The Poetical Works of George Barlow :: :: University of Virginia Library

A song of storm-blown dark-browed sad September,
A song of autumn to the light of May;
A song for spring's soft girl-heart to remember
When autumn's tired heart passes quite away.

How many loves have stood with looks of gladness
Within the portals memory's stars illume!
But in the end the laughter changed to sadness
And passion's heart grew ice-cold at a tomb.

Now, give me not the passion-flower that perishes,
But love that hath within it friendship's light:
The starlike love Time's conquering strong hand cherishes
When passion's sun sinks, foundering in the night.

Be May, divinely bright, divinely tender,
With eyes wherethrough my last romance may gleam.
O flower-sweet heart, bring back the lost years' splendour,
As May restores each year the dead springs' dream.

'Tis well to know that when the whole hereafter
Seems dark, when wrinkled pain courts sorrow's eyes,
Pain's brow grows smooth before a young girl's laughter
And sorrow owns her sovereignty, and flies.

Our England needs her hills and singing waters,
Her ever-virgin zone of sunlit sea;
But most of all she needs her fair-souled daughters:
The mist-veiled future hath its task for thee.

Bear ever in mind, of all her pure girl-roses
Each stainless rose makes England's armour strong;
Renews her force as each wild century closes,
Till war's fierce clarion cheers her like a song.

And bear in mind that dim September, seeking
Nought now but rest within the darkening grove,
Found still within his heart the strength for speaking
One strange sweet word, and that one word was love.

II. A SONG OF MAY

Like a beam of the sun she glittered
On a world grown dark and old:
She touched grief's brow and crowned it,
And the sorrowless crown was of gold.
The green woods laughed for gladness;
The sea tossed rainbow spray;
And the hills shook off their sadness,
And the wild rose whispered, “May.”

At the glory in girls' young faces
A man's heart throbs and it stirs:
But I know where the sovereign grace is;
Their beauty is not like hers!
June gladdens, or April pains us:
But their spell is an hour's, or a day's.
They have no strange charm that chains us;
Their magic is not like May's.

And now, if the sunlight leaves me,
If a parting comes with its pang,
If I meet the white ghost Silence
In the room where the young laugh rang,
I shall murmur, in darkness dreaming
Of a girl's bright looks and ways,
“There was never a glance so peerless!
There was never a smile like May's!”

III. A CHRISTMAS EVE

Over London, wintry London, fell the darkness and the gloom:
In my heart was leaden silence, even the silence of the tomb.
Like a monster on the city rushed the grim night, sablemailed;
Lamps that tossed their spears against it, seemed but sparks that flashed and failed.

Was it Christmas, “merry” Christmas? Were there sounds of mirth and song?
Or would only ghostly faces round about my footpath throng?
Is it Christmas to earth's mourners? Are the holly-berries red
When the hands that used to love them are the cold hands of the dead?

Not an island far in ocean, by the foot of man untrod,
Where the flowers send virgin sweetness through the still air up to God,
Not a death-doomed star and voiceless, void of song of bird or leaf,
Is so lonely as our London, when the heart is wrung with grief.

But the gloom was changed to sunlight when a woman's swift step came,
And the gold sun smote the darkness with his shafts of sudden flame.
How the light of some one's beauty and the brightness in her eyes
Brought again lost light of summers, brought again June's fervent skies!

For the gift of your sweet presence through one golden afternoon,
May, my heart's own love, I thank you—for the blessing, for the boon
Of two hours of happy laughter, for the sense of long pain done,
For the scent of flowers in winter, and the comfort of the sun.

IV. AT A GRAVE

A young world's laughter rang at summer's word:
My heart within me grew most strangely stirred
While life that left the dead form flowed through one
Full of the rose and splendid with the sun.
Beauty that once had flowered in perfect bloom
Within that darkling cavern slept in gloom;
The eyes that held all hearts with starlike flame
Knew not what stars had set, nor what stars came;
The lips that, speaking, chained, the hands that drew,
One with the unpitying earth in silence grew;
Immortal beauty, mortal found alas!
Mixed with the mould and blended with the grass;
The charm we thought would mock the conquering years
Now wins no tribute save the gift of tears.

