 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
FIRST LOVE.
She stood beside me in the shade,
The starry shade of heaven's blue,
Whose lamps, like nuptial torches, made
By love eterne, their soft light threw.
The starry shade of heaven's blue,
Whose lamps, like nuptial torches, made
By love eterne, their soft light threw.
She stood beside me, while the air,
Like the pure breath of Heaven, came,
Whispering a blessing, as it were,
Where neither sin had part, nor shame.
Like the pure breath of Heaven, came,
Whispering a blessing, as it were,
Where neither sin had part, nor shame.
She stood beside me, and my youth,
With all its dreams and visions high,
Seemed in her form to grow to truth,
And pass in living beauty by.
With all its dreams and visions high,
Seemed in her form to grow to truth,
And pass in living beauty by.
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As erst through my own heart they passed,
Stirring it like first Love's long kiss,
So on my sense they shone at last,
And turned those dreams to waking bliss.
Stirring it like first Love's long kiss,
So on my sense they shone at last,
And turned those dreams to waking bliss.
She stood beside me, like a flower
Bowed by the dewy evening air,
In modest fear, yet conscious power,
I thought she never looked so fair.
Bowed by the dewy evening air,
In modest fear, yet conscious power,
I thought she never looked so fair.
Like the sweet lily of the vale,
She drooped her lovely brow beneath
The shade of its own beauty, pale
As moonlight, daring scarce to breathe.
She drooped her lovely brow beneath
The shade of its own beauty, pale
As moonlight, daring scarce to breathe.
I took her hand, it trembled so,
And yet no thought of wrong was there,
It trembled in its own deep bliss,
As trembles love alone, and prayer!
And yet no thought of wrong was there,
It trembled in its own deep bliss,
As trembles love alone, and prayer!
Ah! bliss that has no fellow here,
Whose memory alone is worth
All after-joys, how sweet soe'er,
For these all savour of the earth.
Whose memory alone is worth
All after-joys, how sweet soe'er,
For these all savour of the earth.
But this, oh this is heaven's own,
And bringeth heaven with it still,
And bliss and beauty, like the zone
Of Venus, scatters where it will!
And bringeth heaven with it still,
And bliss and beauty, like the zone
Of Venus, scatters where it will!
I gazed upon her pure, bright face,
Through which the peace of Heaven shone,
And earth seemed as a holy place,
That angels themselves might dwell on.
Through which the peace of Heaven shone,
And earth seemed as a holy place,
That angels themselves might dwell on.
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That face she half had turned away,
Yet pressed me closer to her heart,
Because, the less she dared to say,
The more her feelings took my part.
Yet pressed me closer to her heart,
Because, the less she dared to say,
The more her feelings took my part.
As if she feared too much to do,
And then, disowning such a fear,
Did more than she first meant, or knew
She did, then shrank at the idea!
And then, disowning such a fear,
Did more than she first meant, or knew
She did, then shrank at the idea!
A cloud across the moon had passed,
And, in the shadow which it made,
I caught the full look of deep love she cast
Upon me, from its ambuscade!
And, in the shadow which it made,
I caught the full look of deep love she cast
Upon me, from its ambuscade!
But, when that cloud had passed away,
Her face once more was bent aside,
As if she feared it might betray,
What but just now she could not hide!
Her face once more was bent aside,
As if she feared it might betray,
What but just now she could not hide!
I could not speak—mine eyes were dim,
And, like a child, scarce knowing why,
I wept: for when the heart is brim,
It needs must waste some drops, or die.
And, like a child, scarce knowing why,
I wept: for when the heart is brim,
It needs must waste some drops, or die.
As, in the breathless heavens, some
Full cloud hangs on the heated air,
From which a few big tear-drops come,
To ease what else it could not bear.
Full cloud hangs on the heated air,
From which a few big tear-drops come,
To ease what else it could not bear.
Waste, do I say! it is not so,
Love is no miser of the heart:
To him there is no Future, no,
He has no Self, no meaner part.
Love is no miser of the heart:
To him there is no Future, no,
He has no Self, no meaner part.
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He cannot thus economise,
Nor, from the sole, deep springhead, save,
For the waste which before him lies,
Aught for what future wants may crave.
Nor, from the sole, deep springhead, save,
For the waste which before him lies,
Aught for what future wants may crave.
Yet were it well that Passion's breath
Ne'er flared to waste his holy flame,
That burning calmly on till death,
It lit him to an higher aim.
Ne'er flared to waste his holy flame,
That burning calmly on till death,
It lit him to an higher aim.
An higher aim! and can there be
An higher aim than thus to love,
Nought in the world to feel or see,
Save our own bliss, and Him above?
An higher aim than thus to love,
Nought in the world to feel or see,
Save our own bliss, and Him above?
