 | In Russet & Silver |  |
22
SECRETA VITÆ
Like that green marble tower of yore
From which the great carbuncle shone,
When Floris climbed to Blanchiflor
High in the heart of Babylon,—
So steep, so smooth, so hard to reach,
The lesson only Life can teach.
From which the great carbuncle shone,
When Floris climbed to Blanchiflor
High in the heart of Babylon,—
So steep, so smooth, so hard to reach,
The lesson only Life can teach.
She from her window, sighing, leaned
Among the basil-pots and myrrh,
And watched those roses, daily gleaned,
The amorous Emir sent to her;
She sighed; nor dreamed that rose would be
A ladder to her heart set free.
Among the basil-pots and myrrh,
And watched those roses, daily gleaned,
The amorous Emir sent to her;
She sighed; nor dreamed that rose would be
A ladder to her heart set free.
Before her door the flowers lay heaped;
But, heedless while she sat, and span,
Out of the trampled roses leaped
A nameless mother-naked man;
Yet o'er his shoulders straight she threw
The mantle trimmed with watchet blue.
But, heedless while she sat, and span,
Out of the trampled roses leaped
A nameless mother-naked man;
23
The mantle trimmed with watchet blue.
By steps unseen, by cords unknown,
Life scales the tower that hems our hearts;
The soul sits languid and alone,
When, sudden, into flame it starts.
Whence came the stranger? Who can tell?
What matters, now that all is well!
Life scales the tower that hems our hearts;
The soul sits languid and alone,
When, sudden, into flame it starts.
Whence came the stranger? Who can tell?
What matters, now that all is well!
Between the swallows and the stars
To wait is all that hope can do;
Between the weary window-bars,
To watch the fading belts of blue;
To wait, and hold a balanced mind,
Till Life his promised bride shall find.
To wait is all that hope can do;
Between the weary window-bars,
To watch the fading belts of blue;
To wait, and hold a balanced mind,
Till Life his promised bride shall find.
Ah! for the simple guileless faith
That raves not at the bolts of fate;
Ah! for the patient tongue that saith
“Though late he cometh, not too late!”
The heart that beats in coolest rhyme
With “God's good time,” and “in God's good time.”
That raves not at the bolts of fate;
Ah! for the patient tongue that saith
“Though late he cometh, not too late!”
The heart that beats in coolest rhyme
With “God's good time,” and “in God's good time.”
24
Here in my marble tower I sit;
Ah! sick of pacing to and fro;
But the hour's vast ruddy lamp is lit
And stains with rose the world below;
He surely comes! the night-air sings
With tremors of his rushing wings!
Ah! sick of pacing to and fro;
But the hour's vast ruddy lamp is lit
And stains with rose the world below;
He surely comes! the night-air sings
With tremors of his rushing wings!
Long sought, long dreamed of, long withstood,
Cajoled by youth, and foiled by sin,
Ethereal Love! immortal Good!
O, thine own pathway to me win;
Nor let me faint in hopeless strife,
Until I clasp the core of life!
Cajoled by youth, and foiled by sin,
Ethereal Love! immortal Good!
O, thine own pathway to me win;
Nor let me faint in hopeless strife,
Until I clasp the core of life!
| In Russet & Silver | |