But by the grave above the ill-omened earth
Stands sovereign morning, not with morning's mirth

But, ten times sweeter, ten times more divine,
With downcast eyes wherein the soft tears shine.
With more than summer in most perfect smile
Beside a girl's grave pauses for awhile
A girl; around her all the glad world gleams;
Her pitying eyes grow tender while she dreams
Of dreams that shone through eyes that never more
Will watch green hills, blue waters, golden shore.

She brings the dark world news: she tells the graves
Of sunlit laughter on a thousand waves
Death clouds not ever,—she brings the dead girl dreams
Of moonlit whispers in a thousand streams,
Of radiant summer tinging every leaf
With hues that know not death, that dread not grief,
Secrets by her pure soul from Nature won,
Love from the stars, a greeting from the sun.
Still doth the eternal life by its own laws
Proceed, with never check, no lasting pause.
Where beauty vanished deep within the gloom,
Lo! beauty stands. Where ruled the iron-browed tomb,
Where Winter reigned, behold Spring's sun-kissed skies
And deathless light in unimagined eyes.

Deep thanks I render. I, brow-wreathed with night,
Past language weary, rest within thy light.
Dark-eyed sweet sorceress, friend whose help bestowed
Turned wandering footsteps towards a happier road,
My love, mine Iseult, for thy birth-star gleamed
On those same waters where dead Iseult dreamed,
For thee I tarry; as the thunder's car
Changes its course and pauses at a star.

V. LOVE, THE TEACHER

Not by standing at their graves and weeping
Win we audience of the ghostly throng:
Those we left beneath the green grass sleeping
Need not tears it may be, only song.

Not by ceaseless groans and bitter anguish
Shall we reach their hearts and bring them nigh:
Not by wringing idle hands that languish;
Not by watching starless wastes of sky.

Where the strong sun gilds the morning mountains,
Where the ceaseless crystal waters leap
Laughing from the depths of rainbow fountains,
There are those we left alone, asleep.

Death may claim, and for one moment blinds them—
As he blinds us with his sudden hand.
Then the unconquered glance of morning finds them,
As it finds the slumbering sea and land.

Morning finds, and with sweet violence wakes them,
Pointing towards the red lips of the day.
Towards the embraces of the noon it takes them,
Bidding suffering's wan signs pass away.

Clearly 'tis so. How did I discern it?
Deem no sunset burns with wasted gold?
By one road the singer's heart may learn it;
From the lips of woman, as of old.

By sweet love within his soul renewing
All the strength that vanished when a tomb
Closed against his maddened step pursuing
Sunless doors of iron, gates of gloom.

By the knowledge, daily stronger growing,
That the love of woman hath no end:
By hope's fountain from the dark rock flowing
Through the love and sweet help of a friend.

VI. “SUMMER IN HIS SONG”

Not for thee the rose with sudden bloom
Springs from out the grass around a tomb,
Not for thee.
All the world for thee is glad and bright:
Still the stars adore the purple night;
Still the purple night adores the sea.

Still the birds' blue eggs within the nest,
Girdled by the heart of spring-time, rest
Safe and warm.
Still the sun is full of golden rays;
Still the ceaseless light of summer days
Cows the storm.

Not for thee the ever-darkening years
Weave their wayward crowns with pearls of tears,
Crowns of grief.

When the autumn's fiery glory gleams,
'Tis to thee a season full of dreams
Fluttering round in every crimson leaf.

Spring that clothes the glowing meads in gold
Takes thy girlish hand in hers to hold,
Holds it tight:—
Quitting April, hand in hand with May,
Spring will smile and whisper through the day,
Through the night.

Every year's each season brings its charm:
June hath starry bracelets for thine arm,
For thine hair
Snowy circlets of the vestal rose.
Summer nights that bring to thee repose
Bring to singers sleepless-eyed despair.

