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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19188-8.txt b/19188-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..21e434d --- /dev/null +++ b/19188-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14380 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Christina G. Rossetti + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Christina G. Rossetti + +Release Date: September 5, 2006 [EBook #19188] +[Date last updated: September 11, 2006] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins, Jeffrey Johnson and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration] + +POEMS. + +BY + +CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. + +[Illustration: "Golden head by golden head"] + +BOSTON: +LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. +1906. + + * * * * * + + +AUTHOR'S EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED + +1876. + + +University Press: +John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. + + * * * * * + + +TO + +MY MOTHER, + +IN ALL REVERENCE AND LOVE, + +_I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK_. + + + * * * * * + + +THE AUTHOR TO HER AMERICAN READERS. + + +My little book seems scarcely to admit of prefatory words: either it +will speak for itself, or all my additions must fail to speak for it. + +Its reappearance, however, in an American edition, gives me a welcome +opportunity of acknowledging the courtesy and liberality of Messrs. +Roberts Brothers, who have arranged with me and with my kind friend and +publisher, Mr. Macmillan, to bring it before the American public. + + +CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. + +London. + + * * * * * + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +GOBLIN MARKET, ETC. + + Goblin Market + In the Round Tower at Jhansi, June 8, 1857 + Dream-land + At Home + From Sunset to Starrise + Love from the North + Winter Rain + A Dirge + Confluents + Noble Sisters + Spring + The Lambs of Grasmere, 1860 + A Birthday + Remember + After Death + An End + My Dream + Song + The Hour and the Ghost + A Summer Wish + An Apple Gathering + Song + Maude Clare + Echo + Winter: My Secret + Another Spring + A Peal of Bells + Fata Morgana + "No, thank you, John" + May + A Pause of Thought + Twilight Calm + Wife to Husband + Three Seasons + Mirage + Shut out + Sound Sleep + Song + Song + Dead before Death + Bitter for Sweet + "The Master is Come, and Calleth for Thee" + Rest + The First Spring Day + The Convent Threshold + Up-Hill + +DEVOTIONAL PIECES. + + "The Love of Christ which passeth Knowledge" + "A Bruised Reed shall he not Break" + A Better Resurrection + Advent + The Three Enemies + One Certainty + Christian and Jew + Sweet Death + Symbols + "Consider the Lilies of the Field" + The World + A Testimony + Sleep at Sea + From House to Home + Old and New Year Ditties + Amen + Mother Country + +THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS, ETC. + + The Prince's Progress + Maiden-Song + Jessie Cameron + Spring Quiet + The Poor Ghost + A Portrait + Dream-Love + Twice + Songs in a Cornfield + A Year's Windfalls + The Queen of Hearts + One Day + A Bird's-Eye View + "Thy Brother's Blood Crieth" + "To-day for Me" + On the Wing + Consider + Beauty is Vain + Maggie a Lady + What would I give + The Bourne + Summer + Autumn + The Ghost's Petition + Memory + A Royal Princess + Shall I Forget? + Vanity of Vanities + L. E. L. + Life and Death + Bird or Beast? + Eve + Grown and Flown + A Farm Walk + Somewhere or Other + A Chill + Child's Talk in April + Gone for Ever + Under the Rose + Song + By the Sea + Days of Vanity + Enrica, 1865 + Once for All + Autumn Violets + "They Desire a Better Country" + A Green Cornfield + A Bride Song + The Lowest Room + Dead Hope + A Daughter of Eve + Venus' Looking-Glass + Love lies Bleeding + Bird Raptures + My Friend + Twilight Night + A Bird Song + A Smile and a Sigh + +DEVOTIONAL PIECES. + + Amor Mundi + A Christmas Carol + By the Waters of Babylon + Paradise + "I will lift up mine Eyes unto the Hills" + Saints and Angels + "When my Heart is Vexed, I will Complain" + After Communion + A Rose Plant in Jericho + Who shall Deliver Me? + Despised and Rejected + Long Barren + If Only + Dost thou not Care? + Weary in Well-Doing + Martyrs' Song + After this the Judgment + Good Friday + The Lowest Place + +A PAGEANT AND OTHER POEMS. + + The Key-Note + The Months: A Pageant + Pastime + "Italia, io ti saluto!" + Mirrors of Life and Death + A Ballad of Boding + Yet a little while + He and She + Monna Innominata + "Luscious and Sorrowful" + De Profundis + Tempus fugit + Golden Glories + Johnny + "Hollow-sounding and Mysterious" + Maiden May + Till To-morrow + Death-Watches + Touching "Never" + Brandons both + A Life's Parallels + At Last + Golden Silences + In the Willow Shade + Fluttered Wings + A Fisher-Wife + What's in a Name? + Mariana + Memento Mori + "One Foot on Sea, and one on Shore" + Buds and Babies + Boy Johnny + Freaks of Fashion + An October Garden + "Summer is ended" + Passing and Glassing + "I will arise" + A Prodigal Son + Soeur Louise de la Miséricorde + An "immurata" Sister + "If Thou sayest, Behold, we knew it not" + The Thread of Life + An Old-World Thicket + "All Thy Works praise Thee, O Lord" + Later Life + "For Thine own Sake, O my God" + Until the Day break + "Of Him that was ready to perish" + "Behold the Man!" + The Descent from the Cross + "It is finished" + An Easter Carol + "Behold a shaking" + All Saints + "Take care of him" + A Martyr + Why? + "Love is strong as Death" + Birchington Churchyard + One Sea-side Grave + Brother Bruin + "A Helpmeet for him" + A Song of Flight + A Wintry Sonnet + Resurgam + To-day's Burden + "There is a Budding Morrow in Midnight" + Exultate Deo + A Hope Carol + Christmas Carols + A Candlemas Dialogue + Mary Magdalene and the other Mary + Patience of Hope + + + + +[Illustration: "_Buy from us with a golden curl_"] + + + + + GOBLIN MARKET. + + + Morning and evening + Maids heard the goblins cry: + "Come buy our orchard fruits, + Come buy, come buy: + Apples and quinces, + Lemons and oranges, + Plump unpecked cherries, + Melons and raspberries, + Bloom-down-cheeked peaches, + Swart-headed mulberries, + Wild free-born cranberries, + Crab-apples, dewberries, + Pine-apples, blackberries, + Apricots, strawberries;-- + All ripe together + In summer weather,-- + Morns that pass by, + Fair eves that fly; + Come buy, come buy: + Our grapes fresh from the vine, + Pomegranates full and fine, + Dates and sharp bullaces, + Rare pears and greengages, + Damsons and bilberries, + Taste them and try: + Currants and gooseberries, + Bright-fire-like barberries, + Figs to fill your mouth, + Citrons from the South, + Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; + Come buy, come buy." + + Evening by evening + Among the brookside rushes, + Laura bowed her head to hear, + Lizzie veiled her blushes: + Crouching close together + In the cooling weather, + With clasping arms and cautioning lips, + With tingling cheeks and finger-tips. + "Lie close," Laura said, + Pricking up her golden head: + "We must not look at goblin men, + We must not buy their fruits: + Who knows upon what soil they fed + Their hungry thirsty roots?" + "Come buy," call the goblins + Hobbling down the glen. + "O," cried Lizzie, "Laura, Laura, + You should not peep at goblin men." + Lizzie covered up her eyes, + Covered close lest they should look; + Laura reared her glossy head, + And whispered like the restless brook: + "Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie, + Down the glen tramp little men. + One hauls a basket, + One bears a plate, + One lugs a golden dish + Of many pounds' weight. + How fair the vine must grow + Whose grapes are so luscious; + How warm the wind must blow + Through those fruit bushes." + "No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no; + Their offers should not charm us, + Their evil gifts would harm us." + She thrust a dimpled finger + In each ear, shut eyes and ran: + Curious Laura chose to linger + Wondering at each merchant man. + One had a cat's face, + One whisked a tail, + One tramped at a rat's pace, + One crawled like a snail, + One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry, + One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry. + She heard a voice like voice of doves + Cooing all together: + They sounded kind and full of loves + In the pleasant weather. + + Laura stretched her gleaming neck + Like a rush-imbedded swan, + Like a lily from the beck, + Like a moonlit poplar branch, + Like a vessel at the launch + When its last restraint is gone. + + Backwards up the mossy glen + Turned and trooped the goblin men, + With their shrill repeated cry, + "Come buy, come buy." + When they reached where Laura was + They stood stock still upon the moss, + Leering at each other, + Brother with queer brother; + Signalling each other, + Brother with sly brother. + One set his basket down, + One reared his plate; + One began to weave a crown + Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown + (Men sell not such in any town); + One heaved the golden weight + Of dish and fruit to offer her: + "Come buy, come buy," was still their cry. + Laura stared but did not stir, + Longed but had no money: + The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste + In tones as smooth as honey, + The cat-faced purr'd, + The rat-paced spoke a word + Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard; + One parrot-voiced and jolly + Cried "Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty Polly";-- + One whistled like a bird. + + But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: + "Good folk, I have no coin; + To take were to purloin: + I have no copper in my purse, + I have no silver either, + And all my gold is on the furze + That shakes in windy weather + Above the rusty heather." + "You have much gold upon your head," + They answered altogether: + "Buy from us with a golden curl." + She clipped a precious golden lock, + She dropped a tear more rare than pearl, + Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: + Sweeter than honey from the rock, + Stronger than man-rejoicing wine, + Clearer than water flowed that juice; + She never tasted such before, + How should it cloy with length of use? + She sucked and sucked and sucked the more + Fruits which that unknown orchard bore; + She sucked until her lips were sore; + Then flung the emptied rinds away, + But gathered up one kernel stone, + And knew not was it night or day + As she turned home alone. + + Lizzie met her at the gate + Full of wise upbraidings: + "Dear, you should not stay so late, + Twilight is not good for maidens; + Should not loiter in the glen + In the haunts of goblin men. + Do you not remember Jeanie, + How she met them in the moonlight, + Took their gifts both choice and many, + Ate their fruits and wore their flowers + Plucked from bowers + Where summer ripens at all hours? + But ever in the noonlight + She pined and pined away; + Sought them by night and day, + Found them no more, but dwindled and grew gray, + Then fell with the first snow, + While to this day no grass will grow + Where she lies low: + I planted daisies there a year ago + That never blow. + You should not loiter so." + "Nay, hush," said Laura: + "Nay, hush, my sister: + I ate and ate my fill, + Yet my mouth waters still; + To-morrow night I will + Buy more,"--and kissed her. + "Have done with sorrow; + I'll bring you plums to-morrow + Fresh on their mother twigs, + Cherries worth getting; + You cannot think what figs + My teeth have met in, + What melons icy-cold + Piled on a dish of gold + Too huge for me to hold, + What peaches with a velvet nap, + Pellucid grapes without one seed: + Odorous indeed must be the mead + Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink, + With lilies at the brink, + And sugar-sweet their sap." + + Golden head by golden head, + Like two pigeons in one nest + Folded in each other's wings, + They lay down in their curtained bed: + Like two blossoms on one stem, + Like two flakes of new-fallen snow, + Like two wands of ivory + Tipped with gold for awful kings. + Moon and stars gazed in at them, + Wind sang to them lullaby, + Lumbering owls forbore to fly, + Not a bat flapped to and fro + Round their rest: + Cheek to cheek and breast to breast + Locked together in one nest. + + Early in the morning + When the first cock crowed his warning, + Neat like bees, as sweet and busy, + Laura rose with Lizzie: + Fetched in honey, milked the cows, + Aired and set to rights the house, + Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat, + Cakes for dainty mouths to eat, + Next churned butter, whipped up cream, + Fed their poultry, sat and sewed; + Talked as modest maidens should: + Lizzie with an open heart, + Laura in an absent dream, + One content, one sick in part; + One warbling for the mere bright day's delight, + One longing for the night. + + At length slow evening came: + They went with pitchers to the reedy brook; + Lizzie most placid in her look, + Laura most like a leaping flame. + They drew the gurgling water from its deep; + Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags, + Then turning homeward said: "The sunset flushes + Those furthest loftiest crags; + Come, Laura, not another maiden lags, + No wilful squirrel wags, + The beasts and birds are fast asleep." + But Laura loitered still among the rushes + And said the bank was steep. + + And said the hour was early still, + The dew not fallen, the wind not chill: + Listening ever, but not catching + The customary cry, + "Come buy, come buy," + With its iterated jingle + Of sugar-baited words: + Not for all her watching + Once discerning even one goblin + Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling; + Let alone the herds + That used to tramp along the glen, + In groups or single, + Of brisk fruit-merchant men. + + Till Lizzie urged: "O Laura, come; + I hear the fruit-call, but I dare not look: + You should not loiter longer at this brook: + Come with me home. + The stars rise, the moon bends her arc, + Each glow-worm winks her spark, + Let us get home before the night grows dark; + For clouds may gather + Though this is summer weather, + Put out the lights and drench us through; + Then if we lost our way what should we do?" + + Laura turned cold as stone + To find her sister heard that cry alone, + That goblin cry, + "Come buy our fruits, come buy." + Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit? + Must she no more such succous pasture find, + Gone deaf and blind? + Her tree of life drooped from the root: + She said not one word in her heart's sore ache; + But peering thro' the dimness, naught discerning, + Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way; + So crept to bed, and lay + Silent till Lizzie slept; + Then sat up in a passionate yearning, + And gnashed her teeth for balked desire, and wept + As if her heart would break. + + Day after day, night after night, + Laura kept watch in vain, + In sullen silence of exceeding pain. + She never caught again the goblin cry: + "Come buy, come buy";-- + She never spied the goblin men + Hawking their fruits along the glen: + But when the noon waxed bright + Her hair grew thin and gray; + She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn + To swift decay, and burn + Her fire away. + + One day remembering her kernel-stone + She set it by a wall that faced the south; + Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root, + Watched for a waxing shoot, + But there came none; + It never saw the sun, + It never felt the trickling moisture run: + While with sunk eyes and faded mouth + She dreamed of melons, as a traveller sees + False waves in desert drouth + With shade of leaf-crowned trees, + And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. + + She no more swept the house, + Tended the fowls or cows, + Fetched honey, kneaded cakes of wheat, + Brought water from the brook: + But sat down listless in the chimney-nook + And would not eat. + + Tender Lizzie could not bear + To watch her sister's cankerous care, + Yet not to share. + She night and morning + Caught the goblins' cry: + "Come buy our orchard fruits, + Come buy, come buy." + Beside the brook, along the glen, + She heard the tramp of goblin men, + The voice and stir + Poor Laura could not hear; + Longed to buy fruit to comfort her, + But feared to pay too dear. + She thought of Jeanie in her grave, + Who should have been a bride; + But who for joys brides hope to have + Fell sick and died + In her gay prime, + In earliest winter-time, + With the first glazing rime, + With the first snow-fall of crisp winter-time. + + Till Laura, dwindling, + Seemed knocking at Death's door: + Then Lizzie weighed no more + Better and worse, + But put a silver penny in her purse, + Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze + At twilight, halted by the brook; + And for the first time in her life + Began to listen and look. + + Laughed every goblin + When they spied her peeping: + Came towards her hobbling, + Flying, running, leaping, + Puffing and blowing, + Chuckling, clapping, crowing, + Clucking and gobbling, + Mopping and mowing, + Full of airs and graces, + Pulling wry faces, + Demure grimaces, + Cat-like and rat-like, + Ratel and wombat-like, + Snail-paced in a hurry, + Parrot-voiced and whistler, + Helter-skelter, hurry-skurry, + Chattering like magpies, + Fluttering like pigeons, + Gliding like fishes,-- + Hugged her and kissed her; + Squeezed and caressed her; + Stretched up their dishes, + Panniers and plates: + "Look at our apples + Russet and dun, + Bob at our cherries, + Bite at our peaches, + Citrons and dates, + Grapes for the asking, + Pears red with basking + Out in the sun, + Plums on their twigs; + Pluck them and suck them, + Pomegranates, figs." + + "Good folk," said Lizzie, + Mindful of Jeanie, + "Give me much and many";-- + Held out her apron, + Tossed them her penny. + "Nay, take a seat with us, + Honor and eat with us," + They answered grinning: + "Our feast is but beginning. + Night yet is early, + Warm and dew-pearly, + Wakeful and starry: + Such fruits as these + No man can carry; + Half their bloom would fly, + Half their dew would dry, + Half their flavor would pass by. + Sit down and feast with us, + Be welcome guest with us, + Cheer you and rest with us." + "Thank you," said Lizzie; "but one waits + At home alone for me: + So, without further parleying, + If you will not sell me any + Of your fruits though much and many, + Give me back my silver penny + I tossed you for a fee." + They began to scratch their pates, + No longer wagging, purring, + But visibly demurring, + Grunting and snarling. + One called her proud, + Cross-grained, uncivil; + Their tones waxed loud, + Their looks were evil. + Lashing their tails + They trod and hustled her, + Elbowed and jostled her, + Clawed with their nails, + Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, + Tore her gown and soiled her stocking, + Twitched her hair out by the roots, + Stamped upon her tender feet, + Held her hands and squeezed their fruits + Against her mouth to make her eat. + + White and golden Lizzie stood, + Like a lily in a flood,-- + Like a rock of blue-veined stone + Lashed by tides obstreperously,-- + Like a beacon left alone + In a hoary roaring sea, + Sending up a golden fire,-- + Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree + White with blossoms honey-sweet + Sore beset by wasp and bee,-- + Like a royal virgin town + Topped with gilded dome and spire + Close beleaguered by a fleet + Mad to tug her standard down. + + One may lead a horse to water, + Twenty cannot make him drink. + Though the goblins cuffed and caught her, + Coaxed and fought her, + Bullied and besought her, + Scratched her, pinched her black as ink, + Kicked and knocked her, + Mauled and mocked her, + Lizzie uttered not a word; + Would not open lip from lip + Lest they should cram a mouthful in; + But laughed in heart to feel the drip + Of juice that syrupped all her face, + And lodged in dimples of her chin, + And streaked her neck which quaked like curd. + At last the evil people, + Worn out by her resistance, + Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit + Along whichever road they took, + Not leaving root or stone or shoot. + Some writhed into the ground, + Some dived into the brook + With ring and ripple, + Some scudded on the gale without a sound, + Some vanished in the distance. + + In a smart, ache, tingle, + Lizzie went her way; + Knew not was it night or day; + Sprang up the bank, tore through the furze, + Threaded copse and dingle, + And heard her penny jingle + Bouncing in her purse,-- + Its bounce was music to her ear. + She ran and ran + As if she feared some goblin man + Dogged her with gibe or curse + Or something worse: + But not one goblin skurried after, + Nor was she pricked by fear; + The kind heart made her windy-paced + That urged her home quite out of breath with haste + And inward laughter. + + She cried "Laura," up the garden, + "Did you miss me? + Come and kiss me. + Never mind my bruises, + Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices + Squeezed from goblin fruits for you, + Goblin pulp and goblin dew. + Eat me, drink me, love me; + Laura, make much of me: + For your sake I have braved the glen + And had to do with goblin merchant men." + + Laura started from her chair, + Flung her arms up in the air, + Clutched her hair: + "Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted + For my sake the fruit forbidden? + Must your light like mine be hidden, + Your young life like mine be wasted, + Undone in mine undoing + And ruined in my ruin, + Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden?" + She clung about her sister, + Kissed and kissed and kissed her: + Tears once again + Refreshed her shrunken eyes, + Dropping like rain + After long sultry drouth; + Shaking with aguish fear, and pain, + She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. + + Her lips began to scorch, + That juice was wormwood to her tongue, + She loathed the feast: + Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung, + Rent all her robe, and wrung + Her hands in lamentable haste, + And beat her breast. + Her locks streamed like the torch + Borne by a racer at full speed, + Or like the mane of horses in their flight, + Or like an eagle when she stems the light + Straight toward the sun, + Or like a caged thing freed, + Or like a flying flag when armies run. + + Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart, + Met the fire smouldering there + And overbore its lesser flame; + She gorged on bitterness without a name: + Ah! fool, to choose such part + Of soul-consuming care! + Sense failed in the mortal strife: + Like the watch-tower of a town + Which an earthquake shatters down, + Like a lightning-stricken mast, + Like a wind-uprooted tree + Spun about, + Like a foam-topped water-spout + Cast down headlong in the sea, + She fell at last; + Pleasure past and anguish past, + Is it death or is it life? + + Life out of death. + That night long Lizzie watched by her, + Counted her pulse's flagging stir, + Felt for her breath, + Held water to her lips, and cooled her face + With tears and fanning leaves: + But when the first birds chirped about their eaves, + And early reapers plodded to the place + Of golden sheaves, + And dew-wet grass + Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass, + And new buds with new day + Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream, + Laura awoke as from a dream, + Laughed in the innocent old way, + Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice; + Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of gray, + Her breath was sweet as May, + And light danced in her eyes. + + Days, weeks, months, years + Afterwards, when both were wives + With children of their own; + Their mother-hearts beset with fears, + Their lives bound up in tender lives; + Laura would call the little ones + And tell them of her early prime, + Those pleasant days long gone + Of not-returning time: + Would talk about the haunted glen, + The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men, + Their fruits like honey to the throat, + But poison in the blood; + (Men sell not such in any town;) + Would tell them how her sister stood + In deadly peril to do her good, + And win the fiery antidote: + Then joining hands to little hands + Would bid them cling together, + "For there is no friend like a sister, + In calm or stormy weather, + To cheer one on the tedious way, + To fetch one if one goes astray, + To lift one if one totters down, + To strengthen whilst one stands." + + + + IN THE ROUND TOWER AT JHANSI, + + June 8, 1857. + + + A hundred, a thousand to one; even so; + Not a hope in the world remained: + The swarming, howling wretches below + Gained and gained and gained. + + Skene looked at his pale young wife:-- + "Is the time come?"--"The time is come!"-- + Young, strong, and so full of life: + The agony struck them dumb. + + Close his arm about her now, + Close her cheek to his, + Close the pistol to her brow-- + God forgive them this! + + "Will it hurt much?"--"No, mine own: + I wish I could bear the pang for both." + "I wish I could bear the pang alone: + Courage, dear, I am not loth." + + Kiss and kiss: "It is not pain + Thus to kiss and die. + One kiss more."--"And yet one again."-- + "Good by."--"Good by." + + +Note.--I retain this little poem, not as historically accurate, but as +written and published before I heard the supposed facts of its first +verse contradicted. + + + + DREAM-LAND. + + + Where sunless rivers weep + Their waves into the deep, + She sleeps a charmèd sleep: + Awake her not. + Led by a single star, + She came from very far + To seek where shadows are + Her pleasant lot. + + She left the rosy morn, + She left the fields of corn, + For twilight cold and lorn + And water springs. + Through sleep, as through a veil, + She sees the sky look pale, + And hears the nightingale + That sadly sings. + + Rest, rest, a perfect rest + Shed over brow and breast; + Her face is toward the west, + The purple land. + She cannot see the grain + Ripening on hill and plain; + She cannot feel the rain + Upon her hand. + + Rest, rest, forevermore + Upon a mossy shore; + Rest, rest at the heart's core + Till time shall cease: + Sleep that no pain shall wake, + Night that no morn shall break, + Till joy shall overtake + Her perfect peace. + + + + AT HOME. + + + When I was dead, my spirit turned + To seek the much-frequented house + I passed the door, and saw my friends + Feasting beneath green orange-boughs; + From hand to hand they pushed the wine, + They sucked the pulp of plum and peach; + They sang, they jested, and they laughed, + For each was loved of each. + + I listened to their honest chat: + Said one: "To-morrow we shall be + Plod plod along the featureless sands, + And coasting miles and miles of sea." + Said one: "Before the turn of tide + We will achieve the eyrie-seat." + Said one: "To-morrow shall be like + To-day, but much more sweet." + + "To-morrow," said they, strong with hope, + And dwelt upon the pleasant way: + "To-morrow," cried they, one and all, + While no one spoke of yesterday. + Their life stood full at blessed noon; + I, only I, had passed away: + "To-morrow and to-day," they cried; + I was of yesterday. + + I shivered comfortless, but cast + No chill across the table-cloth; + I, all-forgotten, shivered, sad + To stay, and yet to part how loth: + I passed from the familiar room, + I who from love had passed away, + Like the remembrance of a guest + That tarrieth but a day. + + + + FROM SUNSET TO STAR RISE. + + + Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not: + I am no summer friend, but wintry cold, + A silly sheep benighted from the fold, + A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. + Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot, + Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold; + Lest you with me should shiver on the wold, + Athirst and hungering on a barren spot. + + For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge, + I live alone, I look to die alone: + Yet sometimes when a wind sighs through the sedge, + Ghosts of my buried years and friends come back, + My heart goes sighing after swallows flown + On sometime summer's unreturning track. + + + + LOVE FROM THE NORTH. + + + I had a love in soft south land, + Beloved through April far in May; + He waited on my lightest breath, + And never dared to say me nay. + + He saddened if my cheer was sad, + But gay he grew if I was gay; + We never differed on a hair, + My yes his yes, my nay his nay. + + The wedding hour was come, the aisles + Were flushed with sun and flowers that day; + I pacing balanced in my thoughts,-- + "It's quite too late to think of nay."-- + + My bridegroom answered in his turn, + Myself had almost answered "yea": + When through the flashing nave I heard. + A struggle and resounding "nay." + + Bridemaids and bridegroom shrank in fear, + But I stood high who stood at bay: + "And if I answer yea, fair Sir, + What man art thou to bar with nay?" + + He was a strong man from the north, + Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous gray: + "Put yea by for another time + In which I will not say thee nay." + + He took me in his strong white arms, + He bore me on his horse away + O'er crag, morass, and hair-breadth pass, + But never asked me yea or nay. + + He made me fast with book and bell, + With links of love he makes me stay; + Till now I've neither heart nor power + Nor will nor wish to say him nay. + + + + WINTER RAIN. + + + Every valley drinks, + Every dell and hollow: + Where the kind rain sinks and sinks, + Green of Spring will follow. + + Yet a lapse of weeks + Buds will burst their edges, + Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks, + In the woods and hedges; + + Weave a bower of love + For birds to meet each other, + Weave a canopy above + Nest and egg and mother. + + But for fattening rain + We should have no flowers, + Never a bud or leaf again + But for soaking showers; + + Never a mated bird + In the rocking tree-tops, + Never indeed a flock or herd + To graze upon the lea-crops. + + Lambs so woolly white, + Sheep the sun-bright leas on, + They could have no grass to bite + But for rain in season. + + We should find no moss + In the shadiest places, + Find no waving meadow-grass + Pied with broad-eyed daisies; + + But miles of barren sand, + With never a son or daughter, + Not a lily on the land, + Or lily on the water. + + + + A DIRGE. + + + Why were you born when the snow was falling? + You should have come to the cuckoo's calling, + Or when grapes are green in the cluster, + Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster + For their far off flying + From summer dying. + + Why did you die when the lambs were cropping? + You should have died at the apples' dropping, + When the grasshopper comes to trouble, + And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble, + And all winds go sighing + For sweet things dying. + + + + CONFLUENTS + + + As rivers seek the sea, + Much more deep than they, + So my soul seeks thee + Far away: + As running rivers moan + On their course alone + So I moan + Left alone. + + As the delicate rose + To the sun's sweet strength + Doth herself unclose, + Breadth and length: + So spreads my heart to thee + Unveiled utterly, + I to thee + Utterly. + + As morning dew exhales + Sunwards pure and free, + So my spirit fails + After thee: + As dew leaves not a trace + On the green earth's face; + I, no trace + On thy face. + + Its goal the river knows, + Dewdrops find a way, + Sunlight cheers the rose + In her day: + Shall I, lone sorrow past, + Find thee at the last? + Sorrow past, + Thee at last? + + + + NOBLE SISTERS. + + + "Now did you mark a falcon, + Sister dear, sister dear, + Flying toward my window + In the morning cool and clear? + With jingling bells about her neck, + But what beneath her wing? + It may have been a ribbon, + Or it may have been a ring."-- + "I marked a falcon swooping + At the break of day: + And for your love, my sister dove, + I 'frayed the thief away."-- + + "Or did you spy a ruddy hound, + Sister fair and tall, + Went snuffing round my garden bound, + Or crouched by my bower wall? + With a silken leash about his neck; + But in his mouth may be + A chain of gold and silver links, + Or a letter writ to me."-- + "I heard a hound, high-born sister, + Stood baying at the moon: + I rose and drove him from your wall + Lest you should wake too soon."-- + + "Or did you meet a pretty page + Sat swinging on the gate; + Sat whistling, whistling like a bird, + Or may be slept too late: + With eaglets broidered on his cap, + And eaglets on his glove? + If you had turned his pockets out, + You had found some pledge of love."-- + "I met him at this daybreak, + Scarce the east was red: + Lest the creaking gate should anger you, + I packed him home to bed."-- + + "O patience, sister. Did you see + A young man tall and strong, + Swift-footed to uphold the right + And to uproot the wrong, + Come home across the desolate sea + To woo me for his wife? + And in his heart my heart is locked, + And in his life my life."-- + "I met a nameless man, sister, + Who loitered round our door: + I said: Her husband loves her much. + And yet she loves him more."-- + + "Fie, sister, fie, a wicked lie, + A lie, a wicked lie; + I have none other love but him, + Nor will have till I die. + And you have turned him from our door, + And stabbed him with a lie: + I will go seek him thro' the world + In sorrow till I die."-- + "Go seek in sorrow, sister, + And find in sorrow too: + If thus you shame our father's name + My curse go forth with you." + + + + SPRING. + + + Frost-locked all the winter, + Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, + What shall make their sap ascend + That they may put forth shoots? + Tips of tender green, + Leaf, or blade, or sheath; + Telling of the hidden life + That breaks forth underneath, + Life nursed in its grave by Death. + + Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly, + Drips the soaking rain, + By fits looks down the waking sun: + Young grass springs on the plain; + Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees; + Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, + Swollen with sap, put forth their shoots; + Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane; + Birds sing and pair again. + + There is no time like Spring, + When life's alive in everything, + Before new nestlings sing, + Before cleft swallows speed their journey back + Along the trackless track,-- + God guides their wing, + He spreads their table that they nothing lack,-- + Before the daisy grows a common flower, + Before the sun has power + To scorch the world up in his noontide hour. + + There is no time like Spring, + Like Spring that passes by; + There is no life like Spring-life born to die,-- + Piercing the sod, + Clothing the uncouth clod, + Hatched in the nest, + Fledged on the windy bough, + Strong on the wing: + There is no time like Spring that passes by, + Now newly born, and now + Hastening to die. + + + + THE LAMBS OF GRASMERE, 1860. + + + The upland flocks grew starved and thinned: + Their shepherds scarce could feed the lambs + Whose milkless mothers butted them, + Or who were orphaned of their dams. + The lambs athirst for mother's milk + Filled all the place with piteous sounds: + Their mothers' bones made white for miles + The pastureless wet pasture grounds. + + Day after day, night after night, + From lamb to lamb the shepherds went, + With teapots for the bleating mouths + Instead of nature's nourishment. + The little shivering gaping things + Soon knew the step that brought them aid, + And fondled the protecting hand, + And rubbed it with a woolly head. + + Then, as the days waxed on to weeks, + It was a pretty sight to see + These lambs with frisky heads and tails + Skipping and leaping on the lea, + Bleating in tender, trustful tones, + Resting on rocky crag or mound, + And following the beloved feet + That once had sought for them and found. + + These very shepherds of their flocks, + These loving lambs so meek to please, + Are worthy of recording words + And honor in their due degrees: + So I might live a hundred years, + And roam from strand to foreign strand, + Yet not forget this flooded spring + And scarce-saved lambs of Westmoreland. + + + + A BIRTHDAY. + + + My heart is like a singing bird + Whose nest is in a watered shoot; + My heart is like an apple-tree + Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; + My heart is like a rainbow shell + That paddles in a halcyon sea; + My heart is gladder than all these + Because my love is come to me. + + Raise me a dais of silk and down; + Hang it with vair and purple dyes; + Carve it in doves and pomegranates, + And peacocks with a hundred eyes; + Work it in gold and silver grapes, + In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; + Because the birthday of my life + Is come, my love is come to me. + + + + REMEMBER. + + SONNET. + + + Remember me when I am gone away, + Gone far away into the silent land; + When you can no more hold me by the hand, + Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. + Remember me when no more, day by day, + You tell me of our future that you planned: + Only remember me; you understand + It will be late to counsel then or pray. + Yet if you should forget me for a while + And afterwards remember, do not grieve: + For if the darkness and corruption leave + A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, + Better by far you should forget and smile + Than that you should remember and be sad. + + + + AFTER DEATH. + + SONNET. + + + The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept + And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may + Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, + Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. + He leaned above me, thinking that I slept + And could not hear him; but I heard him say: + "Poor child, poor child": and as he turned away + Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. + He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold + That hid my face, or take my hand in his, + Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: + He did not love me living; but once dead + He pitied me; and very sweet it is + To know he still is warm though I am cold. + + + + AN END. + + + Love, strong as Death, is dead. + Come, let us make his bed + Among the dying flowers: + A green turf at his head; + And a stone at his feet, + Whereon we may sit + In the quiet evening hours. + + He was born in the Spring, + And died before the harvesting: + On the last warm summer day + He left us; he would not stay + For autumn twilight, cold and gray. + Sit we by his grave, and sing + He is gone away. + + To few chords and sad and low + Sing we so: + Be our eyes fixed on the grass + Shadow-veiled as the years pass, + While we think of all that was + In the long ago. + + + + MY DREAM. + + + Hear now a curious dream I dreamed last night, + Each word whereof is weighed and sifted truth. + + I stood beside Euphrates while it swelled + Like overflowing Jordan in its youth: + It waxed and colored sensibly to sight, + Till out of myriad pregnant waves there welled + Young crocodiles, a gaunt blunt-featured crew, + Fresh-hatched perhaps and daubed with birthday dew. + The rest if I should tell, I fear my friend, + My closest friend, would deem the facts untrue; + And therefore it were wisely left untold; + Yet if you will, why, hear it to the end. + + Each crocodile was girt with massive gold + And polished stones, that with their wearers grew: + But one there was who waxed beyond the rest, + Wore kinglier girdle and a kingly crown, + Whilst crowns and orbs and sceptres starred his breast. + All gleamed compact and green with scale on scale, + But special burnishment adorned his mail, + And special terror weighed upon his frown; + His punier brethren quaked before his tail, + Broad as a rafter, potent as a flail. + So he grew lord and master of his kin: + But who shall tell the tale of all their woes? + An execrable appetite arose, + He battened on them, crunched, and sucked them in. + He knew no law, he feared no binding law, + But ground them with inexorable jaw: + The luscious fat distilled upon his chin, + Exuded from his nostrils and his eyes, + While still like hungry death he fed his maw; + Till every minor crocodile being dead + And buried too, himself gorged to the full, + He slept with breath oppressed and unstrung claw. + O marvel passing strange which next I saw: + In sleep he dwindled to the common size, + And all the empire faded from his coat. + Then from far off a wingèd vessel came, + Swift as a swallow, subtle as a flame: + I know not what it bore of freight or host, + But white it was as an avenging ghost. + It levelled strong Euphrates in its course; + Supreme yet weightless as an idle mote + It seemed to tame the waters without force + Till not a murmur swelled or billow beat: + Lo, as the purple shadow swept the sands, + The prudent crocodile rose on his feet + And shed appropriate tears and wrung his hands. + + What can it mean? you ask. I answer not + For meaning, but myself must echo, What? + And tell it as I saw it on the spot. + + + + SONG. + + + O roses for the flush of youth, + And laurel for the perfect prime; + But pluck an ivy branch for me + Grown old before my time. + + O violets for the grave of youth, + And bay for those dead in their prime; + Give me the withered leaves I chose + Before in the old time. + + + + THE HOUR AND THE GHOST. + + + BRIDE. + + O love, love, hold me fast,-- + He draws me away from thee; + I cannot stem the blast, + Nor the cold strong sea: + Far away a light shines + Beyond the hills and pines; + It is lit for me. + + BRIDEGROOM. + + I have thee close, my dear, + No terror can come near; + Only far off the northern light shines clear. + + GHOST. + + Come with me, fair and false, + To our home, come home. + It is my voice that calls: + Once thou wast not afraid + When I wooed, and said, + "Come, our nest is newly made,"-- + Now cross the tossing foam. + + BRIDE. + + Hold me one moment longer, + He taunts me with the past, + His clutch is waxing stronger, + Hold me fast, hold me fast. + He draws me from thy heart, + And I cannot withhold: + He bids my spirit depart + With him into the cold:-- + O bitter vows of old! + + BRIDEGROOM. + + Lean on me, hide thine eyes: + Only ourselves, earth and skies, + Are present here: be wise. + + GHOST. + + Lean on me, come away, + I will guide and steady: + Come, for I will not stay: + Come, for house and bed are ready. + Ah, sure bed and house, + For better and worse, for life and death: + Goal won with shortened breath: + Come, crown our vows. + + BRIDE. + + One moment, one more word, + While my heart beats still, + While my breath is stirred + By my fainting will. + O friend forsake me not, + Forget not as I forgot: + But keep thy heart for me, + Keep thy faith true and bright; + Through the lone cold winter night + Perhaps I may come to thee. + + BRIDEGROOM. + + Nay, peace, my darling, peace: + Let these dreams and terrors cease: + Who spoke of death or change or aught but ease? + + GHOST. + + O fair frail sin, + O poor harvest gathered in! + Thou shalt visit him again + To watch his heart grow cold; + To know the gnawing pain + I knew of old; + To see one much more fair + Fill up the vacant chair, + Fill his heart, his children bear:-- + While thou and I together + In the outcast weather + Toss and howl and spin. + + + + A SUMMER WISH. + + + Live all thy sweet life through + Sweet Rose, dew-sprent, + Drop down thine evening dew + To gather it anew + When day is bright: + I fancy thou wast meant + Chiefly to give delight. + + Sing in the silent sky, + Glad soaring bird; + Sing out thy notes on high + To sunbeam straying by + Or passing cloud; + Heedless if thou art heard + Sing thy full song aloud. + + O that it were with me + As with the flower; + Blooming on its own tree + For butterfly and bee + Its summer morns: + That I might bloom mine hour + A rose in spite of thorns. + + O that my work were done + As birds' that soar + Rejoicing in the sun: + That when my time is run + And daylight too, + I so might rest once more + Cool with refreshing dew. + + + + AN APPLE GATHERING. + + + I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple-tree, + And wore them all that evening in my hair: + Then in due season when I went to see + I found no apples there. + + With dangling basket all along the grass + As I had come I went the selfsame track: + My neighbors mocked me while they saw me pass + So empty-handed back. + + Lilian and Lilias smiled in trudging by, + Their heaped-up basket teased me like a jeer; + Sweet-voiced they sang beneath the sunset sky, + Their mother's home was near. + + Plump Gertrude passed me with her basket full, + A stronger hand than hers helped it along; + A voice talked with her through the shadows cool + More sweet to me than song. + + Ah, Willie, Willie, was my love less worth + Than apples with their green leaves piled above? + I counted rosiest apples on the earth + Of far less worth than love. + + So once it was with me you stooped to talk + Laughing and listening in this very lane: + To think that by this way we used to walk + We shall not walk again! + + I let my neighbors pass me, ones and twos + And groups; the latest said the night grew chill, + And hastened: but I loitered, while the dews + Fell fast I loitered still. + + + + SONG. + + + Two doves upon the selfsame branch, + Two lilies on a single stem, + Two butterflies upon one flower:-- + O happy they who look on them. + + Who look upon them hand in hand + Flushed in the rosy summer light; + Who look upon them hand in hand + And never give a thought to night. + + + + MAUDE CLARE. + + + Out of the church she followed them + With a lofty step and mien: + His bride was like a village maid, + Maude Clare was like a queen. + + "Son Thomas," his lady mother said, + With smiles, almost with tears: + "May Nell and you but live as true + As we have done for years; + + "Your father thirty years ago + Had just your tale to tell; + But he was not so pale as you, + Nor I so pale as Nell." + + My lord was pale with inward strife, + And Nell was pale with pride; + My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare + Or ever he kissed the bride. + + "Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord, + Have brought my gift," she said: + "To bless the hearth, to bless the board, + To bless the marriage-bed. + + "Here's my half of the golden chain + You wore about your neck, + That day we waded ankle-deep + For lilies in the beck: + + "Here's my half of the faded leaves + We plucked from budding bough, + With feet amongst the lily-leaves,-- + The lilies are budding now." + + He strove to match her scorn with scorn, + He faltered in his place: + "Lady," he said,--"Maude Clare," he said,-- + "Maude Clare":--and hid his face. + + She turned to Nell: "My Lady Nell, + I have a gift for you; + Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone, + Or, were it flowers, the dew. + + "Take my share of a fickle heart, + Mine of a paltry love: + Take it or leave it as you will, + I wash my hands thereof." + + "And what you leave," said Nell, "I'll take, + And what you spurn, I'll wear; + For he's my lord for better and worse, + And him I love, Maude Clare. + + "Yea, though you're taller by the head, + More wise, and much more fair; + I'll love him till he loves me best, + Me best of all, Maude Clare." + + + + ECHO. + + + Come to me in the silence of the night; + Come in the speaking silence of a dream; + Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright + As sunlight on a stream; + Come back in tears, + O memory, hope, love of finished years. + + O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet, + Whose wakening should have been in Paradise, + Where souls brimful of love abide and meet; + Where thirsting longing eyes + Watch the slow door + That opening, letting in, lets out no more. + + Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live + My very life again though cold in death: + Come back to me in dreams, that I may give + Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: + Speak low, lean low, + As long ago, my love, how long ago! + + + + WINTER: MY SECRET. + + + I tell my secret? No indeed, not I: + Perhaps some day, who knows? + But not to-day; it froze, and blows, and snows, + And you're too curious: fie! + You want to hear it? well: + Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell. + + Or, after all, perhaps there's none: + Suppose there is no secret after all, + But only just my fun. + To-day's a nipping day, a biting day; + In which one wants a shawl, + A veil, a cloak, and other wraps: + I cannot ope to every one who taps, + And let the draughts come whistling through my hall; + Come bounding and surrounding me, + Come buffeting, astounding me, + Nipping and clipping through my wraps and all. + I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows + His nose to Russian snows + To be pecked at by every wind that blows? + You would not peck? I thank you for good-will, + Believe, but leave that truth untested still. + + Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trust + March with its peck of dust, + Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers, + Nor even May, whose flowers + One frost may wither through the sunless hours. + + Perhaps some languid summer day, + When drowsy birds sing less and less, + And golden fruit is ripening to excess, + If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud, + And the warm wind is neither still nor loud, + Perhaps my secret I may say, + Or you may guess. + + + + ANOTHER SPRING. + + + If I might see another Spring + I'd not plant summer flowers and wait: + I'd have my crocuses at once, + My leafless pink mezereons, + My chill-veined snowdrops, choicer yet + My white or azure violet, + Leaf-nested primrose; anything + To blow at once not late. + + If I might see another Spring + I'd listen to the daylight birds + That build their nests and pair and sing, + Nor wait for mateless nightingale; + I'd listen to the lusty herds, + The ewes with lambs as white as snow, + I'd find out music in the hail + And all the winds that blow. + + If I might see another Spring-- + O stinging comment on my past + That all my past results in "if"-- + If I might see another Spring + I'd laugh to-day, to-day is brief; + I would not wait for anything: + I'd use to-day that cannot last, + Be glad to-day and sing. + + + + A PEAL OF BELLS. + + + Strike the bells wantonly, + Tinkle tinkle well; + Bring me wine, bring me flowers, + Ring the silver bell. + All my lamps burn scented oil, + Hung on laden orange-trees, + Whose shadowed foliage is the foil + To golden lamps and oranges. + Heap my golden plates with fruit, + Golden fruit, fresh-plucked and ripe; + Strike the bells and breathe the pipe; + Shut out showers from summer hours; + Silence that complaining lute; + Shut out thinking, shut out pain, + From hours that cannot come again. + + Strike the bells solemnly, + Ding dong deep: + My friend is passing to his bed, + Fast asleep; + There's plaited linen round his head, + While foremost go his feet,-- + His feet that cannot carry him. + My feast's a show, my lights are dim; + Be still, your music is not sweet,-- + There is no music more for him: + His lights are out, his feast is done; + His bowl that sparkled to the brim + Is drained, is broken, cannot hold; + My blood is chill, his blood is cold; + His death is full, and mine begun. + + + + FATA MORGANA. + + + A blue-eyed phantom far before + Is laughing, leaping toward the sun; + Like lead I chase it evermore, + I pant and run. + + It breaks the sunlight bound on bound; + Goes singing as it leaps along + To sheep-bells with a dreamy sound + A dreamy song. + + I laugh, it is so brisk and gay; + It is so far before, I weep: + I hope I shall lie down some day, + Lie down and sleep. + + + + "NO, THANK YOU, JOHN." + + + I never said I loved you, John: + Why will you tease me, day by day, + And wax a weariness to think upon + With always "do" and "pray"? + + You know I never loved you, John; + No fault of mine made me your toast: + Why will you haunt me with a face as wan + As shows an hour-old ghost? + + I dare say Meg or Moll would take + Pity upon you, if you'd ask: + And pray don't remain single for my sake + Who can't perform that task. + + I have no heart?--Perhaps I have not; + But then you're mad to take offence + That I don't give you what I have not got: + Use your own common sense. + + Let bygones be bygones: + Don't call me false, who owed not to be true: + I'd rather answer "No" to fifty Johns + Than answer "Yes" to you. + + Let's mar our pleasant days no more, + Song-birds of passage, days of youth: + Catch at to-day, forget the days before: + I'll wink at your untruth. + + Let us strike hands as hearty friends; + No more, no less: and friendship's good: + Only don't keep in view ulterior ends, + And points not understood + + In open treaty. Rise above + Quibbles and shuffling off and on: + Here's friendship for you if you like; but love,-- + No, thank you, John. + + + + MAY. + + + I cannot tell you how it was; + But this I know: it came to pass + Upon a bright and breezy day + When May was young; ah, pleasant May! + As yet the poppies were not born + Between the blades of tender corn; + The last eggs had not hatched as yet, + Nor any bird foregone its mate. + + I cannot tell you what it was; + But this I know: it did but pass. + It passed away with sunny May, + With all sweet things it passed away, + And left me old, and cold, and gray. + + + + A PAUSE OF THOUGHT. + + + I looked for that which is not, nor can be, + And hope deferred made my heart sick in truth + But years must pass before a hope of youth + Is resigned utterly. + + I watched and waited with a steadfast will: + And though the object seemed to flee away + That I so longed for, ever day by day + I watched and waited still. + + Sometimes I said: This thing shall be no more; + My expectation wearies and shall cease; + I will resign it now and be at peace: + Yet never gave it o'er. + + Sometimes I said: It is an empty name + I long for; to a name why should I give + The peace of all the days I have to live?-- + Yet gave it all the same. + + Alas, thou foolish one! alike unfit + For healthy joy and salutary pain: + Thou knowest the chase useless, and again + Turnest to follow it. + + + + TWILIGHT CALM. + + + O pleasant eventide! + Clouds on the western side + Grow gray and grayer, hiding the warm sun: + The bees and birds, their happy labors done, + Seek their close nests and bide. + + Screened in the leafy wood + The stock-doves sit and brood: + The very squirrel leaps from bough to bough + But lazily; pauses; and settles now + Where once he stored his food. + + One by one the flowers close, + Lily and dewy rose + Shutting their tender petals from the moon: + The grasshoppers are still; but not so soon + Are still the noisy crows. + + The dormouse squats and eats + Choice little dainty bits + Beneath the spreading roots of a broad lime; + Nibbling his fill he stops from time to time + And listens where he sits. + + From far the lowings come + Of cattle driven home: + From farther still the wind brings fitfully + The vast continual murmur of the sea, + Now loud, now almost dumb. + + The gnats whirl in the air, + The evening gnats; and there + The owl opes broad his eyes and wings to sail + For prey; the bat wakes; and the shell-less snail + Comes forth, clammy and bare. + + Hark! that's the nightingale, + Telling the self-same tale + Her song told when this ancient earth was young: + So echoes answered when her song was sung + In the first wooded vale. + + We call it love and pain + The passion of her strain; + And yet we little understand or know: + Why should it not be rather joy that so + Throbs in each throbbing vein? + + In separate herds the deer + Lie; here the bucks, and here + The does, and by its mother sleeps the fawn: + Through all the hours of night until the dawn + They sleep, forgetting fear. + + The hare sleeps where it lies, + With wary half-closed eyes; + The cock has ceased to crow, the hen to cluck: + Only the fox is out, some heedless duck + Or chicken to surprise. + + Remote, each single star + Comes out, till there they are + All shining brightly: how the dews fall damp! + While close at hand the glow-worm lights her lamp + Or twinkles from afar. + + But evening now is done + As much as if the sun + Day-giving had arisen in the east: + For night has come; and the great calm has ceased, + The quiet sands have run. + + + + WIFE TO HUSBAND. + + + Pardon the faults in me, + For the love of years ago: + Good by. + I must drift across the sea, + I must sink into the snow, + I must die. + + You can bask in this sun, + You can drink wine, and eat: + Good by. + I must gird myself and run, + Though with unready feet: + I must die. + + Blank sea to sail upon, + Cold bed to sleep in: + Good by. + While you clasp, I must be gone + For all your weeping: + I must die. + + A kiss for one friend, + And a word for two,-- + Good by:-- + A lock that you must send, + A kindness you must do: + I must die. + + Not a word for you, + Not a lock or kiss, + Good by. + We, one, must part in two: + Verily death is this: + I must die. + + + + THREE SEASONS. + + + "A cup for hope!" she said, + In springtime ere the bloom was old: + The crimson wine was poor and cold + By her mouth's richer red. + + "A cup for love!" how low, + How soft the words; and all the while + Her blush was rippling with a smile + Like summer after snow. + + "A cup for memory!" + Cold cup that one must drain alone: + While autumn winds are up and moan + Across the barren sea. + + Hope, memory, love: + Hope for fair morn, and love for day, + And memory for the evening gray + And solitary dove. + + + + MIRAGE. + + + The hope I dreamed of was a dream, + Was but a dream; and now I wake + Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old, + For a dream's sake. + + I hang my harp upon a tree, + A weeping willow in a lake; + I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt + For a dream's sake. + + Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart; + My silent heart, lie still and break: + Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed + For a dream's sake. + + + + SHUT OUT. + + + The door was shut. I looked between + Its iron bars; and saw it lie, + My garden, mine, beneath the sky, + Pied with all flowers bedewed and green: + + From bough to bough the song-birds crossed, + From flower to flower the moths and bees; + With all its nests and stately trees + It had been mine, and it was lost. + + A shadowless spirit kept the gate, + Blank and unchanging like the grave. + I peering through said: "Let me have + Some buds to cheer my outcast state." + + He answered not. "Or give me, then, + But one small twig from shrub or tree; + And bid my home remember me + Until I come to it again." + + The spirit was silent; but he took + Mortar and stone to build a wall; + He left no loophole great or small + Through which my straining eyes might look: + + So now I sit here quite alone + Blinded with tears; nor grieve for that, + For naught is left worth looking at + Since my delightful land is gone. + + A violet bed is budding near, + Wherein a lark has made her nest: + And good they are, but not the best; + And dear they are, but not so dear. + + + + SOUND SLEEP. + + + Some are laughing, some are weeping; + She is sleeping, only sleeping. + Round her rest wild flowers are creeping; + There the wind is heaping, heaping + Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping, + By the cornfields ripe for reaping. + + There are lilies, and there blushes + The deep rose, and there the thrushes + Sing till latest sunlight flushes + In the west; a fresh wind brushes + Through the leaves while evening hushes. + + There by day the lark is singing + And the grass and weeds are springing: + There by night the bat is winging; + There forever winds are bringing + Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing. + + Night and morning, noon and even, + Their sound fills her dreams with Heaven: + The long strife at length is striven: + Till her grave-bands shall be riven + Such is the good portion given + To her soul at rest and shriven. + + + + SONG. + + + She sat and sang alway + By the green margin of a stream, + Watching the fishes leap and play + Beneath the glad sunbeam. + + I sat and wept alway + Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam, + Watching the blossoms of the May + Weep leaves into the stream. + + I wept for memory; + She sang for hope that is so fair: + My tears were swallowed by the sea; + Her songs died on the air. + + + + SONG. + + + When I am dead, my dearest, + Sing no sad songs for me; + Plant thou no roses at my head, + Nor shady cypress-tree: + Be the green grass above me + With showers and dewdrops wet; + And if thou wilt, remember, + And if thou wilt, forget. + + I shall not see the shadows, + I shall not feel the rain; + I shall not hear the nightingale + Sing on, as if in pain: + And dreaming through the twilight + That doth not rise nor set, + Haply I may remember, + And haply may forget. + + + + DEAD BEFORE DEATH. + + SONNET. + + + Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold! + With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes: + Changed, yet the same; much knowing, little wise; + _This_ was the promise of the days of old! + Grown hard and stubborn in the ancient mould, + Grown rigid in the sham of lifelong lies: + We hoped for better things as years would rise, + But it is over as a tale once told. + All fallen the blossom that no fruitage bore, + All lost the present and the future time, + All lost, all lost, the lapse that went before: + So lost till death shut-to the opened door, + So lost from chime to everlasting chime, + So cold and lost forever evermore. + + + + BITTER FOR SWEET. + + + Summer is gone with all its roses, + Its sun and perfumes and sweet flowers, + Its warm air and refreshing showers: + And even Autumn closes. + + Yea, Autumn's chilly self is going, + And winter comes which is yet colder; + Each day the hoar-frost waxes bolder + And the last buds cease blowing. + + + + "THE MASTER IS COME, AND CALLETH + FOR THEE." + + + Who calleth?--Thy Father calleth, + Run, O Daughter, to wait on Him: + He Who chasteneth but for a season + Trims thy lamp that it burn not dim. + + Who calleth?--Thy Master calleth, + Sit, Disciple, and learn of Him: + He Who teacheth wisdom of Angels + Makes thee wise as the Cherubim, + + Who calleth?--Thy Monarch calleth, + Rise, O Subject, and follow Him: + He is stronger than Death or Devil, + Fear not thou if the foe be grim. + + Who calleth?--Thy Lord God calleth. + Fall, O Creature, adoring Him: + He is jealous, thy God Almighty, + Count not dear to thee life or limb. + + Who calleth?--Thy Bridegroom calleth, + Soar, O Bride, with the Seraphim: + He Who loves thee as no man loveth, + Bids thee give up thy heart to Him. + + + + REST. + + SONNET. + + + O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes; + Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth; + Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth + With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs. + She hath no questions, she hath no replies, + Hushed in and curtained with a blessed dearth + Of all that irked her from the hour of birth; + With stillness that is almost Paradise. + Darkness more clear than noonday holdeth her, + Silence more musical than any song; + Even her very heart has ceased to stir: + Until the morning of Eternity + Her rest shall not begin nor end, but be; + And when she wakes she will not think it long. + + + + THE FIRST SPRING DAY. + + + I wonder if the sap is stirring yet, + If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, + If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun + And crocus fires are kindling one by one: + Sing, robin, sing! + I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring. + + I wonder if the spring-tide of this year + Will bring another Spring both lost and dear; + If heart and spirit will find out their Spring, + Or if the world alone will bud and sing: + Sing, hope, to me! + Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory. + + The sap will surely quicken soon or late, + The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate; + So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom, + Or in this world, or in the world to come: + Sing, voice of Spring! + Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing. + + + + THE CONVENT THRESHOLD. + + + There's blood between us, love, my love, + There's father's blood, there's brother's blood; + And blood's a bar I cannot pass: + I choose the stairs that mount above, + Stair after golden skyward stair, + To city and to sea of glass. + My lily feet are soiled with mud, + With scarlet mud which tells a tale + Of hope that was, of guilt that was, + Of love that shall not yet avail; + Alas, my heart, if I could bare + My heart, this self-same stain is there: + I seek the sea of glass and fire + To wash the spot, to burn the snare; + Lo, stairs are meant to lift us higher: + Mount with me, mount the kindled stair. + + Your eyes look earthward, mine look up. + I see the far-off city grand, + Beyond the hills a watered land, + Beyond the gulf a gleaming strand + Of mansions where the righteous sup; + Who sleep at ease among their trees, + Or wake to sing a cadenced hymn + With Cherubim and Seraphim; + They bore the Cross, they drained the cup, + Racked, roasted, crushed, wrenched limb from limb, + They the offscouring of the world: + The heaven of starry heavens unfurled, + The sun before their face is dim. + + You looking earthward, what see you? + Milk-white, wine-flushed among the vines, + Up and down leaping, to and fro, + Most glad, most full, made strong with wines, + Blooming as peaches pearled with dew, + Their golden windy hair afloat, + Love-music warbling in their throat, + Young men and women come and go. + + You linger, yet the time is short: + Flee for your life, gird up your strength + To flee: the shadows stretched at length + Show that day wanes, that night draws nigh; + Flee to the mountain, tarry not. + Is this a time for smile and sigh, + For songs among the secret trees + Where sudden bluebirds nest and sport? + The time is short and yet you stay: + To-day, while it is called to-day, + Kneel, wrestle, knock, do violence, pray; + To-day is short, to-morrow nigh: + Why will you die? why will you die? + + You sinned with me a pleasant sin: + Repent with me, for I repent. + Woe's me the lore I must unlearn! + Woe's me that easy way we went, + So rugged when I would return! + How long until my sleep begin, + How long shall stretch these nights and days? + Surely, clean Angels cry, she prays; + She laves her soul with tedious tears: + How long must stretch these years and years? + + I turn from you my cheeks and eyes, + My hair which you shall see no more,-- + Alas for joy that went before, + For joy that dies, for love that dies. + Only my lips still turn to you, + My livid lips that cry, Repent! + O weary life, O weary Lent, + O weary time whose stars are few! + + How should I rest in Paradise, + Or sit on steps of Heaven alone? + If Saints and Angels spoke of love + Should I not answer from my throne? + Have pity upon me, ye my friends, + For I have heard the sound thereof: + Should I not turn with yearning eyes, + Turn earthwards with a pitiful pang? + O save me from a pang in Heaven! + By all the gifts we took and gave, + Repent, repent, and be forgiven: + This life is long, but yet it ends; + Repent and purge your soul and save: + No gladder song the morning stars + Upon their birthday morning sang + Than Angels sing when one repents. + + I tell you what I dreamed last night: + A spirit with transfigured face + Fire-footed clomb an infinite space. + I heard his hundred pinions clang, + Heaven-bells rejoicing rang and rang, + Heaven-air was thrilled with subtle scents, + Worlds spun upon their rushing cars: + He mounted shrieking: "Give me light!" + Still light was poured on him, more light; + Angels, Archangels he outstripped, + Exultant in exceeding might, + And trod the skirts of Cherubim. + Still "Give me light," he shrieked; and dipped + + His thirsty face, and drank a sea, + Athirst with thirst it could not slake. + I saw him, drunk with knowledge, take + From aching brows the aureole crown,-- + His locks writhed like a cloven snake,-- + He left his throne to grovel down + And lick the dust of Seraphs' feet: + For what is knowledge duly weighed? + Knowledge is strong, but love is sweet; + Yea, all the progress he had made + Was but to learn that all is small + Save love, for love is all in all. + + I tell you what I dreamed last night: + It was not dark, it was not light, + Cold dews had drenched my plenteous hair + Through clay; you came to seek me there. + And "Do you dream of me?" you said. + My heart was dust that used to leap + To you; I answered half asleep: + "My pillow is damp, my sheets are red, + There's a leaden tester to my bed: + Find you a warmer playfellow, + A warmer pillow for your head, + A kinder love to love than mine." + You wrung your hands; while I like lead + Crushed downwards through the sodden earth: + You smote your hands but not in mirth, + And reeled but were not drunk with wine. + + For all night long I dreamed of you: + I woke and prayed against my will, + Then slept to dream of you again. + At length I rose and knelt and prayed: + I cannot write the words I said, + My words were slow, my tears were few; + But through the dark my silence spoke + Like thunder. When this morning broke, + My face was pinched, my hair was gray, + And frozen blood was on the sill + Where stifling in my struggle I lay. + + If now you saw me you would say: + Where is the face I used to love? + And I would answer: Gone before; + It tarries veiled in Paradise. + When once the morning star shall rise, + When earth with shadow flees away + And we stand safe within the door, + Then you shall lift the veil thereof. + Look up, rise up: for far above + Our palms are grown, our place is set; + There we shall meet as once we met, + And love with old familiar love. + + + + UP-HILL. + + + Does the road wind up-hill all the way? + Yes, to the very end. + Will the day's journey take the whole long day? + From morn to night, my friend. + + But is there for the night a resting-place? + A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. + May not the darkness hide it from my face? + You cannot miss that inn. + + Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? + Those who have gone before. + Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? + They will not keep you standing at that door. + + Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? + Of labor you shall find the sum. + Will there be beds for me and all who seek? + Yea, beds for all who come. + + + + +DEVOTIONAL PIECES. + + + + + "THE LOVE OF CHRIST WHICH PASSETH KNOWLEDGE." + + + I bore with thee long weary days and nights, + Through many pangs of heart, through many tears; + I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights, + For three and thirty years. + + Who else had dared for thee what I have dared? + I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above; + I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared: + Give thou Me love for love. + + For thee I thirsted in the daily drouth, + For thee I trembled in the nightly frost: + Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth: + Why wilt thou still be lost? + + I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced: + Men only marked upon My shoulders borne + The branding cross; and shouted hungry-voiced, + Or wagged their heads in scorn. + + Thee did nails grave upon My hands, thy name + Did thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine eyes: + I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame; + I, God, Priest, Sacrifice. + + A thief upon My right hand and My left; + Six hours alone, athirst, in misery: + At length in death one smote My heart and cleft + A hiding-place for thee. + + Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of down + More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep: + So did I win a kingdom,--share My crown; + A harvest,--come and reap. + + + + "A BRUISED REED SHALL HE NOT BREAK." + + + I will accept thy will to do and be, + Thy hatred and intolerance of sin, + Thy will at least to love, that burns within + And thirsteth after Me: + So will I render fruitful, blessing still + The germs and small beginnings in thy heart, + Because thy will cleaves to the better part.-- + Alas, I cannot will. + + Dost not thou will, poor soul? Yet I receive + The inner unseen longings of the soul; + I guide them turning towards Me; I control + And charm hearts till they grieve: + If thou desire, it yet shall come to pass, + Though thou but wish indeed to choose My love; + For I have power in earth and heaven above.-- + I cannot wish, alas! + + What, neither choose nor wish to choose? and yet + I still must strive to win thee and constrain: + For thee I hung upon the cross in pain, + How then can I forget? + If thou as yet dost neither love, nor hate, + Nor choose, nor wish,--resign thyself, be still + Till I infuse love, hatred, longing, will.