Of all thanksgivings that are known,
What for the God of Love so fit,
As thus to be but love alone,
With His own self made one by it!
What for the God of Love so fit,
As thus to be but love alone,
With His own self made one by it!
Aye, wisdom comes with after years,
The wisdom of the niggard brain,
But the heart too a wisdom bears,
An alchymy ne'er found again.
The wisdom of the niggard brain,
But the heart too a wisdom bears,
An alchymy ne'er found again.
An alchymy which changes all
Within its reach to more than gold,
To things divine, poetical,
To beauty and to bliss untold!
Within its reach to more than gold,
To things divine, poetical,
To beauty and to bliss untold!
But love grows calculation, grows
A miser—not poured from the heart,
Like the full perfume of the rose,
No more our being, but a part.
A miser—not poured from the heart,
Like the full perfume of the rose,
No more our being, but a part.
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When I look back on that sweet hour
Of Love, and Love's first, pure caress,
I feel that all Man's idle lore
Less than the heart's least beat can bless.
Of Love, and Love's first, pure caress,
I feel that all Man's idle lore
Less than the heart's least beat can bless.
I see again the well-known spot,
I hear her light step on the ground,
I hear her, though I see her not,
My eyes have in my ears eyes found!
I hear her light step on the ground,
I hear her, though I see her not,
My eyes have in my ears eyes found!
I feel her quick heart throb 'gainst mine,
And in my arms I seem to hold
The world and all that is divine
Therein, while her I thus enfold!
And in my arms I seem to hold
The world and all that is divine
Therein, while her I thus enfold!
Long years have flown since then, yet what
Are they? the echo of a sound!
But this endures, and shall, when not
A vestige of aught else is found.
Are they? the echo of a sound!
But this endures, and shall, when not
A vestige of aught else is found.
That picture, in this frame of Time,
Still keeps its colours, fresh, divine,
As are, when Morning first doth climb
The sky, the hues her form enshrine.
Still keeps its colours, fresh, divine,
As are, when Morning first doth climb
The sky, the hues her form enshrine.
And, when this outward sight grows faint,
That picture on these inner eyes,
Of her, my Love, my more than Saint,
My Life's Aurora, still shall rise!
That picture on these inner eyes,
Of her, my Love, my more than Saint,
My Life's Aurora, still shall rise!
Rise, like the Morn, to make me day,
And songs and gladness, and all good,
When I should else be dark, and stray,
Still in the night, with night's dark brood!
And songs and gladness, and all good,
When I should else be dark, and stray,
Still in the night, with night's dark brood!
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Methinks I see her as she stood,
Wrapped in a veil of beauty by
The calm moonlight, which with a flood
Of glory clothed her to my eye.
Wrapped in a veil of beauty by
The calm moonlight, which with a flood
Of glory clothed her to my eye.
Wrapped in a haze of silvery light,
Her outline seemed to blend with it,
And like an angel, to my sight
She seemed, just on the earth alit!
Her outline seemed to blend with it,
And like an angel, to my sight
She seemed, just on the earth alit!
She looked an emanation of
That holy light, and her white vest,
Like a dove's plumage, seemed to move
Above her gently-heaving breast:
That holy light, and her white vest,
Like a dove's plumage, seemed to move
Above her gently-heaving breast:
An halo round her brow was shed,
Such as the Saints in pictures wear,
But hers was real, and she not dead,
But standing living, blushing there!
Such as the Saints in pictures wear,
But hers was real, and she not dead,
But standing living, blushing there!
Soft as a star her blue eye shone,
Yet turned in bashfulness away,
As if she feared to trust upon
My prying glance its telltale ray.
Yet turned in bashfulness away,
As if she feared to trust upon
My prying glance its telltale ray.
Yet to her hand a gentle thrill
Th' involuntary heart conveyed,
For, 'mid his artifice, love will
Forget his part, the first time played.
Th' involuntary heart conveyed,
For, 'mid his artifice, love will
Forget his part, the first time played.
He cons his task in secret o'er,
And perfect seems in all his part,
Yet, when he plays that part before
Another, Nature conquers Art.
And perfect seems in all his part,
Yet, when he plays that part before
Another, Nature conquers Art.
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Timid her hand she half drew back,
And blushed as it had been broad day,
Then gave it half again—alack!
When Love's in earnest 'tis his way.
And blushed as it had been broad day,
Then gave it half again—alack!
When Love's in earnest 'tis his way.
But true Love never long will vex,
Or fling away the heart it seeks,
Though, for a moment 't may perplex,
Its frowardness itself most piques!
Or fling away the heart it seeks,
Though, for a moment 't may perplex,
Its frowardness itself most piques!
She turned in virgin majesty,
In simple dignity and grace,
Nature alone shone in her eye,
And Love sat blushing in her face!
In simple dignity and grace,
Nature alone shone in her eye,
And Love sat blushing in her face!