Not for thee the bitter wreaths of thorns,
But the golden flowers of golden morns
Glad and long.
Though the singer's locks are touched with grey
Spring-time in his heart he gives to May,
Summer in his song.

VII. “ONE HOUR OF MAY'S”

After Metaphysic's dreary song
Back to thee I turn,
Finding much of love's pure lore I long
Yet to learn.

After all the feasts of learning spread
Grand before my gaze,
Love's sweet mandate thrills my heart instead
At a glance of May's.

After all the lengthy windy words
Spun from mankind's tongue,
Strange relief to hear a girl's, or bird's,
Said or sung.

After wandering through the weary days,
Sad, alone,
Glad delight to feel one hour of May's
Is my own.

VIII. “IF I GO FIRST”

If I go first, convey to all the flowers
Thanks for the fragrance of a thousand hours:
My thanks return to all the bowers of June;
To friendly stars, to ever-faithful moon.
When sweet in spring the lilac-clusters smell
Remember there was one who loved them well:
But take no thanks, no greeting to the sea,
For that is even a part, the soul, of me;
May ever the soul within my slumbering form
Thrill to the blast, and madden at the storm!

When thou dost note the purple pansy, bright
Just in the centre with one gold star's light,
Or when thou gatherest from the wildwood sprays
Pink shell-like roses in the glad June days,
Remember one who loved—or loves, who knows?—
Night in the pansy, sundawn in the rose.

This sculptured bust of one in days that were
Not deeplier loved than thou art, nor more fair,
This, if thou wilt, in soft remembrance take,
And, with her picture, cherish for my sake.
As thou hast watched full oft beside her tomb,
Watch beside mine; and pierce the lampless gloom
With stars more potent than the stars on high,
The starry love that sways eternity.

IX. “CHRISTMAS EVE AND NEW YEAR'S DAY”

Christmas Eve and New Year's Day
Both in one
Bade the shadows flee away,
Brought me sun:

Brought me many thoughts and dreams
Glad and bright;
Silver voice of summer streams
Through the night;

Scent of many a rose in bloom
Through the day:
Changed to glorious light the gloom
And the grey:

Woke again within my heart
Clear and strong
What had threatened to depart,
Passion's song:

Lit once more the starlike thought
In my brain,
Which exulted to be brought
Once again;

Thought I had not known for years,
Pure and sweet;
Thought that brings the sudden tears
To repeat;

Thought that after all the days
And their whirl
Of despair and blank amaze,
Just a girl

With the emerald in her eyes
Mixed with gleam
Of the agate as it lies
In the stream,

With the darkness in her hair
Of the night,
On her lips the morning's fair
Rosy light,

Hope with tender hands might save
From the tomb,
Open heaven beyond the grave
And its gloom:

Just the thought it would be sweet,
Passing fair,
To lie wounded at her feet,
Dying there,

So the death might bring her bliss,
Bliss divine,
And by love's eternal kiss
Make her mine.

X. ARMED FOR THE BATTLE

Give my hand a sword to hold,
Bring a helmet wrought of gold,
A cuirass
Where the sun may see his rays
Flame and pass,
As he treads the cloudy ways.

Place a weapon in my hand
That will welcome and withstand
Many blows,
In my helmet fix a white
Snowy rose,
For I battle for the right.

On my breastplate let a star
That will glitter from afar
Flash and gleam;

For the night with all its wrong
Like a dream
Shall be scattered at my song.

Every girl in London needs
One who proves him by his deeds
Beauty's thrall;
One whose ready weapon leaps
At a call
From the scabbard where it sleeps:

One who wins him in the fray,
The wild struggle of each day,
Force and fame;
Adding somewhat hour by hour
To his name,
Till it breaks to golden flower.

Then this blossom bright and blown
Shall be hers and hers alone,
Shall expand
If she wills it at her breast,
When the hand
That bestowed it is at rest.