-- + I do not deprecate. + + + + A BETTER RESURRECTION. + + + I have no wit, no words, no tears; + My heart within me like a stone + Is numbed too much for hopes or fears; + Look right, look left, I dwell alone; + I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief + No everlasting hills I see; + My life is in the falling leaf: + O Jesus, quicken me! + + My life is like a faded leaf, + My harvest dwindled to a husk; + Truly my life is void and brief + And tedious in the barren dusk; + My life is like a frozen thing, + No bud nor greenness can I see: + Yet rise it shall,--the sap of Spring; + O Jesus, rise in me! + + My life is like a broken bowl, + A broken bowl that cannot hold + One drop of water for my soul + Or cordial in the searching cold; + Cast in the fire the perished thing, + Melt and remould it, till it be + A royal cup for Him my King: + O Jesus, drink of me! + + + + ADVENT. + + + This Advent moon shines cold and clear, + These Advent nights are long; + Our lamps have burned year after year, + And still their flame is strong. + "Watchman, what of the night?" we cry, + Heart-sick with hope deferred: + "No speaking signs are in the sky," + Is still the watchman's word. + + The Porter watches at the gate, + The servants watch within; + The watch is long betimes and late, + The prize is slow to win. + "Watchman, what of the night?" but still + His answer sounds the same: + "No daybreak tops the utmost hill, + Nor pale our lamps of flame." + + One to another hear them speak, + The patient virgins wise: + "Surely He is not far to seek,"-- + "All night we watch and rise." + "The days are evil looking back, + The coming days are dim; + Yet count we not His promise slack, + But watch and wait for Him." + + One with another, soul with soul, + They kindle fire from fire: + "Friends watch us who have touched the goal." + "They urge us, come up higher." + "With them shall rest our waysore feet, + With them is built our home, + With Christ." "They sweet, but He most sweet, + Sweeter than honeycomb." + + There no more parting, no more pain, + The distant ones brought near, + The lost so long are found again, + Long lost but longer dear: + Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, + Nor heart conceived that rest, + With them our good things long deferred, + With Jesus Christ our Best. + + We weep because the night is long, + We laugh, for day shall rise, + We sing a slow contented song + And knock at Paradise. + Weeping we hold Him fast Who wept + For us,--we hold Him fast; + And will not let Him go except + He bless us first or last. + + Weeping we hold Him fast to-night; + We will not let Him go + Till daybreak smite our wearied sight, + And summer smite the snow: + Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove + Shall coo the livelong day; + Then He shall say, "Arise, My love, + My fair one, come away." + + + + THE THREE ENEMIES. + + + THE FLESH. + + "Sweet, thou art pale." + "More pale to see, + Christ hung upon the cruel tree + And bore His Father's wrath for me." + + "Sweet, thou art sad." + "Beneath a rod + More heavy, Christ for my sake trod + The winepress of the wrath of God." + + "Sweet, thou art weary." + "Not so Christ: + Whose mighty love of me sufficed + For Strength, Salvation, Eucharist." + + "Sweet, thou art footsore." + "If I bleed, + His feet have bled: yea, in my need + His Heart once bled for mine indeed." + + + THE WORLD. + + "Sweet, thou art young." + "So He was young + Who for my sake in silence hung + Upon the Cross with Passion wrung." + + "Look, thou art fair." + "He was more fair + Than men, Who deigned for me to wear + A visage marred beyond compare." + + "And thou hast riches." + "Daily bread: + All else is His; Who living, dead, + For me lacked where to lay His Head." + + "And life is sweet." + "It was not so + To Him, Whose Cup did overflow + With mine unutterable woe." + + + THE DEVIL. + + "Thou drinkest deep." + "When Christ would sup + He drained the dregs from out my cup: + So how should I be lifted up?" + + "Thou shalt win Glory." + "In the skies, + Lord Jesus, cover up mine eyes + Lest they should look on vanities." + + "Thou shalt have Knowledge." + "Helpless dust, + In Thee, O Lord, I put my trust: + Answer Thou for me, Wise and Just." + + "And Might." + "Get thee behind me. Lord, + Who hast redeemed and not abhorred + My soul, O keep it by Thy Word." + + + + ONE CERTAINTY. + + SONNET. + + + Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith, + All things are vanity. The eye and ear + Cannot be filled with what they see and hear. + Like early dew, or like the sudden breath + Of wind, or like the grass that withereth, + Is man, tossed to and fro by hope and fear: + So little joy hath he, so little cheer, + Till all things end in the long dust of death. + To-day is still the same as yesterday, + To-morrow also even as one of them; + And there is nothing new under the sun: + Until the ancient race of Time be run, + The old thorns shall grow out of the old stem, + And morning shall be cold, and twilight gray. + + + + CHRISTIAN AND JEW. + + A DIALOGUE. + + + "O happy happy land! + Angels like rushes stand + About the wells of light."-- + "Alas, I have not eyes for this fair sight: + Hold fast my hand."-- + + "As in a soft wind, they + Bend all one blessed way, + Each bowed in his own glory, star with star."-- + "I cannot see so far, + Here shadows are."-- + + "White-winged the cherubim, + Yet whiter seraphim, + Glow white with intense fire of love."-- + "Mine eyes are dim: + I look in vain above, + And miss their hymn."-- + + "Angels, Archangels cry + One to other ceaselessly + (I hear them sing) + One 'Holy, Holy, Holy,' to their King."-- + "I do not hear them, I."-- + + "Joy to thee, Paradise,-- + Garden and goal and nest! + Made green for wearied eyes; + Much softer than the breast + Of mother-dove clad in a rainbow's dyes. + + "All precious souls are there + Most safe, elect by grace, + All tears are wiped forever from their face: + Untired in prayer + They wait and praise, + Hidden for a little space. + + "Boughs of the Living Vine, + They spread in summer shine + Green leaf with leaf: + Sap of the Royal Vine, it stirs like wine + In all both less and chief. + + "Sing to the Lord, + All spirits of all flesh, sing; + For He hath not abhorred + Our low estate nor scorned our offering: + Shout to our King."-- + + "But Zion said: + My Lord forgetteth me. + Lo, she hath made her bed + In dust; forsaken weepeth she + Where alien rivers swell the sea. + + "She laid her body as the ground, + Her tender body as the ground to those + Who passed; her harpstrings cannot sound + In a strange land; discrowned + She sits, and drunk with woes."-- + + "O drunken not with wine, + Whose sins and sorrows have fulfilled the sum,-- + Be not afraid, arise, be no more dumb; + Arise, shine, + For thy light is come."-- + + "Can these bones live?"-- + "God knows: + The prophet saw such clothed with flesh and skin + A wind blew on them and life entered in; + They shook and rose. + Hasten the time, O Lord, blot out their sin, + Let life begin." + + + + SWEET DEATH. + + + The sweetest blossoms die. + And so it was that, going day by day + Unto the church to praise and pray, + And crossing the green churchyard thoughtfully, + I saw how on the graves the flowers + Shed their fresh leaves in showers, + And how their perfume rose up to the sky + Before it passed away. + + The youngest blossoms die. + They die and fall and nourish the rich earth + From which they lately had their birth; + Sweet life, but sweeter death that passeth by + And is as though it had not been:-- + All colors turn to green; + The bright hues vanish and the odors fly, + The grass hath lasting worth. + + And youth and beauty die. + So be it, O my God, Thou God of truth: + Better than beauty and than youth + Are Saints and Angels, a glad company; + And Thou, O Lord, our Rest and Ease, + Art better far than these. + Why should we shrink from our full harvest? why + Prefer to glean with Ruth? + + + + SYMBOLS. + + + I watched a rosebud very long + Brought on by dew and sun and shower, + Waiting to see the perfect flower: + Then, when I thought it should be strong, + It opened at the matin hour + And fell at even-song. + + I watched a nest from day to day, + A green nest full of pleasant shade, + Wherein three speckled eggs were laid: + But when they should have hatched in May, + The two old birds had grown afraid + Or tired, and flew away. + + Then in my wrath I broke the bough + That I had tended so with care, + Hoping its scent should fill the air; + I crushed the eggs, not heeding how + Their ancient promise had been fair: + I would have vengeance now. + + But the dead branch spoke from the sod, + And the eggs answered me again: + Because we failed dost thou complain? + Is thy wrath just? And what if God, + Who waiteth for thy fruits in vain, + Should also take the rod? + + + + "CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELD." + + + Flowers preach to us if we will hear:-- + The rose saith in the dewy morn, + I am most fair; + Yet all my loveliness is born + Upon a thorn. + The poppy saith amid the corn: + Let but my scarlet head appear + And I am held in scorn; + Yet juice of subtle virtue lies + Within my cup of curious dyes. + The lilies say: Behold how we + Preach without words of purity. + The violets whisper from the shade + Which their own leaves have made: + Men scent our fragrance on the air, + Yet take no heed + Of humble lessons we would read. + + But not alone the fairest flowers: + The merest grass + Along the roadside where we pass, + Lichen and moss and sturdy weed, + Tell of His love who sends the dew, + The rain and sunshine too, + To nourish one small seed. + + + + THE WORLD. + + SONNET. + + + By day she wooes me, soft, exceeding fair: + But all night as the moon so changeth she; + Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosy, + And subtle serpents gliding in her hair. + By day she wooes me to the outer air, + Ripe fruits, sweet flowers, and full satiety: + But through the night, a beast she grins at me, + A very monster void of love and prayer. + By day she stands a lie: by night she stands, + In all the naked horror of the truth, + With pushing horns and clawed and clutching hands. + Is this a friend indeed; that I should sell + My soul to her, give her my life and youth, + Till my feet, cloven too, take hold on hell? + + + + A TESTIMONY. + + + I said of laughter, it is vain. + Of mirth I said, what profits it? + Therefore I found a book, and writ + Therein how ease and also pain, + How health and sickness, every one + Is vanity beneath the sun. + + Man walks in a vain shadow; he + Disquieteth himself in vain. + The things that were shall be again. + The rivers do not fill the sea, + But turn back to their secret source; + The winds too turn upon their course. + + Our treasures moth and rust corrupt, + Or thieves break through and steal, or they + Make themselves wings and fly away. + One man made merry as he supped, + Nor guessed how when that night grew dim + His soul would be required of him. + + We build our houses on the sand, + Comely withoutside and within; + But when the winds and rains begin + To beat on them, they cannot stand; + They perish, quickly overthrown, + Loose from the very basement stone. + + All things are vanity, I said,-- + Yea, vanity of vanities. + The rich man dies; and the poor dies; + The worm feeds sweetly on the dead. + Whate'er thou lackest, keep this trust: + All in the end shall have but dust: + + The one inheritance, which best + And worst alike shall find and share: + The wicked cease from troubling there, + And there the weary be at rest; + There all the wisdom of the wise + Is vanity of vanities. + + Man flourishes as a green leaf, + And as a leaf doth pass away; + Or, as a shade that cannot stay + And leaves no track, his course is brief: + Yet man doth hope and fear and plan + Till he is dead:--O foolish man! + + Our eyes cannot be satisfied + With seeing, nor our ears be filled + With hearing: yet we plant and build + And buy and make our borders wide; + We gather wealth, we gather care, + But know not who shall be our heir. + + Why should we hasten to arise + So early, and so late take rest? + Our labor is not good; our best + Hopes fade; our heart is stayed on lies: + Verily, we sow wind; and we + Shall reap the whirlwind, verily. + + He who hath little shall not lack; + He who hath plenty shall decay: + Our fathers went; we pass away; + Our children follow on our track: + So generations fail, and so + They are renewed and come and go. + + The earth is fattened with our dead; + She swallows more and doth not cease: + Therefore her wine and oil increase + And her sheaves are not numberèd; + Therefore her plants are green, and all + Her pleasant trees lusty and tall. + + Therefore the maidens cease to sing, + And the young men are very sad; + Therefore the sowing is not glad, + And mournful is the harvesting. + Of high and low, of great and small, + Vanity is the lot of all. + + A King dwelt in Jerusalem; + He was the wisest man on earth; + He had all riches from his birth, + And pleasures till he tired of them; + Then, having tested all things, he + Witnessed that all are vanity. + + + + SLEEP AT SEA. + + + Sound the deep waters:-- + Who shall sound that deep?-- + Too short the plummet, + And the watchmen sleep. + Some dream of effort + Up a toilsome steep; + Some dream of pasture grounds + For harmless sheep. + + White shapes flit to and fro + From mast to mast; + They feel the distant tempest + That nears them fast: + Great rocks are straight ahead, + Great shoals not past; + They shout to one another + Upon the blast. + + O, soft the streams drop music + Between the hills, + And musical the birds' nests + Beside those rills: + The nests are types of home + Love-hidden from ills, + The nests are types of spirits + Love-music fills. + + So dream the sleepers, + Each man in his place; + The lightning shows the smile + Upon each face: + The ship is driving, driving, + It drives apace: + And sleepers smile, and spirits + Bewail their case. + + The lightning glares and reddens + Across the skies; + It seems but sunset + To those sleeping eyes. + When did the sun go down + On such a wise? + From such a sunset + When shall day arise? + + "Wake," call the spirits: + But to heedless ears; + They have forgotten sorrows + And hopes and fears; + They have forgotten perils + And smiles and tears; + Their dream has held them long, + Long years and years. + + "Wake," call the spirits again: + But it would take + A louder summons + To bid them awake. + Some dream of pleasure + For another's sake; + Some dream, forgetful + Of a lifelong ache. + + One by one slowly, + Ah, how sad and slow! + Wailing and praying + The spirits rise and go: + Clear stainless spirits, + White,--as white as snow; + Pale spirits, wailing + For an overthrow. + + One by one flitting, + Like a mournful bird + Whose song is tired at last + For no mate heard. + The loving voice is silent, + The useless word; + One by one flitting, + Sick with hope deferred. + + Driving and driving, + The ship drives amain: + While swift from mast to mast + Shapes flit again, + Flit silent as the silence + Where men lie slain; + Their shadow cast upon the sails + Is like a stain. + + No voice to call the sleepers, + No hand to raise: + They sleep to death in dreaming + Of length of days. + Vanity of vanities, + The Preacher says: + Vanity is the end + Of all their ways. + + + + FROM HOUSE TO HOME. + + + The first was like a dream through summer heat, + The second like a tedious numbing swoon, + While the half-frozen pulses lagged to beat + Beneath a winter moon. + + "But," says my friend, "what was this thing and where?" + It was a pleasure-place within my soul; + An earthly paradise supremely fair + That lured me from the goal. + + The first part was a tissue of hugged lies; + The second was its ruin fraught with pain: + Why raise the fair delusion to the skies + But to be dashed again? + + My castle stood of white transparent glass + Glittering and frail with many a fretted spire, + But when the summer sunset came to pass + It kindled into fire. + + My pleasaunce was an undulating green, + Stately with trees whose shadows slept below, + With glimpses of smooth garden-beds between, + Like flame or sky or snow. + + Swift squirrels on the pastures took their ease, + With leaping lambs safe from the unfeared knife; + All singing-birds rejoicing in those trees + Fulfilled their careless life. + + Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nestled there; + My trees were full of songs and flowers and fruit, + Their branches spread a city to the air, + And mice lodged in their root. + + My heath lay farther off, where lizards lived + In strange metallic mail, just spied and gone; + Like darted lightnings here and there perceived + But nowhere dwelt upon. + + Frogs and fat toads were there to hop or plod + And propagate in peace, an uncouth crew, + Where velvet-headed rushes rustling nod + And spill the morning dew. + + All caterpillars throve beneath my rule, + With snails and slugs in corners out of sight; + I never marred the curious sudden stool + That perfects in a night. + + Safe in his excavated gallery + The burrowing mole groped on from year to year; + No harmless hedgehog curled because of me + His prickly back for fear. + + Ofttimes one like an angel walked with me, + With spirit-discerning eyes like flames of fire, + But deep as the unfathomed endless sea + Fulfilling my desire: + + And sometimes like a snowdrift he was fair, + And sometimes like a sunset glorious red, + And sometimes he had wings to scale the air + With aureole round his head. + + We sang our songs together by the way, + Calls and recalls and echoes of delight; + So communed we together all the day, + And so in dreams by night. + + I have no words to tell what way we walked, + What unforgotten path now closed and sealed; + I have no words to tell all things we talked, + All things that he revealed: + + This only can I tell: that hour by hour + I waxed more feastful, lifted up and glad; + I felt no thorn-prick when I plucked a flower, + Felt not my friend was sad. + + "To-morrow," once I said to him with smiles: + "To-night," he answered gravely and was dumb, + But pointed out the stones that numbered miles + And miles and miles to come. + + "Not so," I said: "to-morrow shall be sweet; + To-night is not so sweet as coming days." + Then first I saw that he had turned his feet, + Had turned from me his face: + + Running and flying miles and miles he went, + But once looked back to beckon with his hand + And cry: "Come home, O love, from banishment: + Come to the distant land." + + That night destroyed me like an avalanche; + One night turned all my summer back to snow: + Next morning not a bird upon my branch, + Not a lamb woke below,-- + + No bird, no lamb, no living breathing thing; + No squirrel scampered on my breezy lawn, + No mouse lodged by his hoard: all joys took wing + And fled before that dawn. + + Azure and sun were starved from heaven above, + No dew had fallen, but biting frost lay hoar: + O love, I knew that I should meet my love, + Should find my love no more. + + "My love no more," I muttered, stunned with pain: + I shed no tear, I wrung no passionate hand, + Till something whispered: "You shall meet again, + Meet in a distant land." + + Then with a cry like famine I arose, + I lit my candle, searched from room to room, + Searched up and down; a war of winds that froze + Swept through the blank of gloom. + + I searched day after day, night after night; + Scant change there came to me of night or day: + "No more," I wailed, "no more"; and trimmed my light, + And gnashed, but did not pray, + + Until my heart broke and my spirit broke: + Upon the frost-bound floor I stumbled, fell, + And moaned: "It is enough: withhold the stroke. + Farewell, O love, farewell." + + Then life swooned from me. And I heard the song + Of spheres and spirits rejoicing over me: + One cried: "Our sister, she hath suffered long."-- + One answered: "Make her see."-- + + One cried: "O blessed she who no more pain, + Who no more disappointment shall receive."-- + One answered: "Not so: she must live again; + Strengthen thou her to live." + + So, while I lay entranced, a curtain seemed + To shrivel with crackling from before my face, + Across mine eyes a waxing radiance beamed + And showed a certain place. + + I saw a vision of a woman, where + Night and new morning strive for domination; + Incomparably pale, and almost fair, + And sad beyond expression. + + Her eyes were like some fire-enshrining gem, + Were stately like the stars, and yet were tender, + Her figure charmed me like a windy stem + Quivering and drooped and slender. + + I stood upon the outer barren ground, + She stood on inner ground that budded flowers; + While circling in their never-slackening round + Danced by the mystic hours. + + But every flower was lifted on a thorn, + And every thorn shot upright from its sands + To gall her feet; hoarse laughter pealed in scorn + With cruel clapping hands. + + She bled and wept, yet did not shrink; her strength + Was strung up until daybreak of delight: + She measured measureless sorrow toward its length, + And breadth, and depth, and height. + + Then marked I how a chain sustained her form, + A chain of living links not made nor riven: + It stretched sheer up through lightning, wind, and storm, + And anchored fast in heaven. + + One cried: "How long? yet founded on the Rock + She shall do battle, suffer, and attain."-- + One answered: "Faith quakes in the tempest shock: + Strengthen her soul again." + + I saw a cup sent down and come to her + Brimful of loathing and of bitterness: + She drank with livid lips that seemed to stir + The depth, not make it less. + + But as she drank I spied a hand distil + New wine and virgin honey; making it + First bitter-sweet, then sweet indeed, until + She tasted only sweet. + + Her lips and cheeks waxed rosy-fresh and young; + Drinking she sang: "My soul shall nothing want"; + And drank anew: while soft a song was sung, + A mystical slow chant. + + One cried: "The wounds are faithful of a friend: + The wilderness shall blossom as a rose."-- + One answered: "Rend the veil, declare the end, + Strengthen her ere she goes." + + Then earth and heaven were rolled up like a scroll; + Time and space, change and death, had passed away; + Weight, number, measure, each had reached its whole: + The day had come, that day. + + Multitudes--multitudes--stood up in bliss, + Made equal to the angels, glorious, fair; + With harps, palms, wedding-garments, kiss of peace, + And crowned and haloed hair. + + They sang a song, a new song in the height, + Harping with harps to Him Who is Strong and True: + They drank new wine, their eyes saw with new light, + Lo, all things were made new. + + Tier beyond tier they rose and rose and rose + So high that it was dreadful, flames with flames: + No man could number them, no tongue disclose + Their secret sacred names. + + As though one pulse stirred all, one rush of blood + Fed all, one breath swept through them myriad voiced, + They struck their harps, cast down their crowns, they stood + And worshipped and rejoiced. + + Each face looked one way like a moon new-lit, + Each face looked one way towards its Sun of Love; + Drank love and bathed in love and mirrored it + And knew no end thereof. + + Glory touched glory on each blessed head, + Hands locked dear hands never to sunder more: + These were the new-begotten from the dead + Whom the great birthday bore. + + Heart answered heart, soul answered soul at rest, + Double against each other, filled, sufficed: + All loving, loved of all; but loving best + And best beloved of Christ. + + I saw that one who lost her love in pain, + Who trod on thorns, who drank the loathsome cup; + The lost in night, in day was found again; + The fallen was lifted up. + + They stood together in the blessed noon, + They sang together through the length of days; + Each loving face bent Sunwards like a moon + New-lit with love and praise. + + Therefore, O friend, I would not if I might + Rebuild my house of lies, wherein I joyed + One time to dwell: my soul shall walk in white, + Cast down but not destroyed. + + Therefore in patience I possess my soul; + Yea, therefore as a flint I set my face, + To pluck down, to build up again the whole-- + But in a distant place. + + These thorns are sharp, yet I can tread on them; + This cup is loathsome, yet He makes it sweet; + My face is steadfast toward Jerusalem, + My heart remembers it. + + I lift the hanging hands, the feeble knees-- + I, precious more than seven times molten gold-- + Until the day when from His storehouses + God shall bring new and old; + + Beauty for ashes, oil of joy for grief, + Garment of praise for spirit of heaviness: + Although to-day I fade as doth a leaf, + I languish and grow less. + + Although to-day He prunes my twigs with pain, + Yet doth His blood nourish and warm my root: + To-morrow I shall put forth buds again, + And clothe myself with fruit. + + Although to-day I walk in tedious ways, + To-day His staff is turned into a rod, + Yet will I wait for Him the appointed days + And stay upon my God. + + + + OLD AND NEW YEAR DITTIES. + + + 1. + + New Year met me somewhat sad: + Old Year leaves me tired, + Stripped of favorite things I had, + Balked of much desired: + Yet farther on my road to-day, + God willing, farther on my way. + + New Year coming on apace + What have you to give me? + Bring you scathe, or bring you grace, + Face me with an honest face; + You shall not deceive me: + Be it good or ill, be it what you will, + It needs shall help me on my road, + My rugged way to heaven, please God. + + + 2. + + Watch with me, men, women, and children dear, + You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear, + Watch with me this last vigil of the year. + Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme; + Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream; + Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart. + + Watch with me, blessed spirits, who delight + All through the holy night to walk in white, + Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight. + I know not if they watch with me: I know + They count this eve of resurrection slow, + And cry, "How long?" with urgent utterance strong. + + Watch with me, Jesus, in my loneliness: + Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes; + Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless. + Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night; + To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight: + I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord, my God, art mine. + + + 3. + + Passing away, saith the World, passing away: + Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day: + Thy life never continueth in one stay. + Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to gray + That hath won neither laurel nor bay? + I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May: + Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay + On my bosom for aye. + Then I answered: Yea. + + Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away: + With its burden of fear and hope, of labor and play; + Hearken what the past doth witness and say: + Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array, + A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay. + At midnight, at cock-crow, at morning, one certain day + Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay: + Watch thou and pray. + Then I answered: Yea. + + Passing away, saith my God, passing away: + Winter passeth after the long delay: + New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray, + Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May. + Though I tarry, wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray. + Arise, come away, night is past, and lo it is day, + My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say. + Then I answered: Yea. + + + + AMEN. + + + It is over. What is over? + Nay, how much is over truly!-- + Harvest days we toiled to sow for; + Now the sheaves are gathered newly, + Now the wheat is garnered duly. + + It is finished. What is finished? + Much is finished known or unknown: + Lives are finished; time diminished; + Was the fallow field left unsown? + Will these buds be always unblown? + + It suffices. What suffices? + All suffices reckoned rightly: + Spring shall bloom where now the ice is, + Roses make the bramble sightly, + And the quickening sun shine brightly, + And the latter wind blow lightly, + And my garden teem with spices. + + + + MOTHER COUNTRY. + + + Oh what is that country + And where can it be, + Not mine own country, + But dearer far to me? + Yet mine own country, + If I one day may see + Its spices and cedars, + Its gold and ivory. + + As I lie dreaming + It rises, that land; + There rises before me + Its green golden strand, + With the bowing cedars + And the shining sand; + It sparkles and flashes + Like a shaken brand. + + Do angels lean nearer + While I lie and long? + I see their soft plumage + And catch their windy song, + Like the rise of a high tide + Sweeping full and strong; + I mark the outskirts + Of their reverend throng. + + Oh what is a king here, + Or what is a boor? + Here all starve together, + All dwarfed and poor; + Here Death's hand knocketh + At door after door, + He thins the dancers + From the festal floor. + + Oh what is a handmaid, + Or what is a queen? + All must lie down together + Where the turf is green, + The foulest face hidden, + The fairest not seen; + Gone as if never + They had breathed or been. + + Gone from sweet sunshine + Underneath the sod, + Turned from warm flesh and blood + To senseless clod; + Gone as if never + They had toiled or trod, + Gone out of sight of all + Except our God. + + Shut into silence + From the accustomed song + Shut into solitude + From all earth's throng, + Run down though swift of foot, + Thrust down though strong; + Life made an end of, + Seemed it short or long. + + Life made an end of, + Life but just begun; + Life finished yesterday, + Its last sand run; + Life new-born with the morrow + Fresh as the sun: + While done is done for ever; + Undone, undone. + + And if that life is life, + This is but a breath, + The passage of a dream + And the shadow of death; + But a vain shadow + If one considereth; + Vanity of vanities, + As the Preacher saith. + + + + + [Illustration: _The long hours go and come and go_] + + + + +THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS, ETC. + + + + + THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS. + + + Till all sweet gums and juices flow, + Till the blossom of blossoms blow, + The long hours go and come and go, + The bride she sleepeth, waketh, sleepeth, + Waiting for one whose coming is slow:-- + Hark! the bride weepeth. + + "How long shall I wait, come heat come rime?"-- + "Till the strong Prince comes, who must come in time," + Her women say. "There's a mountain to climb, + A river to ford. Sleep, dream and sleep: + Sleep," they say: "we've muffled the chime, + Better dream than weep." + + In his world-end palace the strong Prince sat, + Taking his ease on cushion and mat, + Close at hand lay his staff and his hat + "When wilt thou start? the bride waits, O youth."-- + "Now the moon's at full; I tarried for that, + Now I start in truth. + + "But tell me first, true voice of my doom, + Of my veiled bride in her maiden bloom; + Keeps she watch through glare and through gloom, + Watch for me asleep and awake?"-- + "Spell-bound she watches in one white room, + And is patient for thy sake. + + "By her head lilies and rosebuds grow; + The lilies droop,--will the rosebuds blow? + The silver slim lilies hang the head low; + Their stream is scanty, their sunshine rare; + Let the sun blaze out, and let the stream flow, + They will blossom and wax fair. + + "Red and white poppies grow at her feet, + The blood-red wait for sweet summer heat, + Wrapped in bud-coats hairy and neat; + But the white buds swell; one day they will burst, + Will open their death-cups drowsy and sweet,-- + Which will open the first?" + + Then a hundred sad voices lifted a wail, + And a hundred glad voices piped on the gale: + "Time is short, life is short," they took up the tale: + "Life is sweet, love is sweet, use to-day while you may; + Love is sweet, and to-morrow may fail; + Love is sweet, use to-day." + + While the song swept by, beseeching and meek, + Up rose the Prince with a flush on his cheek, + Up he rose to stir and to seek, + Going forth in the joy of his strength; + Strong of limb, if of purpose weak, + Starting at length. + + Forth he set in the breezy morn, + Across green fields of nodding corn, + As goodly a Prince as ever was born, + Carolling with the carolling lark;-- + Sure his bride will be won and worn, + Ere fall of the dark. + + So light his step, so merry his smile, + A milkmaid loitered beside a stile, + Set down her pail and rested awhile, + A wave-haired milkmaid, rosy and white; + The Prince, who had journeyed at least a mile, + Grew athirst at the sight. + + "Will you give me a morning draught?"-- + "You're kindly welcome," she said, and laughed. + He lifted the pail, new milk he quaffed; + Then wiping his curly black beard like silk: + "Whitest cow that ever was calved + Surely gave you this milk." + + Was it milk now, or was it cream? + Was she a maid, or an evil dream? + Her eyes began to glitter and gleam; + He would have gone, but he stayed instead; + Green they gleamed as he looked in them: + "Give me my fee," she said.-- + + "I will give you a jewel of gold."-- + "Not so; gold is heavy and cold."-- + "I will give you a velvet fold + Of foreign work your beauty to deck."-- + "Better I like my kerchief rolled + Light and white round my neck."-- + + "Nay," cried he, "but fix your own fee."-- + She laughed, "You may give the full moon to me; + Or else sit under this apple-tree + Here for one idle day by my side; + After that I'll let you go free, + And the world is wide." + + Loath to stay, but to leave her slack, + He half turned away, then he quite turned back: + For courtesy's sake he could not lack + To redeem his own royal pledge; + Ahead, too, the windy heaven lowered black + With a fire-cloven edge. + + So he stretched his length in the apple-tree shade, + Lay and laughed and talked to the maid, + Who twisted her hair in a cunning braid, + And writhed it in shining serpent-coils, + And held him a day and night fast laid + In her subtle toils. + + At the death of night and the birth of day, + When the owl left off his sober play, + And the bat hung himself out of the way, + Woke the song of mavis and merle, + And heaven put off its hodden gray + For mother-o'-pearl. + + Peeped up daisies here and there, + Here, there, and everywhere; + Rose a hopeful lark in the air, + Spreading out towards the sun his breast; + While the moon set solemn and fair + Away in the west. + + "Up, up, up," called the watchman lark, + In his clear réveillée: "Hearken, O hark! + Press to the high goal, fly to the mark. + Up, O sluggard, new morn is born; + If still asleep when the night falls dark, + Thou must wait a second morn." + + "Up, up, up," sad glad voices swelled: + "So the tree falls and lies as it's felled. + Be thy bands loosed, O sleeper, long held + In sweet sleep whose end is not sweet. + Be the slackness girt and the softness quelled + And the slowness fleet." + + Off he set. The grass grew rare, + A blight lurked in the darkening air, + The very moss grew hueless and spare, + The last daisy stood all astunt; + Behind his back the soil lay bare, + But barer in front. + + A land of chasm and rent, a land + Of rugged blackness on either hand: + If water trickled, its track was tanned + With an edge of rust to the chink; + If one stamped on stone or on sand + It returned a clink. + + A lifeless land, a loveless land, + Without lair or nest on either hand: + Only scorpions jerked in the sand, + Black as black iron, or dusty pale; + From point to point sheer rock was manned + By scorpions in mail. + + A land of neither life nor death, + Where no man buildeth or fashioneth, + Where none draws living or dying breath; + No man cometh or goeth there, + No man doeth, seeketh, saith, + In the stagnant air. + + Some old volcanic upset must + Have rent the crust and blackened the crust; + Wrenched and ribbed it beneath its dust + Above earth's molten centre at seethe, + Heaved and heaped it by huge upthrust + Of fire beneath. + + Untrodden before, untrodden since: + Tedious land for a social Prince; + Halting, he scanned the outs and ins, + Endless, labyrinthine, grim, + Of the solitude that made him wince, + Laying wait for him. + + By bulging rock and gaping cleft, + Even of half mere daylight reft, + Rueful he peered to right and left, + Muttering in his altered mood: + "The fate is hard that weaves my weft, + Though my lot be good." + + Dim the changes of day to night, + Of night scarce dark to day not bright. + Still his road wound towards the right, + Still he went, and still he went, + Till one night he spied a light, + In his discontent. + + Out it flashed from a yawn-mouthed cave, + Like a red-hot eye from a grave. + No man stood there of whom to crave + Rest for wayfarer plodding by: + Though the tenant were churl or knave + The Prince might try. + + In he passed and tarried not, + Groping his way from spot to spot, + Towards where the cavern flare glowed hot:-- + An old, old mortal, cramped and double, + Was peering into a seething-pot, + In a world of trouble. + + The veriest atomy he looked, + With grimy fingers clutching and crooked, + Tight skin, a nose all bony and hooked, + And a shaking, sharp, suspicious way; + Blinking, his eyes had scarcely brooked + The light of day. + + Stared the Prince, for the sight was new; + Stared, but asked without more ado: + "May a weary traveller lodge with you, + Old father, here in your lair? + In your country the inns seem few, + And scanty the fare." + + The head turned not to hear him speak; + The old voice whistled as through a leak + (Out it came in a quavering squeak): + "Work for wage is a bargain fit: + If there's aught of mine that you seek + You must work for it. + + "Buried alive from light and air + This year is the hundredth year, + I feed my fire with a sleepless care, + Watching my potion wane or wax: + Elixir of Life is simmering there, + And but one thing lacks. + + "If you're fain to lodge here with me, + Take that pair of bellows you see,-- + Too heavy for my old hands they be,-- + Take the bellows and puff and puff: + When the steam curls rosy and free + The broth's boiled enough. + + "Then take your choice of all I have; + I will give you life if you crave. + Already I'm mildewed for the grave, + So first myself I must drink my fill: + But all the rest may be yours, to save + Whomever you will." + + "Done," quoth the Prince, and the bargain stood. + First he piled on resinous wood, + Next plied the bellows in hopeful mood; + Thinking, "My love and I will live. + If I tarry, why life is good, + And she may forgive." + + The pot began to bubble and boil; + The old man cast in essence and oil, + He stirred all up with a triple coil + Of gold and silver and iron wire, + Dredged in a pinch of virgin soil, + And fed the fire. + + But still the steam curled watery white; + Night turned to day and day to night; + One thing lacked, by his feeble sight + Unseen, unguessed by his feeble mind: + Life might miss him, but Death the blight + Was sure to find. + + So when the hundredth year was full + The thread was cut and finished the school. + Death snapped the old worn-out tool, + Snapped him short while he stood and stirred + (Though stiff he stood as a stiff-necked mule) + With never a word. + + Thus at length the old crab was nipped. + The dead hand slipped, the dead finger dipped + In the broth as the dead man slipped,-- + That same instant, a rosy red + Flushed the steam, and quivered and clipped + Round the dead old head. + + The last ingredient was supplied + (Unless the dead man mistook or lied). + Up started the Prince, he cast aside + The bellows plied through the tedious trial, + Made sure that his host had died, + And filled a phial. + + "One night's rest," thought the Prince. "This done, + Forth I speed with the rising sun: + With the morrow I rise and run, + Come what will of wind or of weather. + This draught of Life when my Bride is won + We'll drink together." + + Thus the dead man stayed in his grave, + Self-chosen, the dead man in his cave; + There he stayed, were he fool or knave, + Or honest seeker who had not found; + While the Prince outside was prompt to crave + Sleep on the ground. + + "If she watches, go bid her sleep; + Bid her sleep, for the road is steep: + He can sleep who holdeth her cheap, + Sleep and wake and sleep again. + Let him sow, one day he shall reap, + Let him sow the grain. + + "When there blows a sweet garden rose, + Let it bloom and wither if no man knows: + But if one knows when the sweet thing blows, + Knows, and lets it open and drop, + If but a nettle his garden grows + He hath earned the crop." + + Through his sleep the summons rang, + Into his ears it sobbed and it sang. + Slow he woke with a drowsy pang, + Shook himself without much debate, + Turned where he saw green branches hang, + Started though late. + + For the black land was travelled o'er, + He should see the grim land no more. + A flowering country stretched before + His face when the lovely day came back: + He hugged the phial of Life he bore, + And resumed his track. + + By willow courses he took his path, + Spied what a nest the kingfisher hath, + Marked the fields green to aftermath, + Marked where the red-brown field-mouse ran, + Loitered awhile for a deep-stream bath, + Yawned for a fellow-man. + + Up on the hills not a soul in view, + In the vale not many nor few; + Leaves, still leaves, and nothing new. + It's O for a second maiden, at least, + To bear the flagon, and taste it too, + And flavor the feast. + + Lagging he moved, and apt to swerve; + Lazy of limb, but quick of nerve. + At length the water-bed took a curve, + The deep river swept its bank-side bare; + Waters streamed from the hill-reserve,-- + Waters here, waters there. + + High above, and deep below, + Bursting, bubbling, swelling the flow, + Like hill-torrents after the snow,-- + Bubbling, gurgling, in whirling strife, + Swaying, sweeping, to and fro,-- + He must swim for his life. + + Which way?