wish to propagate her kind,
Such maidenhood, who may, approve!
I own myself of Paris' mind.
Or wish to propagate her kind,
Such maidenhood, who may, approve!
I own myself of Paris' mind.
And Power that had no power to make
A silly shepherd give to her
The apple, even for love's sake,—
Such Power, who will, to Love prefer!
A silly shepherd give to her
The apple, even for love's sake,—
Such Power, who will, to Love prefer!
So, it meseemeth, Paris had
Good cause for Wit to allow his choice,
For Power to spare the happy lad
Whom only Beauty could rejoice.
Good cause for Wit to allow his choice,
For Power to spare the happy lad
Whom only Beauty could rejoice.
246
HOMEWARD
Swift-winged wind, wild bird of the waste ocean!
Carry my message home:
Tell her I come;
Whisper unto her of my life's devotion.
Carry my message home:
Tell her I come;
Whisper unto her of my life's devotion.
Stars that behold us both for all this distance
Between me and my home:
Tell her I come;
Assure her of my faith and love's persistence.
Between me and my home:
Tell her I come;
Assure her of my faith and love's persistence.
Fore-reaching Thought! thyself o'erstep the billow;
Bear thine own message home.
I come, I come.
Even now, Dear Love! my glad heart is thy pillow.
Bear thine own message home.
I come, I come.
Even now, Dear Love! my glad heart is thy pillow.
249
MISTRESS JANE
Hard words, Mistress Jane!
For a lover, “despise and disdain.”
But there's that in your eyes
Bids me ask you again,
Mistress Jane!
For a lover, “despise and disdain.”
But there's that in your eyes
Bids me ask you again,
Mistress Jane!
I shall ask you “in vain”;
And may “leave” you. I wiser remain,
For that look in your eyes
Bids me stay, and so gain
My own Jane.
And may “leave” you. I wiser remain,
For that look in your eyes
Bids me stay, and so gain
My own Jane.
250
THE TRESPASS
Out and alas
For this my trespass!
I kiss'd her when I should not:
Not that she would not.
By my troth 'twas a likely lass.
For this my trespass!
I kiss'd her when I should not:
Not that she would not.
By my troth 'twas a likely lass.
Out and alas!—
Herein my trespass:
I would have love too quickly.
She not unlikely:
By my troth, so it came to pass.
Herein my trespass:
I would have love too quickly.
She not unlikely:
By my troth, so it came to pass.
Out and alas!—
For so brief trespass
She turns from me her sunlight.
Ne'ertheless I have done right.
By my troth, 'twas a likely lass.
For so brief trespass
She turns from me her sunlight.
Ne'ertheless I have done right.
By my troth, 'twas a likely lass.
252
EPICUREAN
In Childhood's unsuspicious hours
The fairies crown'd my head with flowers.
The fairies crown'd my head with flowers.
Youth came: I lay at Beauty's feet;
She smiled and said my song was sweet.
She smiled and said my song was sweet.
Then Age and, Love no longer mine,
My brows I shaded with the Vine.
My brows I shaded with the Vine.
With flowers and love and wine and song;
O Death! life hath not been too long.
O Death! life hath not been too long.
255
THE SINGER'S APOLOGY
Mere waste of wit these poor love-rimes,
These tinklings fit to tickle ears
Of silly boys and girls in times
Of play: offence to serious years!
These tinklings fit to tickle ears
Of silly boys and girls in times
Of play: offence to serious years!
Yet so did Shakspere spend his hours,
And Sidney judged love-lore no shame,
And Jonson grudged not noblest powers:
If not their praise, I share their blame.
And Sidney judged love-lore no shame,
And Jonson grudged not noblest powers:
If not their praise, I share their blame.
Nor do I of mere idlesse sing:
Albeit without didactic bent,
My simple notes perchance may bring
Some lesson of a wise content.
Albeit without didactic bent,
My simple notes perchance may bring
Some lesson of a wise content.
Rebuke the lark “at heaven's gate”!
Reprove the foolish nightingale!
While these may sing I will not wait,
Though wisdom frown or critics rail.
Reprove the foolish nightingale!
While these may sing I will not wait,
Though wisdom frown or critics rail.
| Love-Lore (1895) | |