XI. MY SEA-BIRD

Here in London where the days
March forlorn through misty ways,
Damp and dun,—
Looking long for golden rays,
Finding none;

In our city, where the year
Follows spring-time on its bier,
Decked in showers,—
Where our summers bring severe
Sunless flowers;

Sweet it is to gaze at thee,
Dark-haired daughter of the sea,
Of the West,
Supple, pliant as a tree
Wind-carest.

From old Cornwall's windy shore
Comest thou, whom I adore
In thy grace,
Seeing Tristram's wave-kissed oar,
Iseult's face.

All the sense of sea and sun
Thou hast brought us, thou hast won,
May divine,
With the eyes that never shun
Love in mine.

Like a sea-bird fain to rest
Thou art wind-swept from the West
To our home,
Sea-willed ever, and with breast
White as foam.

XII. REST AT LAST

After years upon the sea
Passing sweet it is to me
Here to rest
As in island full of bloom,
Hearing far away the boom
Of the billows as they break,
Eager, each, its wrath to slake
On the coral-reef's lone crest.

After years of strife and pain
Passing sweet it is to gain
For a space,
May, my darling, rest with thee
Far from thunders of the sea,
And to watch within thine eyes
Mingled colours of the skies,
Light and shadow on thy face.

If I had not fought so hard,
Were my helmet not so scarred,
Dinted deep,
Then it would not be the same;
But my life until you came
Was a life of swords and blows—
Now I find in thee repose:
Very sweet are rest and sleep.

Sweet it must be unto one
After labours 'neath the sun,
Labours long,
Now at last to see thee stand
With a garland in thine hand,
And to feel that peace at last
When the foam-white reefs are past
Waits for singer and for song.

XIII. THE HIGHER LOVE

If I may not see thee much,
Sweet at least it is to touch
Hand and hand;
Sweet at least it is to know
That a heart can understand
And that sympathy can grow.

If I may not win thee now,
I can worship thy pure brow
Where the hair
Coils so lovingly for crown—
Can rejoice to find thee fair,
And may win for thee renown.

That is much to do indeed:
If the world shall give its heed
As it goes

With swift footstep on its way,
Saying, “Here there blooms a rose
Worth an instant of delay;”

Saying, “Here was passion strong
Nobly shrined within a song,
Purely framed:”
Then, my darling, when I pass,
I shall not be all ashamed,
Leaving you above the grass;

Leaving you above the mould,
Watching silver stars and gold
Evermore,
For your eyes are in my song,
And the wings of verse can soar
And the prayer of love is strong.

If I may not hold you quite
To my heart, I may delight
To be near;
I may clasp you in my thought;
At a distance I may hear,
By a sigh I may be brought.

100

That is love—the love supreme
That outlasts wild passion's dream;
That can stand
When the very stars must fall,
For it travels hand in hand
With the mighty Lord of all.

That is love—the love that gives,
And rejoices while it lives
Still to bring
Gifts eternal to the shrine:
Flowers of summer, flowers of spring,
Gifts unselfish, gifts divine.

That is love, at which men say,
“Though the sunlit month of May
Passes soon
Yet his May, the song-god saith,
Shall be subject not to June
Nor to winter, nor to death.”

101

XIV. “JUST A YEAR”

Just a year 'tis since we met,
Just a year!
Many suns have risen and set;
Many stars have waxed and waned,
Flowers have fled, but love remained;
Love's bright presence has been here
Just a year.

Will he linger, will he pass,
He who stays
Never 'mid the meads of grass,
Never on the mountain-steeps;
For his swift foot never sleeps,
And his progress he delays
Not for Mays.

102

Not for May, and not for June
Will he wait,
Not for August's cheery tune;
Not for hungry-hearted prayer
Flung against the hollow air,
Hurled against his golden gate:
Love is Fate.

Will he tarry, love, for thee?
Will he pause,
Looking down on thee and me?
Will he grant another year,
Moved by song or prayer or tear
To relax his iron laws
By a clause?

When another year has gone
Shall we say,
“Time may threaten, love lives on”?
When a million roses red
Change to white and join the dead,
Fallen, and trodden into clay,
Flung away!

103

When another year has flown
With its light,
Then will one love on alone?
Will a lonely lover say,
“Wings I fashioned for her: May
With those very wings took flight
Through the night”?

104

XV. “PASSION BLOSSOMS, THEN DIES”

Passion blossoms, then dies
And its bloom
Passes quite, and its eyes
Sunlit once like the skies
Close in gloom.

Give me love that will last
When the fire
Of romance in the past
Sunsetlike fadeth fast
On its pyre.

Give me love more divine
Than the light
Of a star that can shine
For a month, then decline
In a night.

105

If you love me, why so
Let it be:
But with love that will grow
From a stream's quiet flow
To a sea.

106

XVI. LOVE IN LONDON

In London far from grass or tree
Our love took form;
Far-off from wild song of the sea
In storm.

Not where the forest's silent bride,
The white moon, dreams,
Nor where the iris glows beside
The streams:

Not by green bank or scented mound,
By burn or mere,
My sad eyes caught thy glance and found
Thee dear.

In London, city of ceaseless gloom,
Grim sunless place,
I found one girlish flower in bloom,—
Thy face.

107

In London, where no stars are seen,
For all light dies,
I found two stars of deathless sheen,—
Thine eyes.

For London, though it gives no flowers
And gives no light,
Gives priceless crowns of passionate hours
Most bright.

In winter, when our fire was red,
The curtains drawn,
Who longed to see the gold-helmed head
Of dawn?

Who cared what shafts of sunset flew
Through blood-stained air?
Not I—for you were sunshine, you
Were there!

When leaped the amber stream of tea
From silver spout,
Was not with joy the surly sea
Shut out?

108

Or when our lamp with rose-red shade
At dusk was lit,
Who missed the moon, that thankless jade,
One bit?

Ah! London after all's the friend
To court and claim.
It gives us love, and in the end
Gives fame.

109

XVII. “LOVE ALONE”

The poet, victor over words,
Coy wayward things,
Deems he can snare the stars, those gold-plumed birds,
Because he sings!

He dreams of endless conquest, he—
While others plod
He must win thunder-music from the sea,
Epics from God.

The fragrance of the lips of June
In sunlit dales
His song must steal. The slender white-breast moon
His hand unveils.

110

Because one hour of mortal breath
He makes sublime,
His fond heart dreams of victory over death
And space, and time.

And woman most of all he dreams
His song can hold;
As Orpheus lured the nymphs from silent streams
With harp of gold.

Her, chainless, full of force and charm
Whom gods have sought
In vain, the singer dreams he can disarm
By one winged thought.

Whom centuries fail to understand
He, strong to dare,
Dreams he can win, and lay a conqueror's hand
On sun-crowned hair.

In vain, in vain, O singer proud!
No songs disthrone.
The free heart yields, the sovereign head is bowed
To love alone.

111

XVIII. A MESSENGER

Two years within the lonely room
I watched. No sweet ghost came:
No hand that sought mine, grasping through the gloom;
No wings more sun-bright than the dawn's bright flame.

All waited, silent, as of old;
The pictures and the chair:
The merry firelight touched to dancing gold
The mantle, framed, of her who was not there.

Then lo! one winter night it happed
That I sat there alone,
Lonely in heart as moonless hills snow-capped,
Dreaming of love's pale desecrated throne;

When through the door there passed a form
With beauty crowned and light
Whose wings imperious took the dark by storm,
As sunrise storms the rampires of the night.

112

The night's pure freshness wreathed her head:
The live soul of the sun
Shone through her eyes She gazed at me and said,
“Behold! the living and the dead are one.”

With living voice that strangely sweet
Upon my spirit fell
She said: “I come to comfort and to greet;
I come to tell thy spirit that all is well.”

113

XIX. THE TEMPTER

When Satan found that woman's heart
Was strong and brave,
To tempting woman all his art
And subtlest thought he gave.

And since he knew that flowers are nought,
Frail gifts, wind-blown,
His hand with peerless cunning wrought
Bright deathless flowers of stone.

All forms, all colours, he combined
And sought strange ways
To lure and charm the loitering mind
And snare the greedy gaze.

One woman's soul was stainless still:
The ruby came
With rays that weakened spirit and will
And conquering blood-red flame.

114

Another's heart was heart of steel,
Till sapphires drew
That heart to theirs with fond appeal
Of eyes of heavenly blue.

Another's heart was cold and hard:
The emerald gleamed;
Of lovers' steps on moonlit sward
That heart with passion dreamed.

Another heart resisted long:—
What heart, a girl's,
For ever can resist the song
The sea chants through its pearls?

So one by one the dark king took
The women all.
Lest any should refuse to look,
Predestined not to fall,

He set within the turquoise, bright,
The blue sky's noon,
And in the opal sunset-light
And rays of stars and moon.

115

But some hearts yet remained unbought,
Unbribed, unwon:
Keen Satan softly smiled, and brought
Diamonds, that held the sun.

E'en so he failed to move each will,
To bend all knees;
For woman's true soul values still
Love's diamond more than these.

116

XX. “FORGIVE, FORGET”

If I have pained thee by a word,
If, May, when last we met,
A doubt shot through me, wild, absurd,
Forgive, forget.

Love is so scarce, truth is so rare,
So swift-winged is regret,
So keen the spear-points of despair—
Forgive, forget.

Believe me, if the quick tears sprang,
If thy soft eyes were wet
Almost, I also felt a pang:
Forgive, forget.

Be gracious, love, and for love's sake
Bear with me even yet.
The best of me discern and take;
The rest forget!

117

XXI. “THE HEART OF MAY”

The green Spring comes with gladness;
Its golden meadows gleam;
But sometimes full of sadness
Those golden meadows seem.
So long ago they glittered
With that same fairy gold:
But now our hearts are weary;
The West Wind's touch seems cold.

We and our hearts have travelled
Through many a grove and glade;
Have marked the shadows lengthen,
Have watched the sunlight fade.
The voices now that summon
Sound weirdly from afar:
The sun we seek and worship
Is evening's first white star.

118

But still the lilac blossoms
With soul that mocks at gloom,
And tosses snowier plumelets
Above each silent tomb:
If we are old and weary,
Our best songs long since sung,
The soul of Spring is deathless,
The heart of May is young!

119

XXII. SPRING

Just as a maiden newly wed,
Whose lips half long, whose heart half fears,
Meets love with smiles, while soft eyes shed
Triumphant tears,

The moon, that through the winter slept
In dreary caves of iron night,
Arose and smiled, arose and wept,
Arose, most bright.

The sun, with ardent amorous thirst
And lips that scoffed at cold delay,
Went madly craving for the first
Warm kiss of May.

The stars, that missed with grief and pain
The scent of flowers, the sound of mirth,
Smiled down from heaven and kissed again
The flower-sweet earth.

120

And Winter paled—aye, Winter fled
And rubbed his chapped old hands,
All cracked and roughened, seamed and red,
And sought far lands.

And I rejoiced. I heard, I felt,
A voice, a hand, that bade the grey
Grim winter from within me melt;
The voice, the touch, of May.

121

XXIII. ONE DAY IN SPRING

From fields made bright with flowers in bloom
A young girl turned
And sought a darkling London room,
Wherein one gas-jet burned.

She left the blossoming meads behind,
The silent nooks
Where fragrant violets wooed the wind
Or whispered to the brooks:

She passed through streets where wild wheels roar
And dust-wreaths race,—
Brought sunshine to a sunless door,
Light to a weary face:

She left the golden furze to scent
The soft air's wing;
Made for one hour one heart content,
And filled it with the spring.

122

XXIV. A SPRING-SONG

To thee the flower-bright season brings
Glad thoughts of days and years unknown.
Thou see'st not summer's restless wings;
Thou see'st his light alone.

The thought of summers lying dead
With quiet hands most still and white
Comes not, when summer's rose blooms red
And summer's sun flames bright.

Before thee Love, superb and fair,
With summoning eyes that seek thee stands.
No ghost-love, sister to despair,
Wrings pale and piteous hands.

The lilies all, arrayed in white
Around thy path fresh fragrance pour.
No lily from beyond thy sight
Has passed, for evermore.

123

For thee life's harp triumphant rings;
The glad notes mingle not with tears:
No strange sigh shivers through the strings,
No wail from far-off years.

No proud carnation, fiery red,
No sun-crowned joy-delirious rose,
To thee with sudden doubt has said,
“What comes, when sunshine goes?”

The wan tomb's gates gleam not each morn;
No spectres haunt thy sinless sleep.
Death trembles at a young girl's scorn;
Sin turns aside to weep.

Let many a summer smile and shine
For thee when ours have passed away,
And many a griefless thought be thine
On many a first of May!

124

XXV. “LOVE'S GREETING FROM THE SEA”

To thee far-off on sunlit land,
'Mid fragrant meads, 'neath blossomy tree,
I send this gift to heart and hand,
This song, O love, to thee.

Here, where the green waves curve and curl
And where the wide-winged winds are free,
I think of one far-off, a girl
Whose eyes are as the sea.

The sea's strange light within them shines,
The light whose gleam may never be
'Mid forests green, 'mid oaks or pines,
But only on the sea.

Here, where the sun's gold arrows dart
On waves to windward and to lee,
I send thee, love, with faithful heart
Love's greeting from the sea.

125

XXVI. PURENESS' CROWN

England shall fill the centuries' hands with flowers
And through the mortal years immortal be
If woman's truth defends her swordless bowers,
As guards her shores the sea.

Then England shall abide; she shall not fail.
No iron monsters of the deep secure:
She needs not cunning suits of woven mail,
If only her heart be pure.

Though round us loom the thunders of the night
And Europe ring with trumpet-peals of war,
If in one English home pure love gleams bright
On England shines a star.

Not surelier down the cloud-veiled valleys move
The sun's gold chariot-wheels at close of day
Than lands decline, wherein men cease to love
And women cease to pray.

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No jewelled crown that mocks the stars is grand
As that soft white-rose crown pure women wear.
No other sheds such lustre on the land,
That for its sake grows fair.

Nought weighs with us the centuries' smile or frown
If England's daughters, sovereign, fearless, free,
Wear on their brows for ever pureness' crown,
As sunlight crowns her sea.

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XXVII. MAY-DAY

“Give me the dark sky's windy gates,”
I said:
“The doors at which the sunset waits
With threatening robes of lurid red.

“I love the beating of the storm's
Black wing;
With its own hues pale grief informs
The world, and poisons with its sting.

“When through the wet leaves pours the hail
Malign,
I love the cold darts that assail
The timorous rose, the shivering vine.

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“The dark heart loves the gloom, and dreads
The sun;
It loves the wind that tears to shreds
The blossom-petals, one by one.”

But on my heart, that struggled hard
And long
The sunlit moment to retard,
There fell the sound of song:—

“The leaves are green, the sky is blue,
The air
That lifts the gloom from earth, from you
Lifts somewhat of despair.

“Canst thou be sad, when blossoms weave
Their crowns
From fragrant morn till fragrant eve,
Aye, even in heart of towns?

“Canst thou be dark of soul, when bright
And gay
Upon thee gleams with loving light
The sunniest smile of May?”

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XXVIII. “TWO RUBIES”

The lilacs scented all the perfect air;
Bright living emeralds flashed on every spray:
Spring, ever fair to see, grew yet more fair
Within the eyes of May.

And I—I let my frost-bound heart expand;
I let the soft air lull me to repose.
I felt a joy the sun could understand,
The sun that courts the rose.

For, when the sun has striven through clouds and gloom
For many a weary league, for many an hour,
How must its strange soul worship all the bloom
Of one cloud-conquering flower.

There came a word those sunlit hours to mar.
Two rubies glittering on a golden ring
Said: “Soon will vanish some one dearer far
Than all the flowers of spring!”