--which way?--his eyes grew dim + With the dizzying whirl,--which way to swim? + The thunderous downshoot deafened him; + Half he choked in the lashing spray: + Life is sweet, and the grave is grim,-- + Which way?--which way? + + A flash of light, a shout from the strand: + "This way,--this way; here lies the land!" + His phial clutched in one drowning hand; + He catches,--misses,--catches a rope; + His feet slip on the slipping sand: + Is there life?--is there hope? + + Just saved, without pulse or breath,-- + Scarcely saved from the gulp of death; + Laid where a willow shadoweth,-- + Laid where a swelling turf is smooth. + (O Bride! but the Bridegroom lingereth + For all thy sweet youth.) + + Kind hands do and undo, + Kind voices whisper and coo: + "I will chafe his hands,"--"and I,"--"and you + Raise his head, put his hair aside." + (If many laugh, one well may rue: + Sleep on, thou Bride.) + + So the Prince was tended with care: + One wrung foul ooze from his clustered hair; + Two chafed his hands, and did not spare; + But one propped his head that drooped awry + Till his eyes oped, and at unaware + They met eye to eye. + + O, a moon face in a shadowy place, + And a light touch and a winsome grace, + And a thrilling tender voice which says: + "Safe from waters that seek the sea,-- + Cold waters by rugged ways,-- + Safe with me." + + While overhead bird whistles to bird, + And round about plays a gamesome herd: + "Safe with us,"--some take up the word,-- + "Safe with us, dear lord and friend: + All the sweeter if long deferred + Is rest in the end." + + Had he stayed to weigh and to scan, + He had been more or less than a man: + He did what a young man can, + Spoke of toil and an arduous way,-- + Toil to-morrow, while golden ran + The sands of to-day. + + Slip past, slip fast, + Uncounted hours from first to last, + Many hours till the last is past, + Many hours dwindling to one,-- + One hour whose die is cast, + One last hour gone. + + Come, gone,--gone forever,-- + Gone as an unreturning river,-- + Gone as to death the merriest liver,-- + Gone as the year at the dying fall,-- + To-morrow, to-day, yesterday, never,-- + Gone once for all. + + Came at length the starting-day, + With last words, and last, last words to say, + With bodiless cries from far away,-- + Chiding wailing voices that rang + Like a trumpet-call to the tug and fray; + And thus they sang: + + "Is there life?--the lamp burns low; + Is there hope?--the coming is slow: + The promise promised so long ago, + The long promise, has not been kept. + Does she live?--does she die?--she slumbers so + Who so oft has wept. + + "Does she live?--does she die?--she languisheth + As a lily drooping to death, + As a drought-worn bird with failing breath, + As a lovely vine without a stay, + As a tree whereof the owner saith, + 'Hew it down to-day.'" + + Stung by that word the Prince was fain + To start on his tedious road again. + He crossed the stream where a ford was plain, + He clomb the opposite bank though steep, + And swore to himself to strain and attain + Ere he tasted sleep. + + Huge before him a mountain frowned + With foot of rock on the valley ground, + And head with snows incessant crowned, + And a cloud mantle about its strength, + And a path which the wild goat hath not found + In its breadth and length. + + But he was strong to do and dare: + If a host had withstood him there, + He had braved a host with little care + In his lusty youth and his pride, + Tough to grapple though weak to snare. + He comes, O Bride. + + Up he went where the goat scarce clings, + Up where the eagle folds her wings, + Past the green line of living things, + Where the sun cannot warm the cold,-- + Up he went as a flame enrings + Where there seems no hold. + + Up a fissure barren and black, + Till the eagles tired upon his track, + And the clouds were left behind his back,-- + Up till the utmost peak was past. + Then he gasped for breath and his strength fell slack; + He paused at last. + + Before his face a valley spread + Where fatness laughed, wine, oil, and bread, + Where all fruit-trees their sweetness shed, + Where all birds made love to their kind, + Where jewels twinkled, and gold lay red + And not hard to find. + + Midway down the mountain side + (On its green slope the path was wide) + Stood a house for a royal bride, + Built all of changing opal stone, + The royal palace, till now descried + In his dreams alone. + + Less bold than in days of yore, + Doubting now though never before, + Doubting he goes and lags the more: + Is the time late? does the day grow dim? + Rose, will she open the crimson core + Of her heart to him? + + Above his head a tangle glows + Of wine-red roses, blushes, snows, + Closed buds and buds that unclose, + Leaves, and moss, and prickles too; + His hand shook as he plucked a rose, + And the rose dropped dew. + + Take heart of grace! the portion of Life + May go far to woo him a wife: + If she frown, yet a lover's strife + Lightly raised can be laid again: + A hasty word is never the knife + To cut love in twain. + + Far away stretched the royal land, + Fed by dew, by a spice-wind fanned: + Light labor more, and his foot would stand + On the threshold, all labor done; + Easy pleasure laid at his hand, + And the dear Bride won. + + His slackening steps pause at the gate,-- + Does she wake or sleep?--the time is late,-- + Does she sleep now, or watch and wait? + She has watched, she has waited long, + Watching athwart the golden grate + With a patient song. + + Fling the golden portals wide, + The Bridegroom comes to his promised Bride; + Draw the gold-stiff curtains aside, + Let them look on each other's face, + She in her meekness, he in his pride,-- + Day wears apace. + + Day is over, the day that wore. + What is this that comes through the door, + The face covered, the feet before? + This that coming takes his breath; + This Bride not seen, to be seen no more + Save of Bridegroom Death? + + Veiled figures carrying her + Sweep by yet make no stir; + There is a smell of spice and myrrh, + A bride-chant burdened with one name; + The bride-song rises steadier + Than the torches' flame: + + "Too late for love, too late for joy, + Too late, too late! + You loitered on the road too long, + You trifled at the gate: + The enchanted dove upon her branch + Died without a mate; + The enchanted princess in her tower + Slept, died, behind the grate; + Her heart was starving all this while + You made it wait. + + "Ten years ago, five years ago, + One year ago, + Even then you had arrived in time, + Though somewhat slow; + Then you had known her living face + Which now you cannot know: + The frozen fountain would have leaped, + The buds gone on to blow, + The warm south wind would have awaked + To melt the snow. + + "Is she fair now as she lies? + Once she was fair; + Meet queen for any kingly king, + With gold-dust on her hair. + Now these are poppies in her locks, + White poppies she must wear; + Must wear a veil to shroud her face + And the want graven there: + Or is the hunger fed at length, + Cast off the care? + + "We never saw her with a smile + Or with a frown; + Her bed seemed never soft to her, + Though tossed of down; + She little heeded what she wore, + Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; + We think her white brows often ached + Beneath her crown, + Till silvery hairs showed in her locks + That used to be so brown. + + "We never heard her speak in haste: + Her tones were sweet, + And modulated just so much + As it was meet: + Her heart sat silent through the noise + And concourse of the street. + There was no hurry in her hands, + No hurry in her feet; + There was no bliss drew nigh to her, + That she might run to greet. + + "You should have wept her yesterday, + Wasting upon her bed: + But wherefore should you weep to-day + That she is dead? + Lo, we who love weep not to-day, + But crown her royal head. + Let be these poppies that we strew, + Your roses are too red: + Let be these poppies, not for you + Cut down and spread." + + + + + [Illustration: _You should have wept her yesterday_] + + + + + MAIDEN-SONG. + + + Long ago and long ago, + And long ago still, + There dwelt three merry maidens + Upon a distant hill. + One was tall Meggan, + And one was dainty May, + But one was fair Margaret, + More fair than I can say, + Long ago and long ago. + + When Meggan plucked the thorny rose, + And when May pulled the brier, + Half the birds would swoop to see, + Half the beasts draw nigher; + Half the fishes of the streams + Would dart up to admire: + But when Margaret plucked a flag-flower, + Or poppy hot aflame, + All the beasts and all the birds + And all the fishes came + To her hand more soft than snow. + + Strawberry leaves and May-dew + In brisk morning air, + Strawberry leaves and May-dew + Make maidens fair. + "I go for strawberry-leaves," + Meggan said one day: + "Fair Margaret can bide at home, + But you come with me, May; + Up the hill and down the hill, + Along the winding way, + You and I are used to go." + + So these two fair sisters + Went with innocent will + Up the hill and down again, + And round the homestead hill: + While the fairest sat at home, + Margaret like a queen, + Like a blush-rose, like the moon + In her heavenly sheen, + Fragrant-breathed as milky cow + Or field of blossoming bean, + Graceful as an ivy bough + Born to cling and lean; + Thus she sat to sing and sew. + + When she raised her lustrous eyes + A beast peeped at the door; + When she downward cast her eyes + A fish gasped on the floor; + When she turned away her eyes + A bird perched on the sill, + Warbling out its heart of love, + Warbling, warbling still, + With pathetic pleadings low. + + Light-foot May with Meggan + Sought the choicest spot, + Clothed with thyme-alternate grass: + Then, while day waxed hot, + Sat at ease to play and rest, + A gracious rest and play; + The loveliest maidens near or far, + When Margaret was away, + Who sat at home to sing and sew. + + Sun-glow flushed their comely cheeks, + Wind-play tossed their hair, + Creeping things among the grass + Stroked them here and there; + Meggan piped a merry note, + A fitful, wayward lay, + While shrill as bird on topmost twig + Piped merry May; + Honey-smooth the double flow. + + Sped a herdsman from the vale, + Mounting like a flame, + All on fire to hear and see + With floating locks he came. + Looked neither north nor south, + Neither east nor west, + But sat him down at Meggan's feet + As love-bird on his nest, + And wooed her with a silent awe, + With trouble not expressed; + She sang the tears into his eyes, + The heart out of his breast: + So he loved her, listening so. + + She sang the heart out of his breast, + The words out of his tongue; + Hand and foot and pulse he paused + Till her song was sung. + Then he spoke up from his place + Simple words and true: + "Scanty goods have I to give, + Scanty skill to woo; + But I have a will to work, + And a heart for you: + Bid me stay or bid me go." + + Then Meggan mused within herself: + "Better be first with him, + Than dwell where fairer Margaret sits, + Who shines my brightness dim, + Forever second where she sits, + However fair I be: + I will be lady of his love, + And he shall worship me; + I will be lady of his herds + And stoop to his degree, + At home where kids and fatlings grow." + + Sped a shepherd from the height + Headlong down to look, + (White lambs followed, lured by love + Of their shepherd's crook): + He turned neither east nor west, + Neither north nor south, + But knelt right down to May, for love + Of her sweet-singing mouth; + Forgot his flocks, his panting flocks + In parching hillside drouth; + Forgot himself for weal or woe. + + Trilled her song and swelled her song + With maiden coy caprice + In a labyrinth of throbs, + Pauses, cadences; + Clear-noted as a dropping brook, + Soft-noted like the bees, + Wild-noted as the shivering wind + Forlorn through forest trees: + Love-noted like the wood-pigeon + Who hides herself for love, + Yet cannot keep her secret safe, + But cooes and cooes thereof: + Thus the notes rang loud or low. + + He hung breathless on her breath; + Speechless, who listened well; + Could not speak or think or wish + Till silence broke the spell. + Then he spoke, and spread his hands + Pointing here and there: + "See my sheep and see the lambs, + Twin lambs which they bare. + All myself I offer you, + All my flocks and care, + Your sweet song hath moved me so." + + In her fluttered heart young May + Mused a dubious while: + "If he loves me as he says"-- + Her lips curved with a smile: + "Where Margaret shines like the sun, + I shine but like a moon; + If sister Meggan makes her choice + I can make mine as soon; + At cockcrow we were sister-maids, + We may be brides at noon." + Said Meggan, "Yes"; May said not "No." + + Fair Margaret stayed alone at home, + Awhile she sang her song, + Awhile sat silent, then she thought: + "My sisters loiter long." + That sultry noon had waned away, + Shadows had waxen great: + "Surely," she thought within herself, + "My sisters loiter late." + She rose, and peered out at the door, + With patient heart to wait, + And heard a distant nightingale + Complaining of its mate; + Then down the garden slope she walked, + Down to the garden gate, + Leaned on the rail and waited so. + + The slope was lightened by her eyes + Like summer lightning fair, + Like rising of the haloed moon + Lightened her glimmering hair, + While her face lightened like the sun + Whose dawn is rosy white. + Thus crowned with maiden majesty + She peered into the night, + Looked up the hill and down the hill, + To left hand and to right, + Flashing like fire-flies to and fro. + + Waiting thus in weariness + She marked the nightingale + Telling, if any one would heed, + Its old complaining tale. + Then lifted she her voice and sang, + Answering the bird: + Then lifted she her voice and sang, + Such notes were never heard + From any bird when Spring's in blow. + + The king of all that country + Coursing far, coursing near, + Curbed his amber-bitted steed, + Coursed amain to hear; + All his princes in his train, + Squire, and knight, and peer, + With his crown upon his head, + His sceptre in his hand, + Down he fell at Margaret's knees + Lord king of all that land, + To her highness bending low. + + Every beast and bird and fish + Came mustering to the sound, + Every man and every maid + From miles of country round: + Meggan on her herdsman's arm, + With her shepherd, May, + Flocks and herds trooped at their heels + Along the hillside way; + No foot too feeble for the ascent, + Not any head too gray; + Some were swift and none were slow. + + So Margaret sang her sisters home + In their marriage mirth; + Sang free birds out of the sky, + Beasts along the earth, + Sang up fishes of the deep,-- + All breathing things that move + Sang from far and sang from near + To her lovely love; + Sang together friend and foe; + + Sang a golden-bearded king + Straightway to her feet, + Sang him silent where he knelt + In eager anguish sweet. + But when the clear voice died away, + When longest echoes died, + He stood up like a royal man + And claimed her for his bride. + So three maids were wooed and won + In a brief May-tide, + Long ago and long ago. + + + + JESSIE CAMERON. + + + "Jessie, Jessie Cameron, + Hear me but this once," quoth he. + "Good luck go with you, neighbor's son, + But I'm no mate for you," quoth she. + Day was verging toward the night + There beside the moaning sea, + Dimness overtook the light + There where the breakers be. + "O Jessie, Jessie Cameron, + I have loved you long and true."-- + "Good luck go with you, neighbor's son, + But I'm no mate for you." + + She was a careless, fearless girl, + And made her answer plain; + Outspoken she to earl or churl, + Kind-hearted in the main, + But somewhat heedless with her tongue, + And apt at causing pain; + A mirthful maiden she and young, + Most fair for bliss or bane. + "O, long ago I told you so, + I tell you so to-day: + Go you your way, and let me go + Just my own free way." + + The sea swept in with moan and foam + Quickening the stretch of sand; + They stood almost in sight of home; + He strove to take her hand. + "O, can't you take your answer then, + And won't you understand? + For me you're not the man of men, + I've other plans are planned. + You're good for Madge, or good for Cis, + Or good for Kate, may be: + But what's to me the good of this + While you're not good for me?" + + They stood together on the beach, + They two alone, + And louder waxed his urgent speech, + His patience almost gone: + "O, say but one kind word to me, + Jessie, Jessie Cameron."-- + "I'd be too proud to beg," quoth she, + And pride was in her tone. + And pride was in her lifted head, + And in her angry eye, + And in her foot, which might have fled, + But would not fly. + + Some say that he had gypsy blood, + That in his heart was guile: + Yet he had gone through fire and flood + Only to win her smile. + Some say his grandam was a witch, + A black witch from beyond the Nile, + Who kept an image in a niche + And talked with it the while. + And by her hut far down the lane + Some say they would not pass at night, + Lest they should hear an unked strain + Or see an unked sight. + + Alas, for Jessie Cameron!-- + The sea crept moaning, moaning nigher: + She should have hastened to be gone,-- + The sea swept higher, breaking by her: + She should have hastened to her home + While yet the west was flushed with fire, + But now her feet are in the foam, + The sea-foam, sweeping higher. + O mother, linger at your door, + And light your lamp to make it plain; + But Jessie she comes home no more, + No more again. + + They stood together on the strand, + They only, each by each; + Home, her home, was close at hand, + Utterly out of reach. + Her mother in the chimney nook + Heard a startled sea-gull screech, + But never turned her head to look + Towards the darkening beach: + Neighbors here and neighbors there + Heard one scream, as if a bird + Shrilly screaming cleft the air:-- + That was all they heard. + + Jessie she comes home no more, + Comes home never; + Her lover's step sounds at his door + No more forever. + And boats may search upon the sea + And search along the river, + But none know where the bodies be: + Sea-winds that shiver, + Sea-birds that breast the blast, + Sea-waves swelling, + Keep the secret first and last + Of their dwelling. + + Whether the tide so hemmed them round + With its pitiless flow, + That when they would have gone they found + No way to go; + Whether she scorned him to the last + With words flung to and fro, + Or clung to him when hope was past, + None will ever know: + Whether he helped or hindered her, + Threw up his life or lost it well, + The troubled sea, for all its stir, + Finds no voice to tell. + + Only watchers by the dying + Have thought they heard one pray, + Wordless, urgent; and replying, + One seem to say him nay: + And watchers by the dead have heard + A windy swell from miles away, + With sobs and screams, but not a word + Distinct for them to say: + And watchers out at sea have caught + Glimpse of a pale gleam here or there, + Come and gone as quick as thought, + Which might be hand or hair. + + + + SPRING QUIET. + + + Gone were but the Winter, + Come were but the Spring, + I would go to a covert + Where the birds sing; + + Where in the white-thorn + Singeth a thrush, + And a robin sings + In the holly-bush. + + Full of fresh scents + Are the budding boughs, + Arching high over + A cool green house: + + Full of sweet scents, + And whispering air + Which sayeth softly: + "We spread no snare; + + "Here dwell in safety, + Here dwell alone, + With a clear stream + And a mossy stone. + + "Here the sun shineth + Most shadily; + Here is heard an echo + Of the far sea, + Though far off it be." + + + + THE POOR GHOST. + + + "O whence do you come, my dear friend, to me, + With your golden hair all fallen below your knee, + And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea, + And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?" + + "From the other world I come back to you, + My locks are uncurled with dripping, drenching dew. + You know the old, whilst I know the new: + But to-morrow you shall know this too." + + "O, not to-morrow into the dark, I pray; + O, not to-morrow, too soon to go away: + Here I feel warm and well-content and gay: + Give me another year, another day." + + "Am I so changed in a day and a night + That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright, + Is fain to turn away to left or right, + And cover up his eyes from the sight?" + + "Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend, + I loved you for life, but life has an end; + Through sickness I was ready to tend; + But death mars all, which we cannot mend. + + "Indeed I loved you; I love you yet + If you will stay where your bed is set, + Where I have planted a violet + Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet." + + "Life is gone, then love too is gone, + It was a reed that I leant upon: + Never doubt I will leave you alone + And not wake you rattling bone with bone. + + "I go home alone to my bed, + Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head, + Roofed in with a load of lead, + Warm enough for the forgotten dead. + + "But why did your tears soak through the clay, + And why did your sobs wake me where I lay? + I was away, far enough away: + Let me sleep now till the Judgment Day." + + + + A PORTRAIT. + + + I. + + She gave up beauty in her tender youth, + Gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways; + She covered up her eyes lest they should gaze + On vanity, and chose the bitter truth. + Harsh towards herself, towards others full of ruth, + Servant of servants, little known to praise, + Long prayers and fasts trenched on her nights and days: + She schooled herself to sights and sounds uncouth, + That with the poor and stricken she might make + A home, until the least of all sufficed + Her wants; her own self learned she to forsake, + Counting all earthly gain but hurt and loss. + So with calm will she chose and bore the cross, + And hated all for love of Jesus Christ. + + + II. + + They knelt in silent anguish by her bed, + And could not weep; but calmly there she lay. + All pain had left her; and the sun's last ray + Shone through upon her, warming into red + The shady curtains. In her heart she said: + "Heaven opens; I leave these and go away: + The Bridegroom calls,--shall the Bride seek to stay?" + Then low upon her breast she bowed her head. + O lily-flower, O gem of priceless worth, + O dove with patient voice and patient eyes, + O fruitful vine amid a land of dearth, + O maid replete with loving purities, + Thou bowedst down thy head with friends on earth + To raise it with the saints in Paradise. + + + + DREAM-LOVE. + + + Young Love lies sleeping + In May-time of the year, + Among the lilies, + Lapped in the tender light: + White lambs come grazing, + White doves come building there; + And round about him + The May-bushes are white. + + Soft moss the pillow + For O, a softer cheek; + Broad leaves cast shadow + Upon the heavy eyes: + There winds and waters + Grow lulled and scarcely speak; + There twilight lingers + The longest in the skies. + + Young Love lies dreaming; + But who shall tell the dream? + A perfect sunlight + On rustling forest tips; + Or perfect moonlight + Upon a rippling stream; + Or perfect silence, + Or song of cherished lips. + + Burn odors round him + To fill the drowsy air; + Weave silent dances + Around him to and fro; + For O, in waking, + The sights are not so fair, + And song and silence + Are not like these below. + + Young Love lies dreaming + Till summer days are gone, + Dreaming and drowsing + Away to perfect sleep: + He sees the beauty + Sun hath not looked upon, + And tastes the fountain + Unutterably deep. + + Him perfect music + Doth hush unto his rest, + And through the pauses + The perfect silence calms: + O, poor the voices + Of earth from east to west, + And poor earth's stillness + Between her stately palms. + + Young Love lies drowsing + Away to poppied death; + Cool shadows deepen + Across the sleeping face: + So fails the summer + With warm, delicious breath; + And what hath autumn + To give us in its place? + + Draw close the curtains + Of branched evergreen; + Change cannot touch them + With fading fingers sere: + Here the first violets + Perhaps will bud unseen, + And a dove, maybe, + Return to nestle here. + + + + TWICE. + + + I took my heart in my hand + (O my love, O my love), + I said: Let me fall or stand, + Let me live or die, + But this once hear me speak + (O my love, O my love); + Yet a woman's words are weak: + You should speak, not I. + + You took my heart in your hand + With a friendly smile, + With a critical eye you scanned, + Then set it down, + And said: It is still unripe, + Better wait awhile; + Wait while the skylarks pipe, + Till the corn grows brown. + + As you set it down it broke,-- + Broke, but I did not wince; + I smiled at the speech you spoke, + At your judgment that I heard: + But I have not often smiled + Since then, nor questioned since, + Nor cared for corn-flowers wild, + Nor sung with the singing bird. + + I take my heart in my hand, + O my God, O my God, + My broken heart in my hand: + Thou hast seen, judge Thou. + My hope was written on sand, + O my God, O my God; + Now let Thy judgment stand,-- + Yea, judge me now. + + This contemned of a man, + This marred one heedless day, + This heart take Thou to scan + Both within and without: + Refine with fire its gold, + Purge Thou its dross away,-- + Yea, hold it in Thy hold, + Whence none can pluck it out. + + I take my heart in my hand,-- + I shall not die, but live,-- + Before Thy face I stand; + I, for Thou callest such: + All that I have I bring, + All that I am I give, + Smile Thou and I shall sing, + But shall not question much. + + + + SONGS IN A CORNFIELD. + + + A song in a cornfield + Where corn begins to fall, + Where reapers are reaping, + Reaping one, reaping all. + Sing pretty Lettice, + Sing Rachel, sing May; + Only Marian cannot sing + While her sweetheart's away. + + Where is he gone to + And why does he stay? + He came across the green sea + But for a day, + Across the deep green sea + To help with the hay. + His hair was curly yellow + And his eyes were gray, + He laughed a merry laugh + And said a sweet say. + Where is he gone to + That he comes not home? + To-day or to-morrow + He surely will come. + Let him haste to joy + Lest he lag for sorrow, + For one weeps to-day + Who'll not weep to-morrow: + + To-day she must weep + For gnawing sorrow, + To-night she may sleep + And not wake to-morrow. + + May sang with Rachel + In the waxing warm weather, + Lettice sang with them, + They sang all together:-- + + "Take the wheat in your arm + Whilst day is broad above, + Take the wheat to your bosom, + But not a false false love. + Out in the fields + Summer heat gloweth, + Out in the fields + Summer wind bloweth, + Out in the fields + Summer friend showeth, + Out in the fields + Summer wheat groweth: + But in the winter + When summer heat is dead + And summer wind has veered + And summer friend has fled, + Only summer wheat remaineth, + White cakes and bread. + Take the wheat, clasp the wheat + That's food for maid and dove; + Take the wheat to your bosom, + But not a false false love." + + A silence of full noontide heat + Grew on them at their toil: + The farmer's dog woke up from sleep, + The green snake hid her coil + Where grass stood thickest; bird and beast + Sought shadows as they could, + The reaping men and women paused + And sat down where they stood; + They ate and drank and were refreshed, + For rest from toil is good. + + While the reapers took their ease, + Their sickles lying by, + Rachel sang a second strain, + And singing seemed to sigh:-- + + "There goes the swallow,-- + Could we but follow! + Hasty swallow stay, + Point us out the way; + Look back swallow, turn back swallow, stop swallow. + + "There went the swallow,-- + Too late to follow: + Lost our note of way, + Lost our chance to-day; + Good by swallow, sunny swallow, wise swallow. + + "After the swallow + All sweet things follow: + All things go their way, + Only we must stay, + Must not follow: good by swallow, good swallow." + + Then listless Marian raised her head + Among the nodding sheaves; + Her voice was sweeter than that voice; + She sang like one who grieves: + Her voice was sweeter than its wont + Among the nodding sheaves; + All wondered while they heard her sing + Like one who hopes and grieves:-- + + "Deeper than the hail can smite, + Deeper than the frost can bite, + Deep asleep through day and night, + Our delight. + + "Now thy sleep no pang can break, + No to-morrow bid thee wake, + Not our sobs who sit and ache + For thy sake. + + "Is it dark or light below? + O, but is it cold like snow? + Dost thou feel the green things grow + Fast or slow? + + "Is it warm or cold beneath, + O, but is it cold like death? + Cold like death, without a breath, + Cold like death?" + + If he comes to-day + He will find her weeping; + If he comes to-morrow + He will find her sleeping; + If he comes the next day + He'll not find her at all, + He may tear his curling hair, + Beat his breast and call. + + + + A YEAR'S WINDFALLS. + + + On the wind of January + Down flits the snow, + Travelling from the frozen North + As cold as it can blow. + Poor robin redbreast, + Look where he comes; + Let him in to feel your fire, + And toss him of your crumbs. + + On the wind in February + Snow-flakes float still, + Half inclined to turn to rain, + Nipping, dripping, chill. + Then the thaws swell the streams, + And swollen rivers swell the sea:-- + If the winter ever ends + How pleasant it will be. + + In the wind of windy March + The catkins drop down, + Curly, caterpillar-like, + Curious green and brown. + With concourse of nest-building birds + And leaf-buds by the way, + We begin to think of flowers + And life and nuts some day. + + With the gusts of April + Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall, + On the hedged-in orchard-green, + From the southern wall. + Apple-trees and pear-trees + Shed petals white or pink, + Plum-trees and peach-trees; + While sharp showers sink and sink. + + Little brings the May breeze + Beside pure scent of flowers, + While all things wax and nothing wanes + In lengthening daylight hours. + Across the hyacinth beds + The wind lags warm and sweet, + Across the hawthorn tops, + Across the blades of wheat. + + In the wind of sunny June + Thrives the red rose crop, + Every day fresh blossoms blow + While the first leaves drop; + White rose and yellow rose + And moss-rose choice to find, + And the cottage cabbage-rose + Not one whit behind. + + On the blast of scorched July + Drives the pelting hail, + From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot + Blue heaven grown lurid-pale. + Weedy waves are tossed ashore, + Sea-things strange to sight + Gasp upon the barren shore + And fade away in light. + + In the parching August wind, + Cornfields bow the head, + Sheltered in round valley depths, + On low hills outspread. + Early leaves drop loitering down + Weightless on the breeze, + First-fruits of the year's decay + From the withering trees. + + In brisk wind of September + The heavy-headed fruits + Shake upon their bending boughs + And drop from the shoots; + Some glow golden in the sun, + Some show green and streaked + Some set forth a purple bloom, + Some blush rosy-cheeked. + + In strong blast of October + At the equinox, + Stirred up in his hollow bed + Broad ocean rocks; + Plunge the ships on his bosom, + Leaps and plunges the foam,-- + It's O for mothers' sons at sea, + That they were safe at home! + + In slack wind of November + The fog forms and shifts; + All the world comes out again + When the fog lifts. + Loosened from their sapless twigs + Leaves drop with every gust; + Drifting, rustling, out of sight + In the damp or dust. + + Last of all, December, + The year's sands nearly run, + Speeds on the shortest day, + Curtails the sun; + With its bleak raw wind + Lays the last leaves low, + Brings back the nightly frosts, + Brings back the snow. + + + + THE QUEEN OF HEARTS. + + + How comes it, Flora, that, whenever we + Play cards together, you invariably, + However the pack parts, + Still hold the Queen of Hearts? + + I've scanned you with a scrutinizing gaze, + Resolved to fathom these your secret ways: + But, sift them as I will, + Your ways are secret still. + + I cut and shuffle; shuffle, cut, again; + But all my cutting, shuffling, proves in vain: + Vain hope, vain forethought, too; + That Queen still falls to you. + + I dropped her once, prepense; but, ere the deal + Was dealt, your instinct seemed her loss to feel: + "There should be one card more," + You said, and searched the floor. + + I cheated once: I made a private notch + In Heart-Queen's back, and kept a lynx-eyed watch; + Yet such another back + Deceived me in the pack: + + The Queen of Clubs assumed by arts unknown + An imitative dint that seemed my own; + This notch, not of my doing, + Misled me to my ruin. + + It baffles me to puzzle out the clew, + Which must be skill, or craft, or luck in you: + Unless, indeed, it be + Natural affinity. + + + + ONE DAY. + + + I will tell you when they met: + In the limpid days of Spring; + Elder boughs were budding yet, + Oaken boughs looked wintry still, + But primrose and veined violet + In the mossful turf were set, + While meeting birds made haste to sing + And build with right good will. + + I will tell you when they parted: + When plenteous Autumn sheaves were brown, + Then they parted heavy-hearted; + The full rejoicing sun looked down + As grand as in the days before; + Only they had lost a crown; + Only to them those days of yore + Could come back nevermore. + + When shall they meet? I cannot tell, + Indeed, when they shall meet again, + Except some day in Paradise: + For this they wait, one waits in pain. + Beyond the sea of death love lies + Forever, yesterday, to-day; + Angels shall ask them, "Is it well?" + And they shall answer, "Yea." + + + + A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW. + + + "Croak, croak, croak," + Thus the Raven spoke, + Perched on his crooked tree + As hoarse as hoarse could be. + Shun him and fear him, + Lest the Bridegroom hear him; + Scout him and rout him + With his ominous eye about him. + + Yet, "Croak, croak, croak," + Still tolled from the oak; + From that fatal black bird, + Whether heard or unheard: + "O ship upon the high seas, + Freighted with lives and spices, + Sink, O ship," croaked the Raven: + "Let the Bride mount to heaven." + + In a far foreign land + Upon the wave-edged sand, + Some friends gaze wistfully + Across the glittering sea. + "If we could clasp our sister," + Three say, "now we have missed her!" + "If we could kiss our daughter!" + Two sigh across the water. + + O, the ship sails fast, + With silken flags at the mast, + And the home-wind blows soft; + But a Raven sits aloft, + Chuckling and choking, + Croaking, croaking, croaking:-- + Let the beacon-fire blaze higher; + Bridegroom, watch; the Bride draws nigher. + + On a sloped sandy beach, + Which the spring-tide billows reach, + Stand a watchful throng + Who have hoped and waited long: + "Fie on this ship, that tarries + With the priceless freight it carries. + The time seems long and longer: + O languid wind, wax stronger";-- + + Whilst the Raven perched at ease + Still croaks and does not cease, + One monotonous note + Tolled from his iron throat: + "No father, no mother, + But I have a sable brother: + He sees where ocean flows to, + And he knows what he knows, too." + + A day and a night + They kept watch worn and white; + A night and a day + For the swift ship on its way: + For the Bride and her maidens,-- + Clear chimes the bridal cadence,-- + For the tall ship that never + Hove in sight forever. + + On either shore, some + Stand in grief loud or dumb + As the dreadful dread + Grows certain though unsaid. + For laughter there is weeping, + And waking instead of sleeping, + And a desperate sorrow + Morrow after morrow. + + O, who knows the truth, + How she perished in her youth, + And like a queen went down + Pale in her royal crown? + How she went up to glory + From the sea-foam chill and hoary, + From the sea-depth black and riven + To the calm that is in Heaven? + + They went down, all the crew, + The silks and spices too, + The great ones and the small, + One and all, one and all. + Was it through stress of weather, + Quicksands, rocks, or all together? + Only the Raven knows this, + And he will not disclose this.