Meaning no wrong, and fearing none,
She rayed me with a smile, more bright
Than round a child's frank brow doth run,
When Nature prompts unfeigned delight.
She rayed me with a smile, more bright
Than round a child's frank brow doth run,
When Nature prompts unfeigned delight.
Some underwords she murmured low,
Like a still summerbrook at eve,
When Nature's whispers, as they go,
The winds in one sweet murmur weave.
Like a still summerbrook at eve,
When Nature's whispers, as they go,
The winds in one sweet murmur weave.
I heard, yet heard them not, for all
Dear sounds and meanings in them were,
No words were half so musical,
Or could so sweet a message bear.
Dear sounds and meanings in them were,
No words were half so musical,
Or could so sweet a message bear.
Words, if they could have made its sense
Distinct, had marred its highest spell,
The vague, delicious evidence
That me she loved, and loved how well!
Distinct, had marred its highest spell,
The vague, delicious evidence
That me she loved, and loved how well!
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Modest, but frank and free, she came,
Like Eve, and sought my throbbing breast,
And there her image, aye the same,
Lives, by that first embrace imprest.
Like Eve, and sought my throbbing breast,
And there her image, aye the same,
Lives, by that first embrace imprest.
Engraven there as not on wood,
Or brass, or marble, by the side
Of His divine similitude,
To whom she was so near allied!
Or brass, or marble, by the side
Of His divine similitude,
To whom she was so near allied!
And, if my heart had nought but this,
This image of all Good to show,
It might for mercy plead at His
High bar, when nought else could do so.
This image of all Good to show,
It might for mercy plead at His
High bar, when nought else could do so.
Thus was she wooed, and won, and wed,
And blessings to such love are sent,
A heavenly fire, it burns, self-fed,
And brightens, like the firmament.
And blessings to such love are sent,
A heavenly fire, it burns, self-fed,
And brightens, like the firmament.
Not the volcano's fitful flames,
That waste within and scorch around,
Then smouldering sink: these Love disclaims,
Whose fires are central and profound.
That waste within and scorch around,
Then smouldering sink: these Love disclaims,
Whose fires are central and profound.
But holy warmth, as of the sun,
Moulding a little world of joys,
Flowers and plants, whereof not one
Bears hidden thorns, or fruit that cloys.
Moulding a little world of joys,
Flowers and plants, whereof not one
Bears hidden thorns, or fruit that cloys.
Blessings be on thee, holy Love!
With thee it is indeed to live:
For love is life! by thee we prove
How most we have when most we give.
With thee it is indeed to live:
For love is life! by thee we prove
How most we have when most we give.
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Aye, though we give our hearts away,
Like bread upon the waters cast,
With tenfold bliss will Heav'n repay,
And give us many hearts at last!
Like bread upon the waters cast,
With tenfold bliss will Heav'n repay,
And give us many hearts at last!
'Tis Love who earns the gifts of faith,
'Tis he who still works miracles,
And in his might the spirit hath
A tongue that utters oracles.
'Tis he who still works miracles,
And in his might the spirit hath
A tongue that utters oracles.
Not false and fabling ones, but grand
And true, which from the deep heart come
Of the wide World, which is Love, and
Which through Love speaks, or else is dumb!
And true, which from the deep heart come
Of the wide World, which is Love, and
Which through Love speaks, or else is dumb!
Love sees the sunny side alone,
And in the autumn leaf not views
The emblem of decay, but one
Of beauty in its brightening hues!
And in the autumn leaf not views
The emblem of decay, but one
Of beauty in its brightening hues!
He shrinks not back from grief or pain,
He has no eyes or ears for doubt,
Thus in each loss he finds a gain,
From each fall rises up more stout.
He has no eyes or ears for doubt,
Thus in each loss he finds a gain,
From each fall rises up more stout.
He finds no loss who still finds Love,
But wisely would lose all, to find
That Love which, with gifts from above,
Doth, like a temple, make his mind!
But wisely would lose all, to find
That Love which, with gifts from above,
Doth, like a temple, make his mind!
Fills it with godlike things, with God
Himself, who is Himself but Love,
And formed Man, else but a vile clod,
In His own image, this to prove!
Himself, who is Himself but Love,
And formed Man, else but a vile clod,
In His own image, this to prove!
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His wiser Mind can mould its state
Unto the shows of better things,
And from the chrysalis create,
The perfect form, the angel's wings!
Unto the shows of better things,
And from the chrysalis create,
The perfect form, the angel's wings!
Blessëd, then blessëd be his name,
And thine, my Love, my spirit's guide,
Who taught his worth, and, still the same,
Though long a wife, art yet a bride!
And thine, my Love, my spirit's guide,
Who taught his worth, and, still the same,
Though long a wife, art yet a bride!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |