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ARTISTIC LOVE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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179

ARTISTIC LOVE

Not through the poet's heart one rapture flows
When love, that rules him to the end, is won.
He wins the raptures of the past,—he knows
The joy of deeds in old-world eras done.
Nor only in fancy,—for each brain contains,
Writ small but clear, the history of the race,
A thousand pleasures and a thousand pains:—
Thought conquers time, and passion baffles space.
The magic touch of woman's hand restores
With thrilling present half miraculous power
The sense of all the past—its sunlit shores,
The glory of its stars, its every flower.
The poet breathes, when some new love pervades
His being, filling life with warmth and glow,
The scent of forest-firs beneath whose shades
Two lovers rode a thousand years ago.

180

He sees the very sunlight on the leaves;
He hears the clank of wild hoofs that pursue:
Though all the living world to-day deceives,
The phantom-love within his brain is true.
He sees the sunlight glisten through the grove;
He sees his prize, sweet, tearful, standing there:
His heart that doubts—with reason—living love
Finds ghost-love faithful, and dead eyes most fair.