-- + + After a day and a year + The bridal bells chime clear; + After a year and a day + The Bridegroom is brave and gay: + Love is sound, faith is rotten; + The old Bride is forgotten:-- + Two ominous Ravens only + Remember, black and lonely. + + + + + THE GERMAN-FRENCH CAMPAIGN. + + 1870-1871. + +These two pieces, written during the suspense of a great nation's agony, +aim at expressing human sympathy, not political bias. + + + I. + + "THY BROTHER'S BLOOD CRIETH." + + + All her corn-fields rippled in the sunshine, + All her lovely vines, sweets-laden, bowed; + Yet some weeks to harvest and to vintage: + When, as one man's hand, a cloud + Rose and spread, and, blackening, burst asunder + In rain and fire and thunder. + + Is there nought to reap in the day of harvest? + Hath the vine in her day no fruit to yield? + Yea, men tread the press, but not for sweetness, + And they reap a red crop from the field. + Build barns, ye reapers, garner all aright, + Though your souls be called to-night. + + A cry of tears goes up from blackened homesteads, + A cry of blood goes up from reeking earth: + Tears and blood have a cry that pierces Heaven + Through all its Hallelujah swells of mirth; + God hears their cry, and though He tarry, yet + He doth not forget. + + Mournful Mother, prone in dust weeping, + Who shall comfort thee for those who are not? + As thou didst, men do to thee; and heap the measure, + And heat the furnace sevenfold hot: + As thou once, now these to thee--who pitieth thee + From sea to sea? + + O thou King, terrible in strength, and building + Thy strong future on thy past! + Though he drink the last, the King of Sheshach, + Yet he shall drink at the last. + Art thou greater than great Babylon, + Which lies overthrown? + + Take heed, ye unwise among the people; + O ye fools, when will ye understand?-- + He that planted the ear shall He not hear, + Nor He smite who formed the hand? + "Vengeance is Mine, is Mine," thus saith the Lord:-- + O Man, put up thy sword. + + + + II. + + "TO-DAY FOR ME." + + + She sitteth still who used to dance, + She weepeth sore and more and more-- + Let us sit with thee weeping sore, + O fair France! + + She trembleth as the days advance + Who used to be so light of heart:-- + We in thy trembling bear a part, + Sister France! + + Her eyes shine tearful as they glance: + "Who shall give back my slaughtered sons? + "Bind up," she saith, "my wounded ones."-- + Alas, France! + + She struggles in a deathly trance, + As in a dream her pulses stir, + She hears the nations calling her, + "France, France, France!" + + Thou people of the lifted lance, + Forbear her tears, forbear her blood: + Roll back, roll back, thy whelming flood, + Back from France. + + Eye not her loveliness askance, + Forge not for her a galling chain; + Leave her at peace to bloom again, + Vine-clad France. + + A time there is for change and chance, + A time for passing of the cup: + And One abides can yet bind up + Broken France. + + A time there is for change and chance: + Who next shall drink the trembling cup, + Wring out its dregs and suck them up + After France? + + + + + ON THE WING. + + SONNET. + + + Once in a dream (for once I dreamed of you) + We stood together in an open field; + Above our heads two swift-winged pigeons wheeled, + Sporting at ease and courting full in view. + When loftier still a broadening darkness flew, + Down-swooping, and a ravenous hawk revealed; + Too weak to fight, too fond to fly, they yield; + So farewell life and love and pleasures new. + Then, as their plumes fell fluttering to the ground, + Their snow-white plumage flecked with crimson drops, + I wept, and thought I turned towards you to weep: + But you were gone; while rustling hedgerow tops + Bent in a wind which bore to me a sound + Of far-off piteous bleat of lambs and sheep. + + + + CONSIDER. + + + Consider + The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- + We are as they; + Like them we fade away, + As doth a leaf. + + Consider + The sparrows of the air of small account: + Our God doth view + Whether they fall or mount,-- + He guards us too. + + Consider + The lilies that do neither spin nor toil, + Yet are most fair:-- + What profits all this care + And all this coil? + + Consider + The birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks; + God gives them food:-- + Much more our Father seeks + To do us good. + + + + BEAUTY IS VAIN. + + + While roses are so red, + While lilies are so white, + Shall a woman exalt her face + Because it gives delight? + She's not so sweet as a rose, + A lily's straighter than she, + And if she were as red or white + She'd be but one of three. + + Whether she flush in love's summer + Or in its winter grow pale, + Whether she flaunt her beauty + Or hide it away in a veil, + Be she red or white, + And stand she erect or bowed, + Time will win the race he runs with her + And hide her away in a shroud. + + + + MAGGIE A LADY. + + + You must not call me Maggie, you must not call me Dear, + For I'm Lady of the Manor now stately to see; + And if there comes a babe, as there may some happy year, + 'T will be little lord or lady at my knee. + + O, but what ails you, my sailor cousin Phil, + That you shake and turn white like a cockcrow ghost? + You're as white as I turned once down by the mill, + When one told me you and ship and crew were lost: + + Philip my playfellow, when we were boy and girl + (It was the Miller's Nancy told it to me), + Philip with the merry life in lip and curl, + Philip my playfellow drowned in the sea! + + I thought I should have fainted, but I did not faint; + I stood stunned at the moment, scarcely sad, + Till I raised my wail of desolate complaint + For you, my cousin, brother, all I had. + + They said I looked so pale,--some say so fair,-- + My lord stopped in passing to soothe me back to life: + I know I missed a ringlet from my hair + Next morning; and now I am his wife. + + Look at my gown, Philip, and look at my ring, + I'm all crimson and gold from top to toe: + All day long I sit in the sun and sing, + Where in the sun red roses blush and blow. + + And I'm the rose of roses says my lord; + And to him I'm more than the sun in the sky, + While I hold him fast with the golden cord + Of a curl, with the eyelash of an eye. + + His mother said "fie," and his sisters cried "shame," + His high-born ladies cried "shame" from their place: + They said "fie" when they only heard my name, + But fell silent when they saw my face. + + Am I so fair, Philip? Philip, did you think + I was so fair when we played boy and girl, + Where blue forget-me-nots bloomed on the brink + Of our stream which the mill-wheel sent awhirl? + + If I was fair then sure I'm fairer now, + Sitting where a score of servants stand, + With a coronet on high days for my brow + And almost a sceptre for my hand. + + You're but a sailor, Philip, weatherbeaten brown, + A stranger on land and at home on the sea, + Coasting as best you may from town to town: + Coasting along do you often think of me? + + I'm a great lady in a sheltered bower, + With hands grown white through having naught to do: + Yet sometimes I think of you hour after hour + Till I nigh wish myself a child with you. + + + + WHAT WOULD I GIVE? + + + What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through, + Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do; + Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all. + + What would I give for words, if only words would come; + But now in its misery my spirit has fallen dumb: + O, merry friends, go your way, I have never a word to say. + + What would I give for tears, not smiles but scalding tears, + To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of years, + To wash the stain ingrain and to make me clean again. + + + + THE BOURNE. + + + Underneath the growing grass, + Underneath the living flowers, + Deeper than the sound of showers: + There we shall not count the hours + By the shadows as they pass. + + Youth and health will be but vain, + Beauty reckoned of no worth: + There a very little girth + Can hold round what once the earth + Seemed too narrow to contain. + + + + SUMMER. + + + Winter is cold-hearted, + Spring is yea and nay, + Autumn is a weathercock + Blown every way: + Summer days for me + When every leaf is on its tree; + + When Robin's not a beggar, + And Jenny Wren's a bride, + And larks hang singing, singing, singing, + Over the wheat-fields wide, + And anchored lilies ride, + And the pendulum spider + Swings from side to side, + + And blue-black beetles transact business, + And gnats fly in a host, + And furry caterpillars hasten + That no time be lost, + And moths grow fat and thrive, + And ladybirds arrive. + + Before green apples blush, + Before green nuts embrown, + Why, one day in the country + Is worth a month in town; + Is worth a day and a year + Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion + That days drone elsewhere. + + + + AUTUMN. + + + I dwell alone,--I dwell alone, alone, + Whilst full my river flows down to the sea, + Gilded with flashing boats + That bring no friend to me: + O love-songs, gurgling from a hundred throats, + O love-pangs, let me be. + + Fair fall the freighted boats which gold and stone + And spices bear to sea: + Slim, gleaming maidens swell their mellow notes, + Love-promising, entreating,-- + Ah! sweet, but fleeting,-- + Beneath the shivering, snow-white sails. + Hush! the wind flags and fails,-- + Hush! they will lie becalmed in sight of strand,-- + Sight of my strand, where I do dwell alone; + Their songs wake singing echoes in my land,-- + They cannot hear me moan. + + One latest, solitary swallow flies + Across the sea, rough autumn-tempest tost, + Poor bird, shall it be lost? + Dropped down into this uncongenial sea, + With no kind eyes + To watch it while it dies, + Unguessed, uncared for, free: + Set free at last, + The short pang past, + In sleep, in death, in dreamless sleep locked fast. + + Mine avenue is all a growth of oaks, + Some rent by thunder-strokes, + Some rustling leaves and acorns in the breeze: + Fair fall my fertile trees, + That rear their goodly heads, and live at ease. + + A spider's web blocks all mine avenue; + He catches down and foolish painted flies, + That spider wary and wise. + Each morn it hangs a rainbow strung with dew + Betwixt boughs green with sap, + So fair, few creatures guess it is a trap: + I will not mar the web, + Though sad I am to see the small lives ebb. + + It shakes,--my trees shake; for a wind is roused + In cavern where it housed: + Each white and quivering sail, + Of boats among the water leaves + Hollows and strains in the full-throated gale: + Each maiden sings again,-- + Each languid maiden, whom the calm + Had lulled to sleep with rest and spice and balm, + Miles down my river to the sea + They float and wane, + Long miles away from me. + Perhaps they say: "She grieves, + Uplifted, like a beacon, on her tower." + Perhaps they say: "One hour + More, and we dance among the golden sheaves." + Perhaps they say: "One hour + More, and we stand, + Face to face, hand in hand; + Make haste, O slack gale, to the looked-for land!" + + My trees are not in flower, + I have no bower, + And gusty creaks my tower, + And lonesome, very lonesome, is my strand. + + + + THE GHOST'S PETITION. + + + "There's a footstep coming: look out and see."-- + "The leaves are falling, the wind is calling; + No one cometh across the lea."-- + + "There's a footstep coming: O sister, look."-- + "The ripple flashes, the white foam dashes; + No one cometh across the brook."-- + + "But he promised that he would come: + To-night, to-morrow, in joy or sorrow, + He must keep his word, and must come home. + + "For he promised that he would come: + His word was given; from earth or heaven, + He must keep his word, and must come home. + + "Go to sleep, my sweet sister Jane; + You can slumber, who need not number + Hour after hour, in doubt and pain. + + "I shall sit here awhile, and watch; + Listening, hoping, for one hand groping + In deep shadow to find the latch." + + After the dark, and before the light, + One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping, + Who had watched and wept the weary night. + + After the night, and before the day, + One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping,-- + Watching, weeping for one away. + + There came a footstep climbing the stair; + Some one standing out on the landing + Shook the door like a puff of air,-- + + Shook the door, and in he passed. + Did he enter? In the room centre + Stood her husband: the door shut fast. + + "O Robin, but you are cold,-- + Chilled with the night-dew: so lily-white you + Look like a stray lamb from our fold. + + "O Robin, but you are late: + Come and sit near me,--sit here and cheer me."-- + (Blue the flame burnt in the grate.) + + "Lay not down your head on my breast: + I cannot hold you, kind wife, nor fold you + In the shelter that you love best. + + "Feel not after my clasping hand: + I am but a shadow, come from the meadow + Where many lie, but no tree can stand. + + "We are trees which have shed their leaves: + Our heads lie low there, but no tears flow there; + Only I grieve for my wife who grieves. + + "I could rest if you would not moan + Hour after hour; I have no power + To shut my ears where I lie alone. + + "I could rest if you would not cry; + But there's no sleeping while you sit weeping,-- + Watching, weeping so bitterly."-- + + "Woe's me! woe's me! for this I have heard. + O, night of sorrow!--O, black to-morrow! + Is it thus that you keep your word? + + "O you who used so to shelter me + Warm from the least wind,--why, now the east wind + Is warmer than you, whom I quake to see. + + "O my husband of flesh and blood, + For whom my mother I left, and brother, + And all I had, accounting it good, + + "What do you do there, underground, + In the dark hollow? I'm fain to follow. + What do you do there?--what have you found?"-- + + "What I do there I must not tell; + But I have plenty. Kind wife, content ye: + It is well with us,--it is well. + + "Tender hand hath made our nest; + Our fear is ended, our hope is blended + With present pleasure, and we have rest."-- + + "O, but Robin, I'm fain to come, + If your present days are so pleasant; + For my days are so wearisome. + + "Yet I'll dry my tears for your sake: + Why should I tease you, who cannot please you + Any more with the pains I take?" + + + + MEMORY. + + + I. + + I nursed it in my bosom while it lived, + I hid it in my heart when it was dead; + In joy I sat alone, even so I grieved + Alone and nothing said. + + I shut the door to face the naked truth, + I stood alone,--I faced the truth alone, + Stripped bare of self-regard or forms or ruth + Till first and last were shown. + + I took the perfect balances and weighed; + No shaking of my hand disturbed the poise; + Weighed, found it wanting: not a word I said, + But silent made my choice. + + None know the choice I made; I make it still. + None know the choice I made and broke my heart, + Breaking mine idol: I have braced my will + Once, chosen for once my part. + + I broke it at a blow, I laid it cold, + Crushed in my deep heart where it used to live. + My heart dies inch by inch; the time grows old, + Grows old in which I grieve. + + + II. + + I have a room whereinto no one enters + Save I myself alone: + There sits a blessed memory on a throne, + There my life centres. + + While winter comes and goes--O tedious comer!-- + And while its nip-wind blows; + While bloom the bloodless lily and warm rose + Of lavish summer. + + If any should force entrance he might see there + One buried yet not dead, + Before whose face I no more bow my head + Or bend my knee there; + + But often in my worn life's autumn weather + I watch there with clear eyes, + And think how it will be in Paradise + When we're together. + + + + A ROYAL PRINCESS. + + + I, a princess, king-descended, decked with jewels, gilded, drest, + Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast, + For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west. + + Two and two my guards behind, two and two before, + Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore; + Me, poor dove, that must not coo,--eagle, that must not soar. + + All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow + Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow + That are costly, out of season as the seasons go. + + All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace + Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place, + Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face. + + Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon, + Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne; + There I sit uplift and upright, there I sit alone. + + Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end; + My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend-- + O my father! O my mother! have you ne'er a friend? + + As I am a lofty princess, so my father is + A lofty king, accomplished in all kingly subtilties, + Holding in his strong right hand world-kingdoms' balances. + + He has quarrelled with his neighbors, he has scourged his foes; + Vassal counts and princes follow where his pennon goes, + Long-descended valiant lords whom the vulture knows, + + On whose track the vulture swoops, when they ride in state + To break the strength of armies and topple down the great: + Each of these my courteous servant, none of these my mate. + + My father counting up his strength sets down with equal pen + So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men; + These for slaughter, these for labor, with the how and when. + + Some to work on roads, canals; some to man his ships; + Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips; + Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips. + + Once it came into my heart and whelmed me like a flood, + That these too are men and women, human flesh and blood; + Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like mud. + + Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay; + On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of gray, + My father frowning at the fare seemed every dish to weigh. + + I sat beside them sole princess in my exalted place, + My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais: + A mirror showed me I look old and haggard in the face; + + It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon, + Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known, + They laugh by day, they sleep by night; ah me, what is a throne? + + The singing men and women sang that night as usual, + The dancers danced in pairs and sets, but music had a fall, + A melancholy windy fall as at a funeral. + + Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept; + My ladies loosed my golden chain; meantime I could have wept + To think of some in galling chains whether they waked or slept. + + I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on, + They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon, + They lit my shaded silver lamp and left me there alone. + + A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said: + "Men are clamoring, women, children, clamoring to be fed; + Men like famished dogs are howling in the streets for bread." + + So two whispered by my door, not thinking I could hear, + Vulgar, naked truth, ungarnished for a royal ear; + Fit for cooping in the background, not to stalk so near. + + But I strained my utmost sense to catch this truth, and mark: + "There are families out grazing like cattle in the park." + "A pair of peasants must be saved even if we build an ark." + + A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way; + One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day; + One was my youngest maid, as sweet and white as cream in May. + + Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp; + Voices said: "Picked soldiers have been summoned from the camp + To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and stamp." + + "Howl and stamp?" one answered: "They made free to hurl a stone + At the minister's state coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown." + "There's work, then, for the soldiers, for this rank crop must be mown." + + "One I saw, a poor old fool with ashes on his head, + Whimpering because a girl had snatched his crust of bread: + Then he dropped; when some one raised him, it turned out he was dead." + + "After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh: + "If bread's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff." + "While I've a loaf they're welcome to my blessing and the chaff." + + These passed. The king: stand up. Said my father with a smile: + "Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile, + She's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?" + + He too left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait + (I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate), + Or shall I work the last gold stitch into my veil of state; + + Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene, + There's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between; + Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen? + + Again I caught my father's voice in sharp word of command: + "Charge!" a clash of steel: "Charge again, the rebels stand. + Smite and spare not, hand to hand; smite and spare not, hand to hand." + + There swelled a tumult at the gate, high voices waxing higher; + A flash of red reflected light lit the cathedral spire; + I heard a cry for faggots, then I heard a yell for fire. + + "Sit and roast there with your meat, sit and bake there with your bread, + You who sat to see us starve," one shrieking woman said: + "Sit on your throne and roast with your crown upon your head." + + Nay, this thing will I do, while my mother tarrieth, + I will take my fine spun gold, but not to sew therewith, + I will take my gold and gems, and rainbow fan and wreath; + + With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my hand, + I will go down to this people, will stand face to face, will stand + Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land. + + They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give; + I, if I perish, perish; they to-day shall eat and live; + I, if I perish, perish; that's the goal I half conceive: + + Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and show + The lesson I have learned, which is death, is life, to know. + I, if I perish, perish; in the name of God I go. + + + + SHALL I FORGET? + + + Shall I forget on this side of the grave? + I promise nothing: you must wait and see + Patient and brave. + (O my soul, watch with him and he with me.) + + Shall I forget in peace of Paradise? + I promise nothing: follow, friend, and see, + Faithful and wise. + (O my soul, lead the way he walks with me.) + + + + VANITY OF VANITIES. + + SONNET. + + + Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain, + Ah, woe is me for glory that is past: + Pleasure that bringeth sorrow at the last, + Glory that at the last bringeth no gain! + So saith the sinking heart; and so again + It shall say till the mighty angel-blast + Is blown, making the sun and moon aghast, + And showering down the stars like sudden rain. + And evermore men shall go fearfully, + Bending beneath their weight of heaviness; + And ancient men shall lie down wearily, + And strong men shall rise up in weariness; + Yea, even the young shall answer sighingly, + Saying one to another: How vain it is! + + + + L. E. L. + + "Whose heart was breaking for a little love." + + + Down-stairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all: + But in my solitary room above + I turn my face in silence to the wall; + My heart is breaking for a little love. + Though winter frosts are done, + And birds pair every one, + And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun. + + I feel no spring, while spring is wellnigh blown, + I find no nest, while nests are in the grove: + Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone, + My heart that breaketh for a little love. + While golden in the sun + Rivulets rise and run, + While lilies bud, for springtide is begun. + + All love, are loved, save only I; their hearts + Beat warm with love and joy, beat full thereof: + They cannot guess, who play the pleasant parts, + My heart is breaking for a little love. + While beehives wake and whirr, + And rabbit thins his fur, + In living spring that sets the world astir. + + I deck myself with silks and jewelry, + I plume myself like any mated dove: + They praise my rustling show, and never see + My heart is breaking for a little love. + While sprouts green lavender + With rosemary and myrrh, + For in quick spring the sap is all astir. + + Perhaps some saints in glory guess the truth, + Perhaps some angels read it as they move, + And cry one to another full of ruth, + "Her heart is breaking for a little love." + Though other things have birth, + And leap and sing for mirth, + When spring-time wakes and clothes and feeds the earth. + + Yet saith a saint: "Take patience for thy scathe"; + Yet saith an angel: "Wait, for thou shalt prove + True best is last, true life is born of death, + O thou, heart-broken for a little love! + Then love shall fill thy girth, + And love make fat thy dearth, + When new spring builds new heaven and clean new earth." + + + + LIFE AND DEATH. + + + Life is not sweet. One day it will be sweet + To shut our eyes and die: + Nor feel the wild-flowers blow, nor birds dart by + With flitting butterfly, + Nor grass grow long above our heads and feet, + Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky high, + Nor sigh that spring is fleet and summer fleet, + Nor mark the waxing wheat, + Nor know who sits in our accustomed seat. + + Life is not good. One day it will be good + To die, then live again; + To sleep meanwhile: so not to feel the wane + Of shrunk leaves dropping in the wood, + Nor hear the foamy lashing of the main, + Nor mark the blackened bean-fields, nor where stood + Rich ranks of golden grain, + Only dead refuse stubble clothe the plain: + Asleep from risk, asleep from pain. + + + + BIRD OR BEAST? + + + Did any bird come flying + After Adam and Eve, + When the door was shut against them + And they sat down to grieve? + + I think not Eve's peacock + Splendid to see, + And I think not Adam's eagle; + But a dove may be. + + Did any beast come pushing + Through the thorny hedge + Into the thorny, thistly world + Out from Eden's edge? + + I think not a lion, + Though his strength is such; + But an innocent loving lamb + May have done as much. + + If the dove preached from her bough + And the lamb from his sod, + The lamb and the dove + Were preachers sent from God. + + + + EVE. + + + "While I sit at the door, + Sick to gaze within, + Mine eye weepeth sore + For sorrow and sin: + As a tree my sin stands + To darken all lands; + Death is the fruit it bore. + + "How have Eden bowers grown + Without Adam to bend them! + How have Eden flowers blown, + Squandering their sweet breath, + Without me to tend them! + The Tree of Life was ours, + Tree twelvefold-fruited, + Most lofty tree that flowers, + Most deeply rooted: + I chose the Tree of Death. + + "Hadst thou but said me nay, + Adam, my brother, + I might have pined away; + I, but none other: + God might have let thee stay + Safe in our garden, + By putting me away + Beyond all pardon. + + "I, Eve, sad mother + Of all who must live, + I, not another, + Plucked bitterest fruit to give + My friend, husband, lover. + O wanton eyes run over! + Who but I should grieve?-- + Cain hath slain his brother: + Of all who must die mother, + Miserable Eve!" + + Thus she sat weeping, + Thus Eve, our mother, + Where one lay sleeping + Slain by his brother. + Greatest and least + Each piteous beast + To hear her voice + Forgot his joys + And set aside his feast. + + The mouse paused in his walk + And dropped his wheaten stalk; + Grave cattle wagged their heads + In rumination; + The eagle gave a cry + From his cloud station; + Larks on thyme beds + Forbore to mount or sing; + Bees drooped upon the wing; + The raven perched on high + Forgot his ration; + The conies in their rock, + A feeble nation, + Quaked sympathetical; + The mocking-bird left off to mock; + Huge camels knelt as if + In deprecation; + The kind hart's tears were falling; + Chattered the wistful stork; + Dove-voices with a dying fall + Cooed desolation, + Answering grief by grief. + + Only the serpent in the dust, + Wriggling and crawling, + Grinned an evil grin, and thrust + His tongue out with its fork. + + + + GROWN AND FLOWN. + + + I loved my love from green of Spring + Until sere Autumn's fall; + But now that leaves are withering + How should one love at all? + One heart's too small + For hunger, cold, love, everything. + + I loved my love on sunny days + Until late Summer's wane; + But now that frost begins to glaze + How should one love again? + Nay, love and pain + Walk wide apart in diverse ways. + + I loved my love,--alas to see + That this should be, alas! + I thought that this could scarcely be, + Yet has it come to pass: + Sweet sweet love was, + Now bitter bitter grown to me. + + + + A FARM WALK. + + + The year stood at its equinox + And bluff the North was blowing, + A bleat of lambs came from the flocks, + Green hardy things were growing; + I met a maid with shining locks + Where milky kine were lowing. + + She wore a kerchief on her neck, + Her bare arm showed its dimple, + Her apron spread without a speck, + Her air was frank and simple. + + She milked into a wooden pail + And sang a country ditty, + An innocent fond lovers' tale, + That was not wise nor witty, + Pathetically rustical, + Too pointless for the city. + + She kept in time without a beat + As true as church-bell ringers, + Unless she tapped time with her feet, + Or squeezed it with her fingers; + Her clear unstudied notes were sweet + As many a practised singer's. + + I stood a minute out of sight, + Stood silent for a minute + To eye the pail, and creamy white + The frothing milk within it; + + To eye the comely milking maid + Herself so fresh and creamy: + "Good day to you," at last I said; + She turned her head to see me: + "Good day," she said, with lifted head; + Her eyes looked soft and dreamy, + + And all the while she milked and milked + The grave cow heavy-laden: + I've seen grand ladies plumed and silked, + But not a sweeter maiden; + + But not a sweeter, fresher maid + Than this in homely cotton, + Whose pleasant face and silky braid + I have not yet forgotten. + + Seven springs have passed since then, as I + Count with a sober sorrow; + Seven springs have come and passed me by, + And spring sets in to-morrow. + + I've half a mind to shake myself + Free just for once from London, + To set my work upon the shelf + And leave it done or undone; + + To run down by the early train, + Whirl down with shriek and whistle, + And feel the bluff North blow again, + And mark the sprouting thistle + Set up on waste patch of the lane + Its green and tender bristle, + + And spy the scarce-blown violet banks, + Crisp primrose leaves and others, + And watch the lambs leap at their pranks + And butt their patient mothers. + + Alas, one point in all my plan + My serious thoughts demur to: + Seven years have passed for maid and man, + Seven years have passed for her too; + + Perhaps my rose is overblown, + Not rosy or too rosy; + Perhaps in farm-house of her own + Some husband keeps her cosey, + Where I should show a face unknown. + Good by, my wayside posy. + + + + SOMEWHERE OR OTHER. + + + Somewhere or other there must surely be + The face not seen, the voice not heard, + The heart that not yet--never yet--ah me! + Made answer to my word. + + Somewhere or other, may be near or far; + Past land and sea, clean out of sight; + Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star + That tracks her night by night. + + Somewhere or other, may be far or near; + With just a wall, a hedge, between; + With just the last leaves of the dying year + Fallen on a turf grown green. + + + + A CHILL. + + + What can lambkins do + All the keen night through? + Nestle by their woolly mother, + The careful ewe. + + What can nestlings do + In the nightly dew? + Sleep beneath their mother's wing + Till day breaks anew. + + If in field or tree + There might only be + Such a warm soft sleeping-place + Found for me! + + + + CHILD'S TALK IN APRIL. + + + I WISH you were a pleasant wren, + And I your small accepted mate; + How we'd look down on toilsome men! + We'd rise and go to bed at eight + Or it may be not quite so late. + + Then you should see the nest I'd build, + The wondrous nest for you and me; + The outside rough, perhaps, but filled + With wool and down: ah, you should see + The cosey nest that it would be. + + We'd have our change of hope and fear, + Small quarrels, reconcilements sweet: + I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer, + Or hop about on active feet + And fetch you dainty bits to eat. + + We'd be so happy by the day, + So safe and happy through the night, + We both should feel, and I should say, + It's all one season of delight, + And we'll make merry whilst we may. + + Perhaps some day there'd be an egg + When spring had blossomed from the snow: + I'd stand triumphant on one leg; + Like chanticleer I'd almost crow + To let our little neighbors know. + + Next you should sit and I would sing + Through lengthening days of sunny spring: + Till, if you wearied of the task, + I'd sit; and you should spread your wing + From bough to bough; I'd sit and bask. + + Fancy the breaking of the shell, + The chirp, the chickens wet and bare, + The untried proud paternal swell; + And you with housewife-matron air + Enacting choicer bills of fare. + + Fancy the embryo coats of down, + The gradual feathers soft and sleek; + Till clothed and strong from tail to crown, + With virgin warblings in their beak, + They too go forth to soar and seek. + + So would it last an April through + And early summer fresh with dew: + Then should we part and live as twain, + Love-time would bring me back to you + And build our happy nest again. + + + + GONE FOREVER. + + + O happy rose-bud blooming + Upon thy parent tree,-- + Nay, thou art too presuming; + For soon the earth entombing + Thy faded charms shall be, + And the chill damp consuming. + + O happy skylark springing + Up to the broad blue sky, + Too fearless in thy winging, + Too gladsome in thy singing, + Thou also soon shalt lie + Where no sweet notes are ringing. + + And through life's shine and shower + We shall have joy and pain; + But in the summer bower, + And at the morning hour, + We still shall look in vain + For the same bird and flower. + + + + UNDER THE ROSE. + + "The iniquity of the fathers upon the children." + + + O the rose of keenest thorn! + One hidden summer morn + Under the rose I was born. + + I do not guess his name + Who wrought my Mother's shame, + And gave me life forlorn, + But my Mother, Mother, Mother, + I know her from all other. + My Mother pale and mild, + Fair as ever was seen, + She was but scarce sixteen, + Little more than a child, + When I was born + To work her scorn. + With secret bitter throes, + In a passion of secret woes, + She bore me under the rose. + + One who my Mother nursed + Took me from the first:-- + "O nurse, let me look upon + This babe that cost so dear; + To-morrow she will be gone: + Other mothers may keep + Their babes awake and asleep, + But I must not keep her here."-- + Whether I know or guess, + I know this not the less. + + So I was sent away + That none might spy the truth: + And my childhood waxed to youth + And I left off childish play. + I never cared to play + With the village boys and girls; + And I think they thought me proud, + I found so little to say + And kept so from the crowd: + But I had the longest curls, + And I had the largest eyes, + And my teeth were small like pearls; + The girls might flout and scout me, + But the boys would hang about me + In sheepish mooning wise. + + Our one-street village stood + A long mile from the town, + A mile of windy down + And bleak one-sided wood, + With not a single house. + Our town itself was small, + With just the common shops, + And throve in its small way. + Our neighboring gentry reared + The good old-fashioned crops, + And made old-fashioned boasts + Of what John Bull would do + If Frenchman Frog appeared, + And drank old-fashioned toasts, + And made old-fashioned bows + To my Lady at the Hall. + + My Lady at the Hall + Is grander than they all: + Hers is the oldest name + In all the neighborhood; + But the race must die with her + Though she's a lofty dame, + For she's unmarried still. + Poor people say she's good + And has an open hand + As any in the land, + And she's the comforter + Of many sick and sad; + My nurse once said to me + That everything she had + Came of my Lady's bounty: + "Though she's greatest in the county + She's humble to the poor, + No beggar seeks her door + But finds help presently. + I pray both night and day + For her, and you must pray: + But she'll never feel distress + If needy folk can bless." + I was a little maid + When here we came to live + From somewhere by the sea. + Men spoke a foreign tongue + There where we used to be + When I was merry and young, + Too young to feel afraid; + The fisher-folk would give + A kind strange word to me, + There by the foreign sea: + I don't know where it was, + But I remember still + Our cottage on a hill, + And fields of flowering grass + On that fair foreign shore. + + I liked my old home best, + But this was pleasant too: + So here we made our nest + And here I grew. + And now and then my Lady + In riding past our door + Would nod to nurse and speak, + Or stoop and pat my cheek; + And I was always ready + To hold the field-gate wide + For my Lady to go through; + My Lady in her veil + So seldom put aside, + My Lady grave and pale. + + I often sat to wonder + Who might my parents be, + For I knew of something under + My simple-seeming state. + Nurse never talked to me + Of mother or of father, + But watched me early and late + With kind suspicious cares: + Or not suspicious, rather + Anxious, as if she knew + Some secret I might gather + And smart for unawares. + Thus I grew. + + But Nurse waxed old and gray, + Bent and weak with years. + There came a certain day + That she lay upon her bed + Shaking her palsied head, + With words she gasped to say + Which had to stay unsaid. + Then with a jerking hand + Held out so piteously + She gave a ring to me + Of gold wrought curiously, + A ring which she had worn + Since the day that I was born, + She once had said to me: + I slipped it on my finger; + Her eyes were keen to linger + On my hand that slipped it on; + Then she sighed one rattling sigh + And stared on with sightless eye:-- + The one who loved me was gone. + + How long I stayed alone + With the corpse I never knew, + For I fainted dead as stone: + When I came to life once more + I was down upon the floor, + With neighbors making ado + To bring me back to life. + I heard the sexton's wife + Say: "Up, my lad, and run + To tell it at the Hall; + She was my Lady's nurse, + And done can't be undone. + I'll watch by this poor lamb. + I guess my Lady's purse + Is always open to such: + I'd run up on my crutch + A cripple as I am," + (For cramps had vexed her much,) + "Rather than this dear heart + Lack one to take her part." + + For days, day after day, + On my weary bed I lay, + Wishing the time would pass; + O, so wishing that I was + Likely to pass away: + For the one friend whom I knew + Was dead, I knew no other, + Neither father nor mother; + And I, what should I do? + + One day the sexton's wife + Said: "Rouse yourself, my dear: + My Lady has driven down + From the Hall into the town, + And we think she's coming here. + Cheer up, for life is life." + + But I would not look or speak, + Would not cheer up at all. + My tears were like to fall, + So I turned round to the wall + And hid my hollow cheek, + Making as if I slept, + As silent as a stone, + And no one knew I wept. + What was my Lady to me, + The grand lady from the Hall? + She might come, or stay away, + I was sick at heart that day: + The whole world seemed to be + Nothing, just nothing to me, + For aught that I could see. + + Yet I listened where I lay: + A bustle came below, + A clear voice said: "I know; + I will see her first alone, + It may be less of a shock + If she's so weak to-day":-- + A light hand turned the lock, + A light step crossed the floor, + One sat beside my bed: + But never a word she said. + + For me, my shyness grew + Each moment more and more: + So I said never a word + And neither looked nor stirred; + I think she must have heard + My heart go pit-a-pat: + Thus I lay, my Lady sat, + More than a mortal hour + (I counted one and two + By the house-clock while I lay): + I seemed to have no power + To think of a thing to say, + Or do what I ought to do, + Or rouse myself to a choice. + + At last she said: "Margaret, + Won't you even look at me?" + A something in her voice + Forced my tears to fall at last, + Forced sobs from me thick and fast; + Something not of the past, + Yet stirring memory; + A something new, and yet + Not new, too sweet to last, + Which I never can forget. + + I turned and stared at her: + Her cheek showed hollow-pale; + Her hair like mine was fair, + A wonderful fall of hair + That screened her like a veil; + But her height was statelier, + Her eyes had depth more deep: + I think they must have had + Always a something sad, + Unless they were asleep. + + While I stared, my Lady took + My hand in her spare hand, + Jewelled and soft and grand, + And looked with a long long look + Of hunger in my face; + As if she tried to trace + Features she ought to know, + And half hoped, half feared, to find. + Whatever was in her mind + She heaved a sigh at last, + And began to talk to me. + "Your nurse was my dear nurse, + And her nursling's dear," said she: + "No one told me a word + Of her getting worse and worse, + Till her poor life was past" + (Here my Lady's tears dropped fast): + "I might have been with her, + I might have promised and heard, + But she had no comforter. + She might have told me much + Which now I shall never know, + Never, never shall know." + She sat by me sobbing so, + And seemed so woe-begone, + That I laid one hand upon + Hers with a timid touch, + Scarce thinking what I did, + Not knowing what to say: + That moment her face was hid + In the pillow close by mine, + Her arm was flung over me, + She hugged me, sobbing so + As if her heart would break, + And kissed me where I lay. + + After this she often came + To bring me fruit or wine, + Or sometimes hothouse flowers. + And at nights I lay awake + Often and often thinking + What to do for her sake. + Wet or dry it was the same: + She would come in at all hours, + Set me eating and drinking, + And say I must grow strong; + At last the day seemed long + And home seemed scarcely home + If she did not come. + + Well, I grew strong again: + In time of primroses + I went to pluck them in the lane; + In time of nestling birds + I heard them chirping round the house; + And all the herds + Were out at grass when I grew strong, + And days were waxen long, + And there was work for bees + Among the May-bush boughs, + And I had shot up tall, + And life felt after all + Pleasant, and not so long + When I grew strong. + + I was going to the Hall + To be my Lady's maid: + "Her little friend," she said to me, + "Almost her child," + She said and smiled, + Sighing painfully; + Blushing, with a second flush, + As if she blushed to blush. + + Friend, servant, child: just this + My standing at the Hall; + The other servants call me "Miss," + My Lady calls me "Margaret," + With her clear voice musical. + She never chides when I forget + This or that; she never chides. + Except when people come to stay + (And that's not often) at the Hall, + I sit with her all day + And ride out when she rides. + She sings to me and makes me sing; + Sometimes I read to her, + Sometimes we merely sit and talk. + She noticed once my ring + And made me tell its history: + That evening in our garden walk + She said she should infer + The ring had been my father's first, + Then my mother's, given for me + To the nurse who nursed + My mother in her misery, + That so quite certainly + Some one might know me, who-- + Then she was silent, and I too. + + I hate when people come: + The women speak and stare + And mean to be so civil. + This one will stroke my hair, + That one will pat my cheek + And praise my Lady's kindness, + Expecting me to speak; + I like the proud ones best + Who sit as struck with blindness, + As if I wasn't there. + But if any gentleman + Is staying at the Hall + (Though few come prying here), + My Lady seems to fear + Some downright dreadful evil, + And makes me keep my room + As closely as she can: + So I hate when people come, + It is so troublesome. + In spite of all her care, + Sometimes to keep alive + I sometimes do contrive + To get out in the grounds + For a whiff of wholesome air, + Under the rose you know: + It's charming to break bounds, + Stolen waters are sweet, + And what's the good of feet + If for days they mustn't go? + Give me a longer tether, + Or I may break from it. + + Now I have eyes and ears + And just some little wit: + "Almost my lady's child"; + I recollect she smiled, + Sighed and blushed together; + Then her story of the ring + Sounds not improbable, + She told it me so well + It seemed the actual thing:-- + O keep your counsel close, + But I guess under the rose, + In long past summer weather + When the world was blossoming, + And the rose upon its thorn: + I guess not who he was + Flawed honor like a glass + And made my life forlorn; + But my Mother, Mother, Mother, + O, I know her from all other. + + My Lady, you might trust + Your daughter with your fame. + Trust me, I would not shame + Our honorable name, + For I have noble blood + Though I was bred in dust + And brought up in the mud. + I will not press my claim, + Just leave me where you will: + But you might trust your daughter, + For blood is thicker than water + And you're my mother still. + + So my Lady holds her own + With condescending grace, + And fills her lofty place + With an untroubled face + As a queen may fill a throne. + While I could hint a tale + (But then I am her child) + Would make her quail; + Would set her in the dust, + Lorn with no comforter, + Her glorious hair defiled + And ashes on her cheek: + The decent world would thrust + Its finger out at her, + Not much displeased I think + To make a nine days' stir; + The decent world would sink + Its voice to speak of her. + + Now this is what I mean + To do, no more, no less: + Never to speak, or show + Bare sign of what I know. + Let the blot pass unseen; + Yea, let her never guess + I hold the tangled clew + She huddles out of view. + Friend, servant, almost child, + So be it and nothing more + On this side of the grave. + Mother, in Paradise, + You'll see with clearer eyes; + Perhaps in this world even + When you are like to die + And face to face with Heaven + You'll drop for once the lie: + But you must drop the mask, not I. + + My Lady promises + Two hundred pounds with me + Whenever I may wed + A man she can approve: + And since besides her bounty + I'm fairest in the county + (For so I've heard it said, + Though I don't vouch for this), + Her promised pounds may move + Some honest man to see + My virtues and my beauties; + Perhaps the rising grazier, + Or temperance publican, + May claim my wifely duties. + Meanwhile I wait their leisure + And grace-bestowing pleasure, + I wait the happy man; + But if I hold my head + And pitch my expectations + Just higher than their level, + They must fall back on patience: + I may not mean to wed, + Yet I'll be civil. + + Now sometimes in a dream + My heart goes out of me + To build and scheme, + Till I sob after things that seem + So pleasant in a dream: + A home such as I see + My blessed neighbors live in + With father and with mother, + All proud of one another, + Named by one common name, + From baby in the bud + To full-blown workman father; + It's little short of Heaven. + I'd give my gentle blood + To wash my special shame + And drown my private grudge; + I'd toil and moil much rather + The dingiest cottage drudge + Whose mother need not blush, + Than live here like a lady + And see my Mother flush + And hear her voice unsteady + Sometimes, yet never dare + Ask to share her care. + + Of course the servants sneer + Behind my back at me; + Of course the village girls, + Who envy me my curls + And gowns and idleness, + Take comfort in a jeer; + Of course the ladies guess + Just so much of my history + As points the emphatic stress + With which they laud my Lady; + The gentlemen who catch + A casual glimpse of me + And turn again to see, + Their valets on the watch + To speak a word with me, + All know and sting me wild; + Till I am almost ready + To wish that I were dead, + No faces more to see, + No more words to be said, + My Mother safe at last + Disburdened of her child, + And the past past. + + "All equal before God,"-- + Our Rector has it so, + And sundry sleepers nod: + It may be so; I know + All are not equal here, + And when the sleepers wake + They make a difference. + "All equal in the grave,"-- + That shows an obvious sense: + Yet something which I crave + Not death itself brings near; + How should death half atone + For all my past; or make + The name I bear my own? + + I love my dear old Nurse + Who loved me without gains; + I love my mistress even, + Friend, Mother, what you will: + But I could almost curse + My Father for his pains; + And sometimes at my prayer, + Kneeling in sight of Heaven, + I almost curse him still: + Why did he set his snare + To catch at unaware + My Mother's foolish youth; + Load me with shame that's hers, + And her with something worse, + A lifelong lie for truth? + + I think my mind is fixed + On one point and made up: + To accept my lot unmixed; + Never to drug the cup + But drink it by myself. + I'll not be wooed for pelf; + I'll not blot out my shame + With any man's good name; + But nameless as I stand, + My hand is my own hand, + And nameless as I came + I go to the dark land. + + "All equal in the grave,"-- + I bide my time till then: + "All equal before God,"-- + To-day I feel His rod, + To-morrow He may save: + Amen. + + + + SONG. + + + Oh what comes over the sea, + Shoals and quicksands past; + And what comes home to me, + Sailing slow, sailing fast? + + A wind comes over the sea + With a moan in its blast; + But nothing comes home to me, + Sailing slow, sailing fast. + + Let me be, let me be, + For my lot is cast: + Land or sea all's one to me, + And sail it slow or fast. + + + + BY THE SEA. + + + Why does the sea moan evermore? + Shut out from heaven it makes its moan. + It frets against the boundary shore; + All earth's full rivers cannot fill + The sea, that drinking thirsteth still. + + Sheer miracles of loveliness + Lie hid in its unlooked-on bed: + Anemones, salt, passionless, + Blow flower-like; just enough alive + To blow and multiply and thrive. + + Shells quaint with curve, or spot, or spike, + Encrusted live things argus-eyed, + All fair alike, yet all unlike, + Are born without a pang, and die + Without a pang,--and so pass by. + + + + DAYS OF VANITY. + + + A dream that waketh, + Bubble that breaketh, + Song whose burden sigheth, + A passing breath, + Smoke that vanisheth,-- + Such is life that dieth. + + A flower that fadeth, + Fruit the tree sheddeth, + Trackless bird that flieth, + Summer time brief, + Falling of the leaf,-- + Such is life that dieth. + + A scent exhaling, + Snow waters failing, + Morning dew that drieth, + A windy blast, + Lengthening shadows cast,-- + Such is life that dieth. + + A scanty measure, + Rust-eaten treasure, + Spending that nought buyeth, + Moth on the wing, + Toil unprofiting,-- + Such is life that dieth. + + Morrow by morrow + Sorrow breeds sorrow, + For this my song sigheth; + From day to night + We lapse out of sight,-- + Such is life that dieth. + + + + ENRICA, 1865. + + + She came among us from the South + And made the North her home awhile + Our dimness brightened in her smile, + Our tongue grew sweeter in her mouth. + + We chilled beside her liberal glow, + She dwarfed us by her ampler scale, + Her full-blown blossom made us pale, + She summer-like and we like snow. + + We Englishwomen, trim, correct, + All minted in the self-same mould, + Warm-hearted but of semblance cold, + All-courteous out of self-respect. + + She woman in her natural grace, + Less trammelled she by lore of school, + Courteous by nature not by rule, + Warm-hearted and of cordial face. + + So for awhile she made her home + Among us in the rigid North, + She who from Italy came forth + And scaled the Alps and crossed the foam. + + But if she found us like our sea, + Of aspect colourless and chill, + Rock-girt; like it she found us still + Deep at our deepest, strong and free. + + + + ONCE FOR ALL. + + (Margaret.) + + + I said: This is a beautiful fresh rose. + I said: I will delight me with its scent, + Will watch its lovely curve of languishment, + Will watch its leaves unclose, its heart unclose. + I said: Old Earth has put away her snows, + All living things make merry to their bent, + A flower is come for every flower that went + In autumn; the sun glows, the south wind blows. + So walking in a garden of delight + I came upon one sheltered shadowed nook + Where broad leaf shadows veiled the day with night, + And there lay snow unmelted by the sun:-- + I answered: Take who will the path I took, + Winter nips once for all; love is but one. + + + + AUTUMN VIOLETS. + + + Keep love for youth, and violets for the spring: + Or if these bloom when worn-out autumn grieves, + Let them lie hid in double shade of leaves, + Their own, and others dropped down withering; + For violets suit when home birds build and sing, + Not when the outbound bird a passage cleaves; + Not with dry stubble of mown harvest sheaves, + But when the green world buds to blossoming. + Keep violets for the spring, and love for youth, + Love that should dwell with beauty, mirth, and hope: + Or if a later sadder love be born, + Let this not look for grace beyond its scope, + But give itself, nor plead for answering truth-- + A grateful Ruth tho' gleaning scanty corn. + + + + "THEY DESIRE A BETTER COUNTRY." + + + I. + + I would not if I could undo my past, + Tho' for its sake my future is a blank; + My past for which I have myself to thank, + For all its faults and follies first and last. + I would not cast anew the lot once cast, + Or launch a second ship for one that sank, + Or drug with sweets the bitterness I drank, + Or break by feasting my perpetual fast. + I would not if I could: for much more dear + Is one remembrance than a hundred joys, + More than a thousand hopes in jubilee; + Dearer the music of one tearful voice + That unforgotten calls and calls to me, + "Follow me here, rise up, and follow here." + + + II. + + What seekest thou, far in the unknown land? + In hope I follow joy gone on before; + In hope and fear persistent more and more, + As the dry desert lengthens out its sand. + Whilst day and night I carry in my hand + The golden key to ope the golden door + Of golden home; yet mine eye weepeth sore, + For long the journey is that makes no stand. + And who is this that veiled doth walk with thee? + Lo, this is Love that walketh at my right; + One exile holds us both, and we are bound + To selfsame home-joys in the land of light. + Weeping thou walkest with him; weepeth he?-- + Some sobbing weep, some weep and make no sound. + + + III. + + A dimness of a glory glimmers here + Thro' veils and distance from the space remote, + A faintest far vibration of a note + Reaches to us and seems to bring us near; + Causing our face to glow with braver cheer, + Making the serried mist to stand afloat, + Subduing languor with an antidote, + And strengthening love almost to cast out fear: + Till for one moment golden city walls + Rise looming on us, golden walls of home, + Light of our eyes until the darkness falls; + Then thro' the outer darkness burdensome + I hear again the tender voice that calls, + "Follow me hither, follow, rise, and come." + + + + A GREEN CORNFIELD. + + "And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest." + + + The earth was green, the sky was blue: + I saw and heard one sunny morn + A skylark hang between the two, + A singing speck above the corn; + + A stage below, in gay accord, + White butterflies danced on the wing, + And still the singing skylark soared + And silent sank, and soared to sing. + + The cornfield stretched a tender green + To right and left beside my walks; + I knew he had a nest unseen + Somewhere among the million stalks: + + And as I paused to hear his song + While swift the sunny moments slid, + Perhaps his mate sat listening long, + And listened longer than I did. + + + + A BRIDE SONG. + + + Through the vales to my love! + To the happy small nest of home + Green from basement to roof; + Where the honey-bees come + To the window-sill flowers, + And dive from above, + Safe from the spider that weaves + Her warp and her woof + In some outermost leaves. + + Through the vales to my love! + In sweet April hours + All rainbows and showers, + While dove answers dove,-- + In beautiful May, + When the orchards are tender + And frothing with flowers,-- + In opulent June, + When the wheat stands up slender + By sweet-smelling hay, + And half the sun's splendour + Descends to the moon. + + Through the vales to my love! + Where the turf is so soft to the feet, + And the thyme makes it sweet, + And the stately foxglove + Hangs silent its exquisite bells; + And where water wells + The greenness grows greener, + And bulrushes stand + Round a lily to screen her. + + Nevertheless, if this land, + Like a garden to smell and to sight, + Were turned to a desert of sand, + Stripped bare of delight, + All its best gone to worst, + For my feet no repose, + No water to comfort my thirst, + And heaven like a furnace above,-- + The desert would be + As gushing of waters to me, + The wilderness be as a rose, + If it led me to thee, + O my love! + + + + THE LOWEST ROOM. + + + Like flowers sequestered from the sun + And wind of summer, day by day + I dwindled paler, whilst my hair + Showed the first tinge of grey. + + "Oh, what is life, that we should live? + Or what is death, that we must die? + A bursting bubble is our life: + I also, what am I?" + + "What is your grief? now tell me, sweet, + That I may grieve," my sister said; + And stayed a white embroidering hand + And raised a golden head: + + Her tresses showed a richer mass, + Her eyes looked softer than my own, + Her figure had a statelier height, + Her voice a tenderer tone. + + "Some must be second and not first; + All cannot be the first of all: + Is not this, too, but vanity? + I stumble like to fall. + + "So yesterday I read the acts + Of Hector and each clangorous king + With wrathful great Æacides:-- + Old Homer leaves a sting." + + The comely face looked up again, + The deft hand lingered on the thread + "Sweet, tell me what is Homer's sting, + Old Homer's sting?" she said. + + "He stirs my sluggish pulse like wine, + He melts me like the wind of spice, + Strong as strong Ajax' red right hand, + And grand like Juno's eyes. + + "I cannot melt the sons of men, + I cannot fire and tempest-toss:-- + Besides, those days were golden days, + Whilst these are days of dross." + + She laughed a feminine low laugh, + Yet did not stay her dexterous hand: + "Now tell me of those days," she said, + "When time ran golden sand." + + "Then men were men of might and right, + Sheer might, at least, and weighty swords; + Then men in open blood and fire + Bore witness to their words,-- + + "Crest-rearing kings with whistling spears; + But if these shivered in the shock + They wrenched up hundred-rooted trees, + Or hurled the effacing rock. + + "Then hand to hand, then foot to foot, + Stern to the death-grip grappling then, + Who ever thought of gunpowder + Amongst these men of men? + + "They knew whose hand struck home the death, + They knew who broke but would not bend, + Could venerate an equal foe + And scorn a laggard friend. + + "Calm in the utmost stress of doom, + Devout toward adverse powers above, + They hated with intenser hate + And loved with fuller love. + + "Then heavenly beauty could allay + As heavenly beauty stirred the strife: + By them a slave was worshipped more + Than is by us a wife." + + She laughed again, my sister laughed; + Made answer o'er the laboured cloth: + "I rather would be one of us + Than wife, or slave, or both." + + "Oh better then be slave or wife + Than fritter now blank life away: + Then night had holiness of night, + And day was sacred day. + + "The princess laboured at her loom, + Mistress and handmaiden alike; + Beneath their needles grew the field + With warriors armed to strike. + + "Or, look again, dim Dian's face + Gleamed perfect through the attendant night: + Were such not better than those holes + Amid that waste of white? + + "A shame it is, our aimless life; + I rather from my heart would feed + From silver dish in gilded stall + With wheat and wine the steed-- + + "The faithful steed that bore my lord + In safety through the hostile land, + The faithful steed that arched his neck + To fondle with my hand." + + Her needle erred; a moment's pause, + A moment's patience, all was well. + Then she: "But just suppose the horse, + Suppose the rider fell? + + "Then captive in an alien house, + Hungering on exile's bitter bread,-- + They happy, they who won the lot + Of sacrifice," she said. + + Speaking she faltered, while her look + Showed forth her passion like a glass: + With hand suspended, kindling eye, + Flushed cheek, how fair she was! + + "Ah well, be those the days of dross; + This, if you will, the age of gold: + Yet had those days a spark of warmth, + While these are somewhat cold-- + + "Are somewhat mean and cold and slow, + Are stunted from heroic growth: + We gain but little when we prove + The worthlessness of both." + + "But life is in our hands," she said; + "In our own hands for gain or loss: + Shall not the Sevenfold Sacred Fire + Suffice to purge our dross? + + "Too short a century of dreams, + One day of work sufficient length: + Why should not you, why should not I, + Attain heroic strength? + + "Our life is given us as a blank, + Ourselves must make it blest or curst: + Who dooms me I shall only be + The second, not the first? + + "Learn from old Homer, if you will, + Such wisdom as his books have said: + In one the acts of Ajax shine, + In one of Diomed. + + "Honoured all heroes whose high deeds + Through life, through death, enlarge their span + Only Achilles in his rage + And sloth is less than man." + + "Achilles only less than man? + He less than man who, half a god, + Discomfited all Greece with rest, + Cowed Ilion with a nod? + + "He offered vengeance, lifelong grief + To one dear ghost, uncounted price: + Beasts, Trojans, adverse gods, himself, + Heaped up the sacrifice. + + "Self-immolated to his friend, + Shrined in world's wonder, Homer's page, + Is this the man, the less than men + Of this degenerate age?" + + "Gross from his acorns, tusky boar + Does memorable acts like his; + So for her snared offended young + Bleeds the swart lioness." + + But here she paused; our eyes had met, + And I was whitening with the jeer; + She rose: "I went too far," she said; + Spoke low: "Forgive me, dear. + + "To me our days seem pleasant days, + Our home a haven of pure content; + Forgive me if I said too much, + So much more than I meant. + + "Homer, though greater than his gods, + With rough-hewn virtues was sufficed + And rough-hewn men: but what are such + To us who learn of Christ?" + + The much-moved pathos of her voice, + Her almost tearful eyes, her cheek + Grown pale, confessed the strength of love + Which only made her speak. + + For mild she was, of few soft words, + Most gentle, easy to be led, + Content to listen when I spoke, + And reverence what I said: + + I elder sister by six years; + Not half so glad, or wise, or good: + Her words rebuked my secret self + And shamed me where I stood. + + She never guessed her words reproved + A silent envy nursed within, + A selfish, souring discontent + Pride-born, the devil's sin. + + I smiled, half bitter, half in jest: + "The wisest man of all the wise + Left for his summary of life + 'Vanity of vanities.' + + "Beneath the sun there's nothing new: + Men flow, men ebb, mankind flows on: + If I am wearied of my life, + Why, so was Solomon. + + "Vanity of vanities he preached + Of all he found, of all he sought: + Vanity of vanities, the gist + Of all the words he taught. + + "This in the wisdom of the world, + In Homer's page, in all, we find: + As the sea is not filled, so yearns + Man's universal mind. + + "This Homer felt, who gave his men + With glory but a transient state: + His very Jove could not reverse + Irrevocable fate. + + "Uncertain all their lot save this-- + Who wins must lose, who lives must die: + All trodden out into the dark + Alike, all vanity." + + She scarcely answered when I paused, + But rather to herself said: "One + Is here," low-voiced and loving, "Yea, + Greater than Solomon." + + So both were silent, she and I: + She laid her work aside, and went + Into the garden-walks, like spring, + All gracious with content: + + A little graver than her wont, + Because her words had fretted me; + Not warbling quite her merriest tune + Bird-like from tree to tree. + + I chose a book to read and dream: + Yet half the while with furtive eyes + Marked how she made her choice of flowers + Intuitively wise, + + And ranged them with instinctive taste + Which all my books had failed to teach; + Fresh rose herself, and daintier + Than blossom of the peach. + + By birthright higher than myself, + Though nestling of the self-same nest: + No fault of hers, no fault of mine, + But stubborn to digest. + + I watched her, till my book unmarked + Slid noiseless to the velvet floor; + Till all the opulent summer-world + Looked poorer than before. + + Just then her busy fingers ceased, + Her fluttered colour went and came: + I knew whose step was on the walk, + Whose voice would name her name. + + * * * * * + + Well, twenty years have passed since then: + My sister now, a stately wife + Still fair, looks back in peace and sees + The longer half of life-- + + The longer half of prosperous life, + With little grief, or fear, or fret: + She, loved and loving long ago, + Is loved and loving yet. + + A husband honourable, brave, + Is her main wealth in all the world: + And next to him one like herself, + One daughter golden-curled: + + Fair image of her own fair youth, + As beautiful and as serene, + With almost such another love + As her own love has been. + + Yet, though of world-wide charity, + And in her home most tender dove, + Her treasure and her heart are stored + In the home-land of love. + + She thrives, God's blessed husbandry; + Most like a vine which full of fruit + Doth cling and lean and climb toward heaven, + While earth still binds its root. + + I sit and watch my sister's face: + How little altered since the hours + When she, a kind, light-hearted girl, + Gathered her garden flowers: + + Her song just mellowed by regret + For having teased me with her talk; + Then all-forgetful as she heard + One step upon the walk. + + While I? I sat alone and watched; + My lot in life, to live alone + In mine own world of interests, + Much felt, but little shown. + + Not to be first: how hard to learn + That lifelong lesson of the past; + Line graven on line and stroke on stroke: + But, thank God, learned at last. + + So now in patience I possess + My soul year after tedious year, + Content to take the lowest place, + The place assigned me here. + + Yet sometimes, when I feel my strength + Most weak, and life most burdensome, + I lift mine eyes up to the hills + From whence my help shall come: + + Yea, sometimes still I lift my heart + To the Archangelic trumpet-burst, + When all deep secrets shall be shown, + And many last be first. + + + + DEAD HOPE. + + + Hope new born one pleasant morn + Died at even; + Hope dead lives nevermore, + No, not in heaven. + + If his shroud were but a cloud + To weep itself away; + Or were he buried underground + To sprout some day! + But dead and gone is dead and gone + Vainly wept upon. + + Nought we place above his face + To mark the spot, + But it shows a barren place + In our lot. + + + + A DAUGHTER OF EVE. + + + A fool I was to sleep at noon, + And wake when night is chilly + Beneath the comfortless cold moon; + A fool to pluck my rose too soon, + A fool to snap my lily. + + My garden-plot I have not kept; + Faded and all-forsaken, + I weep as I have never wept: + Oh it was summer when I slept, + It's winter now I waken. + + Talk what you please of future spring + And sun-warmed sweet to-morrow:-- + Stripped bare of hope and every thing, + No more to laugh, no more to sing, + I sit alone with sorrow. + + + + VENUS' LOOKING-GLASS. + + + I marked where lovely Venus and her court + With song and dance and merry laugh went by; + Weightless, their wingless feet seemed made to fly, + Bound from the ground and in mid air to sport. + Left far behind I heard the dolphins snort, + Tracking their goddess with a wistful eye, + Around whose head white doves rose, wheeling high + Or low, and cooed after their tender sort. + All this I saw in spring. Through summer heat + I saw the lovely Queen of Love no more. + But when flushed autumn through the woodlands went + I spied sweet Venus walk amid the wheat: + Whom seeing, every harvester gave o'er + His toil, and laughed and hoped and was content. + + + + LOVE LIES BLEEDING. + + + Love that is dead and buried, yesterday + Out of his grave rose up before my face, + No recognition in his look, no trace + Of memory in his eyes dust-dimmed and grey. + While I, remembering, found no word to say, + But felt my quickened heart leap in its place; + Caught afterglow thrown back from long set days, + Caught echoes of all music passed away. + Was this indeed to meet?--I mind me yet + In youth we met when hope and love were quick, + We parted with hope dead, but love alive: + I mind me how we parted then heart sick, + Remembering, loving, hopeless, weak to strive:-- + Was this to meet? Not so, we have not met. + + + + BIRD RAPTURES. + + + The sunrise wakes the lark to sing, + The moonrise wakes the nightingale. + Come darkness, moonrise, every thing + That is so silent, sweet, and pale: + Come, so ye wake the nightingale. + + Make haste to mount, thou wistful moon, + Make haste to wake the nightingale: + Let silence set the world in tune + To hearken to that wordless tale + Which warbles from the nightingale + + O herald skylark, stay thy flight + One moment, for a nightingale + Floods us with sorrow and delight. + To-morrow thou shalt hoist the sail; + Leave us to-night the nightingale. + + + + MY FRIEND. + + + Two days ago with dancing glancing hair, + With living lips and eyes: + Now pale, dumb, blind, she lies; + So pale, yet still so fair. + + We have not left her yet, not yet alone; + But soon must leave her where + She will not miss our care, + Bone of our bone. + + Weep not; O friends, we should not weep: + Our friend of friends lies full of rest; + No sorrow rankles in her breast, + Fallen fast asleep. + + She sleeps below, + She wakes and laughs above; + To-day, as she walked, let us walk in love, + To-morrow follow so. + + + + TWILIGHT NIGHT. + + + I. + + We met, hand to hand, + We clasped hands close and fast, + As close as oak and ivy stand; + But it is past: + Come day, come night, day comes at last. + + We loosed hand from hand, + We parted face from face; + Each went his way to his own land + At his own pace: + Each went to fill his separate place. + + If we should meet one day, + If both should not forget. + We shall clasp hands the accustomed way, + As when we met + So long ago, as I remember yet. + + II. + + Where my heart is (wherever that may be) + Might I but follow! + If you fly thither over heath and lea, + O honey-seeking bee, + O careless swallow! + Bid some for whom I watch keep watch for me + + Alas! that we must dwell, my heart and I, + So far asunder. + Hours wax to days, and days and days creep by; + I watch with wistful eye, + I wait and wonder: + When will that day draw nigh--that hour draw nigh? + + Not yesterday, and not I think to-day; + Perhaps to-morrow. + Day after day "to-morrow," thus I say: + I watched so yesterday + In hope and sorrow, + Again to-day I watch the accustomed way. + + + + A BIRD SONG. + + + It's a year almost that I have not seen her: + Oh, last summer green things were greener, + Brambles fewer, the blue sky bluer. + + It's surely summer, for there's a swallow: + Come one swallow, his mate will follow, + The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken. + + Oh happy swallow whose mate will follow + O'er height, o'er hollow! I'd be a swallow, + To build this weather one nest together. + + + + A SMILE AND A SIGH. + + + A smile because the nights are short! + And every morning brings such pleasure + Of sweet love-making, harmless sport: + Love that makes and finds its treasure; + Love, treasure without measure. + + A sigh because the days are long! + Long, long these days that pass in sighing, + A burden saddens every song: + While time lags which should be flying, + We live who would be dying. + + + + +DEVOTIONAL PIECES. + + + + + AMOR MUNDI. + + + "O where are you going with your love-locks flowing, + On the west wind blowing along this valley track?" + "The downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye, + We shall escape the uphill by never turning back." + + So they two went together in glowing August weather, + The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right; + And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float on + The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight. + + "Oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven, + Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?" + "Oh, that's a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous, + An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt." + + "Oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly, + Their scent comes rich and sickly?"--"A scaled and hooded worm." + "Oh, what's that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?" + "Oh, that's a thin dead body which waits the eternal term." + + "Turn again, O my sweetest,--turn again, false and fleetest: + This beaten way thou beatest I fear is hell's own track." + "Nay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting: + This downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back." + + + + A CHRISTMAS CAROL. + + + In the bleak mid-winter + Frosty wind made moan, + Earth stood hard as iron, + Water like a stone; + Snow had fallen, snow on snow, + Snow on snow, + In the bleak mid-winter + Long ago. + + Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him + Nor earth sustain; + Heaven and earth shall flee away + When He comes to reign: + In the bleak mid-winter + A stable-place sufficed + The Lord God Almighty + Jesus Christ. + + Enough for Him whom cherubim + Worship night and day, + A breastful of milk + And a mangerful of hay; + Enough for Him whom angels + Fall down before, + The ox and ass and camel + Which adore. + + Angels and archangels + May have gathered there, + Cherubim and seraphim + Throng'd the air, + But only His mother + In her maiden bliss + Worshipped her Beloved + With a kiss. + + What can I give Him, + Poor as I am? + If I were a shepherd + I would bring a lamb, + If I were a wise man + I would do my part,-- + Yet what I can I give Him, + Give my heart. + + + + BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON. + + B.C. 570. + + + Here, where I dwell, I waste to skin and bone; + The curse is come upon me, and I waste + In penal torment powerless to atone. + The curse is come on me, which makes no haste + And doth not tarry, crushing both the proud + Hard man and him the sinner double-faced. + Look not upon me, for my soul is bowed + Within me, as my body in this mire; + My soul crawls dumb-struck, sore bestead and cowed + As Sodom and Gomorrah scourged by fire, + As Jericho before God's trumpet-peal, + So we the elect ones perish in His ire. + Vainly we gird on sackcloth, vainly kneel + With famished faces toward Jerusalem: + His heart is shut against us not to feel, + His ears against our cry He shutteth them, + His hand He shorteneth that He will not save, + His law is loud against us to condemn: + And we, as unclean bodies in the grave + Inheriting corruption and the dark, + Are outcast from His presence which we crave. + Our Mercy hath departed from His Ark, + Our Glory hath departed from His rest, + Our Shield hath left us naked as a mark + Unto all pitiless eyes made manifest. + Our very Father hath forsaken us, + Our God hath cast us from Him: we oppress'd + Unto our foes are even marvellous, + A hissing and a butt for pointing hands, + Whilst God Almighty hunts and grinds us thus; + For He hath scattered us in alien lands, + Our priests, our princes, our anointed king, + And bound us hand and foot with brazen bands. + Here while I sit, my painful heart takes wing + Home to the home-land I may see no more, + Where milk and honey flow, where waters spring + And fail not, where I dwelt in days of yore + Under my fig-tree and my fruitful vine, + There where my parents dwelt at ease before: + Now strangers press the olives that are mine, + Reap all the corners of my harvest-field, + And make their fat hearts wanton with my wine; + To them my trees, to them my gardens yield + Their sweets and spices and their tender green, + O'er them in noontide heat outspread their shield. + Yet these are they whose fathers had not been + Housed with my dogs; whom hip and thigh we smote + And with their blood washed their pollutions clean, + Purging the land which spewed them from its throat; + Their daughters took we for a pleasant prey, + Choice tender ones on whom the fathers dote: + Now they in turn have led our own away; + Our daughters and our sisters and our wives + Sore weeping as they weep who curse the day, + To live, remote from help, dishonoured lives, + Soothing their drunken masters with a song, + Or dancing in their golden tinkling gyves-- + Accurst if they remember through the long + Estrangement of their exile, twice accursed + If they forget and join the accursèd throng. + How doth my heart that is so wrung not burst + When I remember that my way was plain, + And that God's candle lit me at the first, + Whilst now I grope in darkness, grope in vain, + Desiring but to find Him Who is lost, + To find him once again, but once again! + His wrath came on us to the uttermost, + His covenanted and most righteous wrath. + Yet this is He of Whom we made our boast, + Who lit the Fiery Pillar in our path, + Who swept the Red Sea dry before our feet, + Who in His jealousy smote kings, and hath + Sworn once to David: One shall fill thy seat + Born of thy body, as the sun and moon + 'Stablished for aye in sovereignty complete. + O Lord, remember David, and that soon. + The Glory hath departed, Ichabod! + Yet now, before our sun grow dark at noon, + Before we come to nought beneath Thy rod, + Before we go down quick into the pit, + Remember us for good, O God, our God:-- + Thy Name will I remember, praising it, + Though Thou forget me, though Thou hide Thy face, + And blot me from the Book which Thou hast writ; + Thy Name will I remember in my praise + And call to mind Thy faithfulness of old, + Though as a weaver Thou cut off my days + And end me as a tale ends that is told. + + + + PARADISE. + + + Once in a dream I saw the flowers + That bud and bloom in Paradise; + More fair they are than waking eyes + Have seen in all this world of ours. + And faint the perfume-bearing rose, + And faint the lily on its stem, + And faint the perfect violet + Compared with them. + + I heard the songs of Paradise: + Each bird sat singing in his place; + A tender song so full of grace + It soared like incense to the skies. + Each bird sat singing to his mate + Soft-cooing notes among the trees: + The nightingale herself were cold + To such as these. + + I saw the fourfold River flow, + And deep it was, with golden sand; + It flowed between a mossy land + With murmured music grave and low. + It hath refreshment for all thirst, + For fainting spirits strength and rest; + Earth holds not such a draught as this + From east to west. + + The Tree of Life stood budding there, + Abundant with its twelvefold fruits; + Eternal sap sustains its roots, + Its shadowing branches fill the air. + Its leaves are healing for the world, + Its fruit the hungry world can feed, + Sweeter than honey to the taste, + And balm indeed. + + I saw the gate called Beautiful; + And looked, but scarce could look within; + I saw the golden streets begin, + And outskirts of the glassy pool. + Oh harps, oh crowns of plenteous stars, + O green palm branches many-leaved-- + Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, + Nor heart conceived! + + I hope to see these things again, + But not as once in dreams by night; + To see them with my very sight, + And touch and handle and attain: + To have all Heaven beneath my feet + For narrow way that once they trod; + To have my part with all the saints, + And with my God. + + + + "I WILL LIFT UP MINE EYES UNTO THE HILLS." + + + I am pale with sick desire, + For my heart is far away + From this world's fitful fire + And this world's waning day; + In a dream it overleaps + A world of tedious ills + To where the sunshine sleeps + On the everlasting hills.-- + Say the Saints: There Angels ease us + Glorified and white. + They say: We rest in Jesus, + Where is not day or night. + + My soul saith: I have sought + For a home that is not gained, + I have spent yet nothing bought, + Have laboured but not attained; + My pride strove to mount and grow, + And hath but dwindled down; + My love sought love, and lo! + Hath not attained its crown.-- + Say the Saints: Fresh souls increase us, + None languish or recede. + They say: We love our Jesus, + And He loves us indeed. + + I cannot rise above, + I cannot rest beneath, + I cannot find out love, + Or escape from death; + Dear hopes and joys gone by + Still mock me with a name; + My best belovèd die, + And I cannot die with them.-- + Say the Saints: No deaths decrease us, + Where our rest is glorious. + They say: We live in Jesus, + Who once died for us. + + O my soul, she beats her wings + And pants to fly away + Up to immortal things + In the heavenly day: + Yet she flags and almost faints; + Can such be meant for me?-- + Come and see, say the Saints. + Saith Jesus: Come and see. + Say the Saints: His pleasures please us + Before God and the Lamb. + Come and taste My sweets, saith Jesus: + Be with Me where I am. + + + + SAINTS AND ANGELS. + + + It's oh in Paradise that I fain would be, + Away from earth and weariness and all beside; + Earth is too full of loss with its dividing sea, + But Paradise upbuilds the bower for the bride. + + Where flowers are yet in bud while the boughs are green, + I would get quit of earth and get robed for heaven; + Putting on my raiment white within the screen, + Putting on my crown of gold whose gems are seven + + Fair is the fourfold river that maketh no moan, + Fair are the trees fruit-bearing of the wood, + Fair are the gold and bdellium and the onyx stone, + And I know the gold of that land is good. + + O my love, my dove, lift up your eyes + Toward the eastern gate like an opening rose; + You and I who parted will meet in Paradise, + Pass within and sing when the gates unclose. + + This life is but the passage of a day, + This life is but a pang and all is over; + But in the life to come which fades not away + Every love shall abide and every lover. + + He who wore out pleasure and mastered all lore, + Solomon, wrote "Vanity of vanities:" + Down to death, of all that went before + In his mighty long life, the record is this. + + With loves by the hundred, wealth beyond measure, + Is this he who wrote "Vanity of vanities"? + Yea, "Vanity of vanities" he saith of pleasure, + And of all he learned set his seal to this. + + Yet we love and faint not, for our love is one, + And we hope and flag not, for our hope is sure, + Although there be nothing new beneath the sun + And no help for life and for death no cure. + + The road to death is life, the gate of life is death, + We who wake shall sleep, we shall wax who wane; + Let us not vex our souls for stoppage of a breath, + The fall of a river that turneth not again. + + Be the road short, and be the gate near,-- + Shall a short road tire, a strait gate appall? + The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, + And Paradise hath room for you and me and all. + + + + "WHEN MY HEART IS VEXED, I WILL COMPLAIN." + + + "O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me? + Me whom thou settest in a barren land, + Hungry and thirsty on the burning sand, + Hungry and thirsty where no waters be + Nor shadows of date-bearing tree:-- + O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?" + + "I came from Edom by as parched a track, + As rough a track beneath My bleeding feet. + I came from Edom seeking thee, and sweet + I counted bitterness; I turned not back + But counted life as death, and trod + The winepress all alone: and I am God." + + "Yet, Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me? + For Thou art strong to comfort: and could I + But comfort one I love, who, like to die, + Lifts feeble hands and eyes that fail to see + In one last prayer for comfort--nay, + I could not stand aside or turn away." + + "Alas! thou knowest that for thee I died + For thee I thirsted with the dying thirst; + I, Blessed, for thy sake was counted cursed, + In sight of men and angels crucified: + All this and more I bore to prove + My love, and wilt thou yet mistrust My love?" + + "Lord, I am fain to think Thou lovest me, + For Thou art all in all and I am Thine; + And lo! Thy love is better than new wine, + And I am sick of love in loving Thee. + But dost Thou love me? speak and save, + For jealousy is cruel as the grave." + + "Nay, if thy love is not an empty breath + My love is as thine own--deep answers deep. + Peace, peace: I give to my beloved sleep, + Not death but sleep, for love is strong as death: + Take patience; sweet thy sleep shall be, + Yea, thou shalt wake in Paradise with Me." + + + + AFTER COMMUNION. + + + Why should I call Thee Lord, Who art my God? + Why should I call Thee Friend, Who art my Love? + Or King, Who art my very Spouse above? + Or call Thy Sceptre on my heart Thy rod? + Lo, now Thy banner over me is love, + All heaven flies open to me at Thy nod: + For Thou hast lit Thy flame in me a clod, + Made me a nest for dwelling of Thy Dove. + What wilt Thou call me in our home above, + Who now hast called me friend? how will it be + When Thou for good wine settest forth the best? + Now Thou dost bid me come and sup with Thee, + Now Thou dost make me lean upon Thy breast: + How will it be with me in time of love? + + + + A ROSE PLANT IN JERICHO. + + + At morn I plucked a rose and gave it Thee, + A rose of joy and happy love and peace, + A rose with scarce a thorn: + But in the chillness of a second morn + My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase + Was but one thorn that wounded me. + + I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee; + And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace, + Not joy this mortal morn: + If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn, + Wilt thou not give me for my rose increase + Of gladness, and all sweets to me? + + My thorny rose, my love and pain, to Thee + I offer; and I set my heart in peace, + And rest upon my thorn: + For verily I think to-morrow morn + Shall bring me Paradise, my gift's increase, + Yea, give Thy very Self to me. + + + + WHO SHALL DELIVER ME? + + + God strengthen me to bear myself; + That heaviest weight of all to bear, + Inalienable weight of care. + + All others are outside myself; + I lock my door and bar them out, + The turmoil, tedium, gad-about. + + I lock my door upon myself, + And bar them out; but who shall wall + Self from myself, most loathed of all? + + If I could once lay down myself, + And start self-purged upon the race + That all must run! Death runs apace. + + If I could set aside myself, + And start with lightened heart upon + The road by all men overgone! + + God harden me against myself, + This coward with pathetic voice + Who craves for ease and rest and joys: + + Myself, arch-traitor to myself; + My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe, + My clog whatever road I go. + + Yet One there is can curb myself, + Can roll the strangling load from me. + Break off the yoke and set me free. + + + + +DEVOTIONAL PIECES. + + + + + DESPISED AND REJECTED. + + + My sun has set, I dwell + In darkness as a dead man out of sight; + And none remains, not one, that I should tell + To him mine evil plight + This bitter night. + I will make fast my door + That hollow friends may trouble me no more. + + "Friend, open to Me."--Who is this that calls? + Nay, I am deaf as are my walls: + Cease crying, for I will not hear + Thy cry of hope or fear. + Others were dear, + Others forsook me: what art thou indeed + That I should heed + Thy lamentable need? + Hungry should feed, + Or stranger lodge thee here? + + "Friend, My Feet bleed. + Open thy door to Me and comfort Me." + I will not open, trouble me no more. + Go on thy way footsore, + I will not rise and open unto thee. + + "Then is it nothing to thee? Open, see + Who stands to plead with thee. + Open, lest I should pass thee by, and thou + One day entreat My Face + And howl for grace, + And I be deaf as thou art now. + Open to Me." + + Then I cried out upon him: Cease, + Leave me in peace: + Fear not that I should crave + Aught thou mayst have. + Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more, + Lest I arise and chase thee from my door. + What, shall I not be let + Alone, that thou dost vex me yet? + + But all night long that voice spake urgently: + "Open to Me." + Still harping in mine ears: + "Rise, let Me in." + Pleading with tears: + "Open to Me that I may come to thee." + While the dew dropped, while the dark hours were cold: + "My Feet bleed, see My Face, + See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace, + My Heart doth bleed for thee, + Open to Me." + + So till the break of day: + Then died away + That voice, in silence as of sorrow; + Then footsteps echoing like a sigh + Passed me by, + Lingering footsteps slow to pass. + On the morrow + I saw upon the grass + Each footprint marked in blood, and on my door + The mark of blood forevermore. + + + + LONG BARREN. + + + Thou who didst hang upon a barren tree, + My God, for me; + Though I till now be barren, now at length, + Lord, give me strength + To bring forth fruit to Thee. + + Thou who didst bear for me the crown of thorn, + Spitting and scorn; + Though I till now have put forth thorns, yet now + Strengthen me Thou + That better fruit be borne. + + Thou Rose of Sharon, Cedar of broad roots, + Vine of sweet fruits, + Thou Lily of the vale with fadeless leaf, + Of thousands Chief, + Feed Thou my feeble shoots. + + + + IF ONLY. + + + If I might only love my God and die! + But now He bids me love Him and live on, + Now when the bloom of all my life is gone, + The pleasant half of life has quite gone by. + My tree of hope is lopped that spread so high, + And I forget how summer glowed and shone, + While autumn grips me with its fingers wan, + And frets me with its fitful windy sigh. + When autumn passes then must winter numb, + And winter may not pass a weary while, + But when it passes spring shall flower again: + And in that spring who weepeth now shall smile, + Yea, they shall wax who now are on the wane, + Yea, they shall sing for love when Christ shall come. + + + + DOST THOU NOT CARE? + + + I love and love not: Lord, it breaks my heart + To love and not to love. + Thou veiled within Thy glory, gone apart + Into Thy shrine, which is above, + Dost Thou not love me, Lord, or care + For this mine ill?-- + _I love thee here or there,_ + _I will accept thy broken heart, lie still._ + + Lord, it was well with me in time gone by + That cometh not again, + When I was fresh and cheerful, who but I? + I fresh, I cheerful: worn with pain + Now, out of sight and out of heart; + O Lord, how long?-- + _I watch thee as thou art,_ + _I will accept thy fainting heart, be strong._ + + "Lie still," "be strong," to-day; but, Lord, to-morrow, + What of to-morrow, Lord? + Shall there be rest from toil, be truce from sorrow, + Be living green upon the sward + Now but a barren grave to me, + Be joy for sorrow?-- + _Did I not die for thee?_ + _Do I not live for thee? leave Me to-morrow._ + + + + WEARY IN WELL-DOING. + + + I would have gone; God bade me stay: + I would have worked; God bade me rest. + He broke my will from day to day, + He read my yearnings unexpressed, + And said them nay. + + Now I would stay; God bids me go: + Now I would rest; God bids me work. + He breaks my heart tossed to and fro, + My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk + And vex it so. + + I go, Lord, where Thou sendest me; + Day after day I plod and moil: + But, Christ my God, when will it be + That I may let alone my toil + And rest with Thee? + + + + MARTYRS' SONG. + + + We meet in joy, though we part in sorrow; + We part to-night, but we meet to-morrow. + Be it flood or blood the path that's trod, + All the same it leads home to God: + Be it furnace-fire voluminous, + One like God's Son will walk with us. + + What are these that glow from afar, + These that lean over the golden bar, + Strong as the lion, pure as the dove, + With open arms and hearts of love? + They the blessed ones gone before, + They the blessed forevermore. + Out of great tribulation they went + Home to their home of Heaven-content; + Through flood, or blood, or furnace-fire, + To the rest that fulfils desire. + + What are these that fly as a cloud, + With flashing heads and faces bowed, + In their mouths a victorious psalm, + In their hands a robe and a palm? + Welcoming angels these that shine, + Your own angel, and yours, and mine; + Who have hedged us both day and night + On the left hand and on the right, + Who have watched us both night and day + Because the Devil keeps watch to slay. + + Light above light, and Bliss beyond bliss, + Whom words cannot utter, lo, Who is This? + As a King with many crowns He stands, + And our names are graven upon His hands; + As a Priest, with God-uplifted eyes, + He offers for us His Sacrifice; + As the Lamb of God for sinners slain, + That we too may live He lives again; + As our Champion behold Him stand, + Strong to save us, at God's Right Hand. + + God the Father give us grace + To walk in the light of Jesus' Face. + God the Son give us a part + In the hiding-place of Jesus' Heart: + God the Spirit so hold us up + That we may drink of Jesus' cup. + + Death is short and life is long; + Satan is strong, but Christ more strong. + At His Word, Who hath led us hither, + The Red Sea must part hither and thither. + At His Word, Who goes before us too, + Jordan must cleave to let us through. + + Yet one pang, searching and sore, + And then Heaven forevermore; + Yet one moment awful and dark, + Then safety within the Veil and the Ark; + Yet one effort by Christ His grace, + Then Christ forever face to face. + + God the Father we will adore, + In Jesus' Name, now and evermore: + God the Son we will love and thank + In this flood and on the farther bank: + God the Holy Ghost we will praise, + In Jesus' Name, through endless days: + God Almighty, God Three in One, + God Almighty, God alone. + + + + AFTER THIS THE JUDGMENT. + + + As eager home-bound traveller to the goal, + Or steadfast seeker on an unsearched main, + Or martyr panting for an aureole, + My fellow-pilgrims pass me, and attain + That hidden mansion of perpetual peace, + Where keen desire and hope dwell free from pain: + That gate stands open of perennial ease; + I view the glory till I partly long, + Yet lack the fire of love which quickens these. + O, passing Angel, speed me with a song, + A melody of heaven to reach my heart + And rouse me to the race and make me strong; + Till in such music I take up my part, + Swelling those Hallelujahs full of rest, + One, tenfold, hundred-fold, with heavenly art, + Fulfilling north and south and east and west, + Thousand, ten-thousand-fold, innumerable, + All blent in one yet each one manifest; + Each one distinguished and beloved as well + As if no second voice in earth or heaven + Were lifted up the Love of God to tell. + Ah, Love of God, which Thine Own Self hast given + To me most poor, and made me rich in love, + Love that dost pass the tenfold seven times seven. + Draw Thou mine eyes, draw Thou my heart above, + My treasure and my heart store Thou in Thee, + Brood over me with yearnings of a dove; + Be Husband, Brother, closest Friend to me; + Love me as very mother loves her son, + Her sucking firstborn fondled on her knee: + Yea, more than mother loves her little one; + For, earthly, even a mother may forget + And feel no pity for its piteous moan; + But Thou, O Love of God, remember yet, + Through the dry desert, through the waterflood + (Life, death), until the Great White Throne is set. + If now I am sick in chewing the bitter cud + Of sweet past sin, though solaced by Thy grace, + And ofttimes strengthened by Thy Flesh and Blood, + How shall I then stand up before Thy face, + When from Thine eyes repentance shall be hid, + And utmost Justice stand in Mercy's place: + When every sin I thought or spoke or did + Shall meet me at the inexorable bar, + And there be no man standing in the mid + To plead for me; while star fallen after star + With heaven and earth are like a ripened shock, + And all time's mighty works and wonders are + Consumed as in a moment; when no rock + Remains to fall on me, no tree to hide, + But I stand all creation's gazing-stock, + Exposed and comfortless on every side, + Placed trembling in the final balances + Whose poise this hour, this moment, must be tried?-- + Ah, Love of God, if greater love than this + Hath no man, that a man die for his friend, + And if such love of love Thine Own Love is, + Plead with Thyself, with me, before the end; + Redeem me from the irrevocable past; + Pitch Thou Thy Presence round me to defend; + Yea seek with piercèd feet, yea hold me fast + With piercèd hands whose wounds were made by love; + Not what I am, remember what Thou wast + When darkness hid from Thee Thy heavens above, + And sin Thy Father's Face, while Thou didst drink + The bitter cup of death, didst taste thereof + For every man; while Thou wast nigh to sink + Beneath the intense intolerable rod, + Grown sick of love; not what I am, but think + Thy Life then ransomed mine, my God, my God. + + + + GOOD FRIDAY. + + + Am I a stone and not a sheep + That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy Cross, + To number drop by drop Thy Blood's slow loss, + And yet not weep? + + Not so those women loved + Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; + Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly; + Not so the thief was moved; + + Not so the Sun and Moon + Which hid their faces in a starless sky, + A horror of great darkness at broad noon,-- + I, only I. + + Yet give not o'er, + But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; + Greater than Moses, turn and look once more + And smite a rock. + + + + THE LOWEST PLACE. + + + Give me the lowest place: not that I dare + Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died + That I might live and share + Thy glory by Thy side. + + Give me the lowest place: or if for me + That lowest place too high, make one more low + Where I may sit and see + My God and love Thee so. + + + +A PAGEANT AND OTHER POEMS. + + + Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome + Has many sonnets: so here now shall be + One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me + To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home, + To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee + I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome; + Whose service is my special dignity, + And she my loadstar while I go and come. + And so because you love me, and because + I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath + Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honored name: + In you not fourscore years can dim the flame + Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws + Of time and change and mortal life and death. + + + + THE KEY-NOTE. + + + Where are the songs I used to know, + Where are the notes I used to sing? + I have forgotten everything + I used to know so long ago; + Summer has followed after Spring; + Now Autumn is so shrunk and sere, + I scarcely think a sadder thing + Can be the Winter of my year. + + Yet Robin sings through Winter's rest, + When bushes put their berries on; + While they their ruddy jewels don, + He sings out of a ruddy breast; + The hips and haws and ruddy breast + Make one spot warm where snowflakes lie + They break and cheer the unlovely rest + Of Winter's pause--and why not I? + + + + THE MONTHS: + + A Pageant. + + + PERSONIFICATIONS. + + _Boys._ _Girls._ + January. February. + March. April. + July. May. + August. June. + October. September. + December. November. + + Robin Redbreasts; Lambs and Sheep; Nightingale and + Nestlings. + + Various Flowers, Fruits, etc. + + _Scene_: A Cottage with its Grounds. + + + [A room in a large comfortable cottage; a fire burning on + the hearth; a table on which the breakfast things have + been left standing. January discovered seated by the + fire.] + + + _January._ + + Cold the day and cold the drifted snow, + Dim the day until the cold dark night. + + [Stirs the fire. + + Crackle, sparkle, fagot; embers glow: + Some one may be plodding through the snow + Longing for a light, + For the light that you and I can show. + If no one else should come, + Here Robin Redbreast's welcome to a crumb, + And never troublesome: + Robin, why don't you come and fetch your crumb? + + + Here's butter for my hunch of bread, + And sugar for your crumb; + Here's room upon the hearthrug, + If you'll only come. + + In your scarlet waistcoat, + With your keen bright eye, + Where are you loitering? + Wings were made to fly! + + Make haste to breakfast, + Come and fetch your crumb, + For I'm as glad to see you + As you are glad to come. + + + [Two Robin Redbreasts are seen tapping with their beaks at + the lattice, which January opens. The birds flutter in, + hop about the floor, and peck up the crumbs and sugar + thrown to them. They have scarcely finished their meal, + when a knock is heard at the door. January hangs a + guard in front of the fire, and opens to February, who + appears with a bunch of snowdrops in her hand.] + + _January._ + + Good-morrow, sister. + + _February._ + + Brother, joy to you! + I've brought some snowdrops; only just a few, + But quite enough to prove the world awake, + Cheerful and hopeful in the frosty dew + And for the pale sun's sake. + + [She hands a few of her snowdrops to January, who retires + into the background. While February stands arranging + the remaining snowdrops in a glass of water on the + window-sill, a soft butting and bleating are heard outside. + She opens the door, and sees one foremost lamb, with + other sheep and lambs bleating and crowding towards + her.] + + _February._ + + O you, you little wonder, come--come in, + You wonderful, you woolly soft white lamb: + You panting mother ewe, come too, + And lead that tottering twin + Safe in: + Bring all your bleating kith and kin, + Except the horny ram. + + [February opens a second door in the background, and the + little flock files through into a warm and sheltered compartment + out of sight.] + + The lambkin tottering in its walk + With just a fleece to wear; + The snowdrop drooping on its stalk + So slender,-- + Snowdrop and lamb, a pretty pair, + Braving the cold for our delight, + Both white, + Both tender. + + [A rattling of doors and windows; branches seen without, + tossing violently to and fro.] + + How the doors rattle, and the branches sway! + Here's brother March comes whirling on his way + With winds that eddy and sing. + + [She turns the handle of the door, which bursts open, and + discloses March hastening up, both hands full of violets + and anemones.] + + _February._ + + Come, show me what you bring; + For I have said my say, fulfilled my day, + And must away. + + _March._ + + [Stopping short on the threshold.] + + I blow an arouse + Through the world's wide house + To quicken the torpid earth: + Grappling I fling + Each feeble thing, + But bring strong life to the birth. + I wrestle and frown, + And topple down; + I wrench, I rend, I uproot; + Yet the violet + Is born where I set + The sole of my flying foot, + + [Hands violets and anemones to February, who retires into + the background.] + + And in my wake + Frail wind-flowers quake, + And the catkins promise fruit. + I drive ocean ashore + With rush and roar, + And he cannot say me nay: + My harpstrings all + Are the forests tall, + Making music when I play. + And as others perforce, + So I on my course + Run and needs must run, + With sap on the mount + And buds past count + And rivers and clouds and sun, + With seasons and breath + And time and death + And all that has yet begun. + + [Before March has done speaking, a voice is heard approaching + accompanied by a twittering of birds. April comes + along singing, and stands outside and out of sight to finish + her song.] + + _April._ + + [Outside.] + + Pretty little three + Sparrows in a tree, + Light upon the wing; + Though you cannot sing + You can chirp of Spring: + Chirp of Spring to me, + Sparrows, from your tree. + + Never mind the showers, + Chirp about the flowers + While you build a nest: + Straws from east and west, + Feathers from your breast, + Make the snuggest bowers + In a world of flowers. + + You must dart away + From the chosen spray, + You intrusive third + Extra little bird; + Join the unwedded herd! + These have done with play, + And must work to-day. + + _April._ + + [Appearing at the open door.] + + Good-morrow and good-bye: if others fly, + Of all the flying months you're the most flying. + + _March._ + + You're hope and sweetness, April. + + _April._ + + Birth means dying, + As wings and wind mean flying; + So you and I and all things fly or die; + And sometimes I sit sighing to think of dying. + But meanwhile I've a rainbow in my showers, + And a lapful of flowers, + And these dear nestlings aged three hours; + And here's their mother sitting, + Their father's merely flitting + To find their breakfast somewhere in my bowers. + + [As she speaks April shows March her apron full of flowers + and nest full of birds. March wanders away into the + grounds. April, without entering the cottage, hangs over + the hungry nestlings watching them.] + + _April._ + + What beaks you have, you funny things, + What voices shrill and weak; + Who'd think that anything that sings + Could sing through such a beak? + Yet you'll be nightingales one day, + And charm the country-side, + When I'm away and far away + And May is queen and bride. + + [May arrives unperceived by April, and gives her a kiss. + April starts and looks round.] + + _April._ + + Ah May, good-morrow May, and so good-bye. + + _May._ + + That's just your way, sweet April, smile and sigh: + Your sorrow's half in fun, + Begun and done + And turned to joy while twenty seconds run. + I've gathered flowers all as I came along, + At every step a flower + Fed by your last bright shower,-- + + [She divides an armful of all sorts of flowers with April, who + strolls away through the garden.] + + _May._ + + And gathering flowers I listened to the song + Of every bird in bower. + The world and I are far too full of bliss + To think or plan or toil or care; + The sun is waxing strong, + The days are waxing long, + And all that is, + Is fair. + + Here are my buds of lily and of rose, + And here's my namesake-blossom, may; + And from a watery spot + See here forget-me-not, + With all that blows + To-day. + + Hark to my linnets from the hedges green, + Blackbird and lark and thrush and dove, + And every nightingale + And cuckoo tells its tale, + And all they mean + Is love. + + [June appears at the further end of the garden, coming slowly + towards May, who, seeing her, exclaims] + + _May._ + + Surely you're come too early, sister June. + + _June._ + + Indeed I feel as if I came too soon + To round your young May moon + And set the world a-gasping at my noon. + Yet come I must. So here are strawberries + Sun-flushed and sweet, as many as you please; + And here are full-blown roses by the score, + More roses, and yet more. + + [May, eating strawberries, withdraws among the flower beds.] + + _June._ + + The sun does all my long day's work for me, + Raises and ripens everything; + I need but sit beneath a leafy tree + And watch and sing. + + [Seats herself in the shadow of a laburnum. + + Or if I'm lulled by note of bird and bee, + Or lulled by noontide's silence deep, + I need but nestle down beneath my tree + And drop asleep. + + [June falls asleep; and is not awakened by the voice of July, + who behind the scenes is heard half singing, half calling.] + + _July._ + + [Behind the scenes.] + + Blue flags, yellow flags, flags all freckled, + Which will you take? yellow, blue, speckled! + Take which you will, speckled, blue, yellow, + Each in its way has not a fellow. + + [Enter July, a basket of many-colored irises slung upon his + shoulders, a bunch of ripe grass in one hand, and a plate + piled full of peaches balanced upon the other. He steals + up to June, and tickles her with the grass. She wakes.] + + _June._ + + What, here already? + + _July._ + + Nay, my tryst is kept; + The longest day slipped by you while you slept. + I've brought you one curved pyramid of bloom, + + [Hands her the plate. + + Not flowers, but peaches, gathered where the bees, + As downy, bask and boom + In sunshine and in gloom of trees. + But get you in, a storm is at my heels; + The whirlwind whistles and wheels, + Lightning flashes and thunder peals, + Flying and following hard upon my heels. + + [June takes shelter in a thickly-woven arbor.] + + _July._ + + The roar of a storm sweeps up + From the east to the lurid west, + The darkening sky, like a cup, + Is filled with rain to the brink; + + The sky is purple and fire, + Blackness and noise and unrest; + The earth, parched with desire, + Opens her mouth to drink. + + Send forth thy thunder and fire, + Turn over thy brimming cup, + O sky, appease the desire + Of earth in her parched unrest; + Pour out drink to her thirst, + Her famishing life lift up; + Make thyself fair as at first, + With a rainbow for thy crest. + + Have done with thunder and fire, + O sky with the rainbow crest; + O earth, have done with desire, + Drink, and drink deep, and rest. + + [Enter August, carrying a sheaf made up of different kinds of + grain.] + + _July._ + + Hail, brother August, flushed and warm + And scatheless from my storm. + Your hands are full of corn, I see, + As full as hands can be: + + And earth and air both smell as sweet as balm + In their recovered calm, + And that they owe to me. + + [July retires into a shrubbery.] + + _August._ + + Wheat sways heavy, oats are airy, + Barley bows a graceful head, + Short and small shoots up canary, + Each of these is some one's bread; + Bread for man or bread for beast, + Or at very least + A bird's savory feast. + + Men are brethren of each other, + One in flesh and one in food; + And a sort of foster brother + Is the litter, or the brood, + Of that folk in fur or feather, + Who, with men together, + Breast the wind and weather. + + [August descries September toiling across the lawn.] + + _August._ + + My harvest home is ended; and I spy + September drawing nigh + With the first thought of Autumn in her eye, + And the first sigh + Of Autumn wind among her locks that fly. + + [September arrives, carrying upon her head a basket heaped + high with fruit] + + + _September._ + + Unload me, brother. I have brought a few + Plums and these pears for you, + A dozen kinds of apples, one or two + Melons, some figs all bursting through + Their skins, and pearled with dew + These damsons violet-blue. + + [While September is speaking, August lifts the basket to the + ground, selects various fruits, and withdraws slowly along + the gravel walk, eating a pear as he goes.] + + _September._ + + My song is half a sigh + Because my green leaves die; + Sweet are my fruits, but all my leaves are dying; + And well may Autumn sigh, + And well may I + Who watch the sere leaves flying. + + My leaves that fade and fall, + I note you one and all; + I call you, and the Autumn wind is calling, + Lamenting for your fall, + And for the pall + You spread on earth in falling. + + And here's a song of flowers to suit such hours: + A song of the last lilies, the last flowers, + Amid my withering bowers. + + In the sunny garden bed + Lilies look so pale, + Lilies droop the head + In the shady grassy vale; + If all alike they pine + In shade and in shine, + If everywhere they grieve, + Where will lilies live? + + [October enters briskly, some leafy twigs bearing different + sorts of nuts in one hand, and a long ripe hop-bine trailing + after him from the other. A dahlia is stuck in his + buttonhole.] + + _October._ + + Nay, cheer up, sister. Life is not quite over, + Even if the year has done with corn and clover, + With flowers and leaves; besides, in fact it's true, + Some leaves remain and some flowers too. + For me and you. + Now see my crops: + + [Offering his produce to September. + + I've brought you nuts and hops; + And when the leaf drops, why, the walnut drops. + + + [October wreaths the hop-bine about September's neck, and + gives her the nut twigs. They enter the cottage together, + but without shutting the door. She steps into the background: + he advances to the hearth, removes the guard, + stirs up the smouldering fire, and arranges several chestnuts + ready to roast.] + + _October._ + + Crack your first nut and light your first fire, + Roast your first chestnut crisp on the bar; + Make the logs sparkle, stir the blaze higher; + Logs are cheery as sun or as star, + Logs we can find wherever we are. + + Spring one soft day will open the leaves, + Spring one bright day will lure back the flowers; + Never fancy my whistling wind grieves, + Never fancy I've tears in my showers; + Dance, nights and days! and dance on, my hours! + + [Sees November approaching. + + _October._ + + Here comes my youngest sister, looking dim + And grim, + With dismal ways. + What cheer, November? + + _November._ + + [Entering and shutting the door.] + + Nought have I to bring, + Tramping a-chill and shivering, + Except these pine-cones for a blaze,-- + Except a fog which follows, + And stuffs up all the hollows,-- + Except a hoar frost here and there,-- + Except some shooting stars + Which dart their luminous cars + Trackless and noiseless through the keen night air. + + [October, shrugging his shoulders, withdraws into the background, + while November throws her pine cones on the + fire, and sits down listlessly.] + + _November._ + + The earth lies fast asleep, grown tired + Of all that's high or deep; + There's nought desired and nought required + Save a sleep. + + I rock the cradle of the earth, + I lull her with a sigh; + And know that she will wake to mirth + By and by. + + [Through the window December is seen running and leaping + in the direction of the door. He knocks.] + + _November._ + + [Calls out without rising.] + + Ah, here's my youngest brother come at last: + Come in, December. + + [He opens the door and enters, loaded with evergreens in + berry, etc.] + + _November._ + + Come, and shut the door, + For now it's snowing fast; + It snows, and will snow more and more; + Don't let it drift in on the floor. + But you, you're all aglow; how can you be + Rosy and warm and smiling in the cold? + + _December._ + + Nay, no closed doors for me, + But open doors and open hearts and glee + To welcome young and old. + + Dimmest and brightest month am I; + My short days end, my lengthening days begin; + What matters more or less sun in the sky, + When all is sun within? + + [He begins making a wreath as he sings. + + Ivy and privet dark as night, + I weave with hips and haws a cheerful show, + And holly for a beauty and delight, + And milky mistletoe. + + While high above them all I set + Yew twigs and Christmas roses pure and pale; + Then Spring her snowdrop and her violet + May keep, so sweet and frail; + + May keep each merry singing bird, + Of all her happy birds that singing build: + For I've a carol which some shepherds heard + Once in a wintry field. + + [While December concludes his song all the other Months + troop in from the garden, or advance out of the background. + The Twelve join hands in a circle, and begin + dancing round to a stately measure as the Curtain falls.] + + + + PASTIME. + + + A boat amid the ripples, drifting, rocking, + Two idle people, without pause or aim; + While in the ominous west there gathers darkness + Flushed with flame. + + A haycock in a hayfield backing, lapping, + Two drowsy people pillowed round about; + While in the ominous west across the darkness + Flame leaps out. + + Better a wrecked life than a life so aimless, + Better a wrecked life than a life so soft; + The ominous west glooms thundering, with its fire + Lit aloft. + + + + "ITALIA, IO TI SALUTO!" + + + To come back from the sweet South, to the North + Where I was born, bred, look to die; + Come back to do my day's work in its day, + Play out my play-- + Amen, amen, say I. + + To see no more the country half my own, + Nor hear the half familiar speech, + Amen, I say; I turn to that bleak North + Whence I came forth-- + The South lies out of reach. + + But when our swallows fly back to the South, + To the sweet South, to the sweet South, + The tears may come again into my eyes + On the old wise, + And the sweet name to my mouth. + + + + MIRRORS OF LIFE AND DEATH. + + + The mystery of Life, the mystery + Of Death, I see + Darkly as in a glass; + Their shadows pass, + And talk with me. + + As the flush of a Morning Sky, + As a Morning Sky colorless-- + Each yields its measure of light + To a wet world or a dry; + Each fares through day to night + With equal pace, + And then each one + Is done. + + As the Sun with glory and grace + In his face, + Benignantly hot, + Graciously radiant and keen, + Ready to rise and to run,-- + Not without spot, + Not even the Sun. + + As the Moon + On the wax, on the wane, + With night for her noon; + Vanishing soon, + To appear again. + + As Roses that droop + Half warm, half chill, in the languid May, + And breathe out a scent + Sweet and faint; + Till the wind gives one swoop + To scatter their beauty away. + + As Lilies a multitude, + One dipping, one rising, one sinking, + On rippling waters, clear blue + And pure for their drinking; + One new dead, and one opened anew, + And all good. + + As a cankered pale Flower, + With death for a dower, + Each hour of its life half dead; + With death for a crown + Weighing down + Its head. + + As an Eagle, half strength and half grace, + Most potent to face + Unwinking the splendor of light; + Harrying the East and the West, + Soaring aloft from our sight; + Yet one day or one night dropped to rest, + On the low common earth + Of his birth. + + As a Dove, + Not alone, + In a world of her own + Full of fluttering soft noises + And tender sweet voices + Of love. + + As a Mouse + Keeping house + In the fork of a tree, + With nuts in a crevice, + And an acorn or two; + What cares he + For blossoming boughs, + Or the song-singing bevies + Of birds in their glee, + Scarlet, or golden, or blue? + + As a Mole grubbing underground; + When it comes to the light + It grubs its way back again, + Feeling no bias of fur + To hamper it in its stir, + Scant of pleasure and pain, + Sinking itself out of sight + Without sound. + + As Waters that drop and drop, + Weariness without end, + That drop and never stop, + Wear that nothing can mend, + Till one day they drop-- + Stop-- + And there's an end, + And matters mend. + + As Trees, beneath whose skin + We mark not the sap begin + To swell and rise, + Till the whole bursts out in green: + We mark the falling leaves + When the wide world grieves + And sighs. + + As a Forest on fire, + Where maddened creatures desire + Wet mud or wings + Beyond all those things + Which could assuage desire + On this side the flaming fire. + + As Wind with a sob and sigh + To which there comes no reply + But a rustle and shiver + From rushes of the river; + As Wind with a desolate moan, + Moaning on alone. + + As a Desert all sand, + Blank, neither water nor land + For solace, or dwelling, or culture, + Where the storms and the wild creatures howl; + Given over to lion and vulture, + To ostrich, and jackal, and owl: + Yet somewhere an oasis lies; + There waters arise + To nourish one seedling of balm, + Perhaps, or one palm. + + As the Sea, + Murmuring, shifting, swaying; + One time sunnily playing, + One time wrecking and slaying; + In whichever mood it be, + Worst or best, + Never at rest. + + As still Waters and deep, + As shallow Waters that brawl, + As rapid Waters that leap + To their fall. + + As Music, as Color, as Shape, + Keys of rapture and pain + Turning in vain + In a lock which turns not again, + While breaths and moments escape. + + As Spring, all bloom and desire; + As Summer, all gift and fire; + As Autumn, a dying glow; + As Winter, with nought to show: + + Winter which lays its dead all out of sight, + All clothed in white, + All waiting for the long-awaited light. + + + + A BALLAD OF BODING. + + + There are sleeping dreams and waking dreams; + What seems is not always as it seems. + + I looked out of my window in the sweet new morning, + And there I saw three barges of manifold adorning + Went sailing toward the East: + The first had sails like fire, + The next like glittering wire, + But sackcloth were the sails of the least; + And all the crews made music, and two had spread a feast. + + The first choir breathed in flutes, + And fingered soft guitars; + The second won from lutes + Harmonious chords and jars, + With drums for stormy bars: + But the third was all of harpers and scarlet trumpeters; + Notes of triumph, then + An alarm again, + As for onset, as for victory, rallies, stirs, + Peace at last and glory to the vanquishers. + + The first barge showed for figurehead a Love with wings; + The second showed for figurehead a Worm with stings; + The third, a Lily tangled to a Rose which clings. + The first bore for freight gold and spice and down; + The second bore a sword, a sceptre, and a crown; + The third, a heap of earth gone to dust and brown. + Winged Love meseemed like Folly in the face; + Stinged Worm meseemed loathly in his place; + Lily and Rose were flowers of grace. + + Merry went the revel of the fire-sailed crew, + Singing, feasting, dancing to and fro: + Pleasures ever changing, ever graceful, ever new; + Sighs, but scarce of woe; + All the sighing + Wooed such sweet replying; + All the sighing, sweet and low, + Used to come and go + For more pleasure, merely so. + Yet at intervals some one grew tired + Of everything desired, + And sank, I knew not whither, in sorry plight, + Out of sight. + + The second crew seemed ever + Wider-visioned, graver, + More distinct of purpose, more sustained of will; + With heads erect and proud, + And voices sometimes loud; + With endless tacking, counter-tacking, + All things grasping, all things lacking, + It would seem; + Ever shifting helm, or sail, or shroud, + Drifting on as in a dream. + Hoarding to their utmost bent, + Feasting to their fill, + Yet gnawed by discontent, + Envy, hatred, malice, on their road they went. + Their freight was not a treasure, + Their music not a pleasure; + The sword flashed, cleaving through their bands, + Sceptre and crown changed hands. + + The third crew as they went + Seemed mostly different; + They toiled in rowing, for to them the wind was contrary, + As all the world might see. + They labored at the oar, + While on their heads they bore + The fiery stress of sunshine more and more. + They labored at the oar hand-sore, + Till rain went splashing, + And spray went dashing, + Down on them, and up on them, more and more. + Their sails were patched and rent, + Their masts were bent, + In peril of their lives they worked and went. + For them no feast was spread, + No soft luxurious bed + Scented and white, + No crown or sceptre hung in sight; + In weariness and painfulness, + In thirst and sore distress, + They rowed and steered from left to right + With all their might. + Their trumpeters and harpers round about + Incessantly played out, + And sometimes they made answer with a shout; + But oftener they groaned or wept, + And seldom paused to eat, and seldom slept. + I wept for pity watching them, but more + I wept heart-sore + Once and again to see + Some weary man plunge overboard, and swim + To Love or Worm ship floating buoyantly: + And there all welcomed him. + + The ships steered each apart and seemed to scorn each other, + Yet all the crews were interchangeable; + Now one man, now another, + --Like bloodless spectres some, some flushed by health,-- + Changed openly, or changed by stealth, + Scaling a slippery side, and scaled it well. + The most left Love ship, hauling wealth + Up Worm ship's side; + While some few hollow-eyed + Left either for the sack-sailed boat; + But this, though not remote, + Was worst to mount, and whoso left it once + Scarce ever came again, + But seemed to loathe his erst companions, + And wish and work them bane. + + Then I knew (I know not how) there lurked quicksands full of dread, + Rocks and reefs and whirlpools in the water-bed, + Whence a waterspout + Instantaneously leaped out, + Roaring as it reared its head. + + Soon I spied a something dim, + Many-handed, grim, + That went flitting to and fro the first and second ship; + It puffed their sails full out + With puffs of smoky breath + From a smouldering lip, + And cleared the waterspout + Which reeled roaring round about + Threatening death. + With a horny hand it steered, + And a horn appeared + On its sneering head upreared + Haughty and high + Against the blackening lowering sky. + With a hoof it swayed the waves; + They opened here and there, + Till I spied deep ocean graves + Full of skeletons + That were men and women once + Foul or fair; + Full of things that creep + And fester in the deep + And never breathe the clean life-nurturing air. + + The third bark held aloof + From the Monster with the hoof, + Despite his urgent beck, + And fraught with guile + Abominable his smile; + Till I saw him take a flying leap on to that deck. + Then full of awe, + With these same eyes I saw + His head incredible retract its horn + Rounding like babe's new born, + While silvery phosphorescence played + About his dis-horned head. + The sneer smoothed from his lip, + He beamed blandly on the ship; + All winds sank to a moan, + All waves to a monotone + (For all these seemed his realm), + While he laid a strong caressing hand upon the helm. + + Then a cry well nigh of despair + Shrieked to heaven, a clamor of desperate prayer. + The harpers harped no more, + While the trumpeters sounded sore + An alarm to wake the dead from their bed: + To the rescue, to the rescue, now or never, + To the rescue, O ye living, O ye dead, + Or no more help or hope for ever!-- + The planks strained as though they must part asunder, + The masts bent as though they must dip under, + And the winds and the waves at length + Girt up their strength, + And the depths were laid bare, + And heaven flashed fire and volleyed thunder + Through the rain-choked air, + And sea and sky seemed to kiss + In the horror and the hiss + Of the whole world shuddering everywhere. + + Lo! a Flyer swooping down + With wings to span the globe, + And splendor for his robe + And splendor for his crown. + He lighted on the helm with a foot of fire, + And spun the Monster overboard: + And that monstrous thing abhorred, + Gnashing with balked desire, + Wriggled like a worm infirm + Up the Worm + Of the loathly figurehead. + There he crouched and gnashed; + And his head re-horned, and gashed + From the other's grapple, dripped bloody red. + + I saw that thing accurst + Wreak his worst + On the first and second crew: + Some with baited hook + He angled for and took, + Some dragged overboard in a net he threw, + Some he did to death + With hoof or horn or blasting breath. + + I heard a voice of wailing + Where the ships went sailing, + A sorrowful voice prevailing + Above the sound of the sea, + Above the singers' voices, + And musical merry noises; + All songs had turned to sighing, + The light was failing, + The day was dying-- + Ah me, + That such a sorrow should be! + + There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land + When Love ship went down by the bottomless quicksand + To its grave in the bitter wave. + There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land + When Worm ship went to pieces on the rock-bound strand, + And the bitter wave was its grave. + But land and sea waxed hoary + In whiteness of a glory + Never told in story + Nor seen by mortal eye, + When the third ship crossed the bar + Where whirls and breakers are, + And steered into the splendors of the sky; + That third bark and that least + Which had never seemed to feast, + Yet kept high festival above sun and moon and star. + + + + YET A LITTLE WHILE. + + + I dreamed and did not seek: to-day I seek + Who can no longer dream; + But now am all behindhand, waxen weak, + And dazed amid so many things that gleam + Yet are not what they seem. + + I dreamed and did not work: to-day I work + Kept wide awake by care + And loss, and perils dimly guessed to lurk; + I work and reap not, while my life goes bare + And void in wintry air. + + I hope indeed; but hope itself is fear + Viewed on the sunny side; + I hope, and disregard the world that's here, + The prizes drawn, the sweet things that betide; + I hope, and I abide. + + + + HE AND SHE. + + + "Should one of us remember, + And one of us forget, + I wish I knew what each will do-- + But who can tell as yet?" + + "Should one of us remember, + And one of us forget, + I promise you what I will do-- + And I'm content to wait for you, + And not be sure as yet." + + + + MONNA INNOMINATA. + + A SONNET OF SONNETS. + + + Beatrice, immortalized by "altissimo poeta ... cotanto + amante;" Laura, celebrated by a great though an inferior bard,--have + alike paid the exceptional penalty of exceptional honor, + and have come down to us resplendent with charms, but (at + least, to my apprehension) scant of attractiveness. + + These heroines of world-wide fame were preceded by a bevy + of unnamed ladies "donne innominate" sung by a school of + less conspicuous poets; and in that land and that period which + gave simultaneous birth to Catholics, to Albigenses, and to + Troubadours, one can imagine many a lady as sharing her + lover's poetic aptitude, while the barrier between them might + be one held sacred by both, yet not such as to render mutual + love incompatible with mutual honor. + + Had such a lady spoken for herself, the portrait left us might + have appeared more tender, if less dignified, than any drawn + even by a devoted friend. Or had the Great Poetess of our + own day and nation only been unhappy instead of happy, her + circumstances would have invited her to bequeath to us, in + lieu of the "Portuguese Sonnets," an inimitable "donna innominata" + drawn not from fancy but from feeling, and worthy + to occupy a niche beside Beatrice and Laura. + + + 1. + + "Lo di che han detto a' dolci amici addio."--Dante. + "Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci!"--Petrarca. + + + + Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:-- + Or come not yet, for it is over then, + And long it is before you come again, + So far between my pleasures are and few. + While, when you come not, what I do I do + Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest "when:" + For one man is my world of all the men + This wide world holds; O love, my world is you. + Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang + Because the pang of parting comes so soon; + My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon + Between the heavenly days on which we meet: + Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang + When life was sweet because you called them sweet? + + + 2. + + + "Era già l'ora che volge il desio."--Dante. + "Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima."--Petrarca. + + + I wish I could remember that first day, + First hour, first moment of your meeting me, + If bright or dim the season, it might be + Summer or Winter for aught I can say; + So unrecorded did it slip away, + So blind was I to see and to foresee, + So dull to mark the budding of my tree + That would not blossom yet for many a May. + If only I could recollect it, such + A day of days! I let it come and go + As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow; + It seemed to mean so little, meant so much; + If only now I could recall that touch, + First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know! + + + 3. + + "O ombre vane, fuor che ne l'aspetto!"--Dante. + "Immaginata guida la conduce."--Petrarca. + + + I dream of you to wake: would that I might + Dream of you and not wake but slumber on; + Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone, + As Summer ended Summer birds take flight. + In happy dreams I hold you full in sight, + I blush again who waking look so wan; + Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone, + In happy dreams your smile makes day of night. + Thus only in a dream we are at one, + Thus only in a dream we give and take + The faith that maketh rich who take or give; + If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake, + To die were surely sweeter than to live, + Though there be nothing new beneath the sun. + + + 4. + + "Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda."--Dante. + "Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore, + E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore."--Petrarca. + + + I loved you first: but afterwards your love + Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song + As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove. + Which owes the other most? my love was long, + And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong; + I loved and guessed at you, you construed me + And loved me for what might or might not be-- + Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong. + For verily love knows not "mine" or "thine;" + With separate "I" and "thou" free love has done, + For one is both and both are one in love: + Rich love knows nought of "thine that is not mine;" + Both have the strength and both the length thereof, + Both of us of the love which makes us one. + + + 5. + + "Amor che a nulla amato amar perdona."--Dante. + "Amor m'addusse in si gioiosa spene."--Petrarca. + + + O my heart's heart, and you who are to me + More than myself myself, God be with you, + Keep you in strong obedience leal and true + To Him whose noble service setteth free, + Give you all good we see or can foresee, + Make your joys many and your sorrows few, + Bless you in what you bear and what you do, + Yea, perfect you as He would have you be. + So much for you; but what for me, dear friend? + To love you without stint and all I can + To-day, to-morrow, world without an end; + To love you much and yet to love you more, + As Jordan at his flood sweeps either shore; + Since woman is the helpmeet made for man. + + + 6. + + "Or puoi la quantitate + Comprender de l'amor che a te mi scalda."--Dante. + "Non vo' che da tal nodo amor mi scioglia."--Petrarca. + + + Trust me, I have not earned your dear rebuke, + I love, as you would have me, God the most; + Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost, + Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look + Unready to forego what I forsook; + This say I, having counted up the cost, + This, though I be the feeblest of God's host, + The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook, + Yet while I love my God the most, I deem + That I can never love you overmuch; + I love Him more, so let me love you too; + Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such + I cannot love you if I love not Him, + I cannot love Him if I love not you. + + + 7. + + "Qui primavera sempre ed ogni frutto."--Dante. + "Ragionando con meco ed io con lui."--Petrarca. + + + "Love me, for I love you"--and answer me, + "Love me, for I love you"--so shall we stand + As happy equals in the flowering land + Of love, that knows not a dividing sea. + Love builds the house on rock and not on sand, + Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately; + And who hath found love's citadel unmanned? + And who hath held in bonds love's liberty? + My heart's a coward though my words are brave-- + We meet so seldom, yet we surely part + So often; there's a problem for your art! + Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith, + Though jealousy be cruel as the grave, + And death be strong, yet love is strong as death. + + + 8. + + "Come dicesse a Dio: D'altro non calme."--Dante. + "Spero trovar pietà non che perdono."--Petrarca. + + + "I, if I perish, perish"--Esther spake: + And bride of life or death she made her fair + In all the lustre of her perfumed hair + And smiles that kindle longing but to slake. + She put on pomp of loveliness, to take + Her husband through his eyes at unaware; + She spread abroad her beauty for a snare, + Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake. + She trapped him with one mesh of silken hair, + She vanquished him by wisdom of her wit, + And built her people's house that it should stand:-- + If I might take my life so in my hand, + And for my love to Love put up my prayer, + And for love's sake by Love be granted it! + + + 9. + + "O dignitosa coscienza e netta!"--Dante. + "Spirto più acceso di virtuti ardenti."--Petrarca. + + + Thinking of you, and all that was, and all + That might have been and now can never be, + I feel your honored excellence, and see + Myself unworthy of the happier call: + For woe is me who walk so apt to fall, + So apt to shrink afraid, so apt to flee, + Apt to lie down and die (ah, woe is me!) + Faithless and hopeless turning to the wall. + And yet not hopeless quite nor faithless quite, + Because not loveless; love may toil all night, + But take at morning; wrestle till the break + Of day, but then wield power with God and man:-- + So take I heart of grace as best I can, + Ready to spend and be spent for your sake. + + + 10. + + "Con miglior corso e con migliore stella."--Dante. + "La vita fugge e non s'arresta un' ora."--Petrarca. + + + Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing; + Death following hard on life gains ground apace; + Faith runs with each and rears an eager face, + Outruns the rest, makes light of everything, + Spurns earth, and still finds breath to pray and sing; + While love ahead of all uplifts his praise, + Still asks for grace and still gives thanks for grace, + Content with all day brings and night will bring. + Life wanes; and when love folds his wings above + Tired hope, and less we feel his conscious pulse, + Let us go fall asleep, dear friend, in peace: + A little while, and age and sorrow cease; + A little while, and life reborn annuls + Loss and decay and death, and all is love. + + + 11. + + "Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti."--Dante. + "Contando i casi della vita nostra."--Petrarca. + + + Many in aftertimes will say of you + "He loved her"--while of me what will they say? + Not that I loved you more than just in play, + For fashion's sake as idle women do. + Even let them prate; who know not what we knew + Of love and parting in exceeding pain, + Of parting hopeless here to meet again, + Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view. + But by my heart of love laid bare to you, + My love that you can make not void nor vain, + Love that foregoes you but to claim anew + Beyond this passage of the gate of death, + I charge you at the Judgment make it plain + My love of you was life and not a breath. + + 12. + + "Amor, che ne la mente mi ragiona."--Dante. + "Amor vien nel bel viso di costei."--Petrarca. + + + If there be any one can take my place + And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve, + Think not that I can grudge it, but believe + I do commend you to that nobler grace, + That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face; + Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive + I too am crowned, while bridal crowns I weave, + And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace. + For if I did not love you, it might be + That I should grudge you some one dear delight; + But since the heart is yours that was mine own, + Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right, + Your honorable freedom makes me free, + And you companioned I am not alone. + + + 13. + + "E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore."--Dante. + "Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia."--Petrarca. + + + If I could trust mine own self with your fate, + Shall I not rather trust it in God's hand? + Without Whose Will one lily doth not stand, + Nor sparrow fall at his appointed date; + Who numbereth the innumerable sand, + Who weighs the wind and water with a weight, + To Whom the world is neither small nor great, + Whose knowledge foreknew every plan we planned. + Searching my heart for all that touches you, + I find there only love and love's goodwill + Helpless to help and impotent to do, + Of understanding dull, of sight most dim; + And therefore I commend you back to Him + Whose love your love's capacity can fill. + + + 14. + + "E la Sua Volontade è nostra pace."--Dante. + "Sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome."--Petrarca. + + + Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there + Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this; + Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss? + I will not bind fresh roses in my hair, + To shame a cheek at best but little fair,-- + Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,-- + I will not seek for blossoms anywhere, + Except such common flowers as blow with corn. + Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain? + The longing of a heart pent up forlorn, + A silent heart whose silence loves and longs; + The silence of a heart which sang its songs + While youth and beauty made a summer morn, + Silence of love that cannot sing again. + + + + "LUSCIOUS AND SORROWFUL." + + + Beautiful, tender, wasting away for sorrow; + Thus to-day; and how shall it be with thee to-morrow? + Beautiful, tender--what else? + A hope tells. + + Beautiful, tender, keeping the jubilee + In the land of home together, past death and sea; + No more change or death, no more + Salt sea-shore. + + + + DE PROFUNDIS. + + + Oh why is heaven built so far, + Oh why is earth set so remote? + I cannot reach the nearest star + That hangs afloat. + + I would not care to reach the moon, + One round monotonous of change; + Yet even she repeats her tune + Beyond my range. + + I never watch the scattered fire + Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train, + But all my heart is one desire, + And all in vain: + + For I am bound with fleshly bands, + Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope; + I strain my heart, I stretch my hands, + And catch at hope. + + + + TEMPUS FUGIT. + + + Lovely Spring, + A brief sweet thing, + Is swift on the wing; + Gracious Summer, + A slow sweet comer, + Hastens past; + Autumn while sweet + Is all incomplete + With a moaning blast,-- + Nothing can last, + Can be cleaved unto, + Can be dwelt upon; + It is hurried through, + It is come and gone, + Undone it cannot be done, + It is ever to do, + Ever old, ever new, + Ever waxing old + And lapsing to Winter cold. + + + + GOLDEN GLORIES. + + + The buttercup is like a golden cup, + The marigold is like a golden frill, + The daisy with a golden eye looks up, + And golden spreads the flag beside the rill, + And gay and golden nods the daffodil, + The gorsey common swells a golden sea, + The cowslip hangs a head of golden tips, + And golden drips the honey which the bee + Sucks from sweet hearts of flowers and stores and sips. + + + + JOHNNY. + + FOUNDED ON AN ANECDOTE OF THE FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. + + + Johnny had a golden head + Like a golden mop in blow, + Right and left his curls would spread + In a glory and a glow, + And they framed his honest face + Like stray sunbeams out of place. + + Long and thick, they half could hide + How threadbare his patched jacket hung; + They used to be his Mother's pride; + She praised them with a tender tongue, + And stroked them with a loving finger + That smoothed and stroked and loved to linger. + + On a doorstep Johnny sat, + Up and down the street looked he; + Johnny did not own a hat, + Hot or cold tho' days might be; + Johnny did not own a boot + To cover up his muddy foot. + + Johnny's face was pale and thin, + Pale with hunger and with crying; + For his Mother lay within, + Talked and tossed and seemed a-dying, + While Johnny racked his brains to think + How to get her help and drink, + + Get her physic, get her tea, + Get her bread and something nice; + Not a penny piece had he, + And scarce a shilling might suffice; + No wonder that his soul was sad, + When not one penny piece he had. + + As he sat there thinking, moping, + Because his Mother's wants were many, + Wishing much but scarcely hoping + To earn a shilling or a penny, + A friendly neighbor passed him by + And questioned him: Why did he cry? + + Alas! his trouble soon was told: + He did not cry for cold or hunger, + Though he was hungry both and cold; + He only felt more weak and younger, + Because he wished so to be old + And apt at earning pence or gold. + + Kindly that neighbor was, but poor, + Scant coin had he to give or lend; + And well he guessed there needed more + Than pence or shillings to befriend + The helpless woman in her strait, + So much loved, yet so desolate. + + One way he saw, and only one: + He would--he could not--give the advice, + And yet he must: the widow's son + Had curls of gold would fetch their price; + Long curls which might be clipped, and sold + For silver, or perhaps for gold. + + Our Johnny, when he understood + Which shop it was that purchased hair, + Ran off as briskly as he could, + And in a trice stood cropped and bare, + Too short of hair to fill a locket, + But jingling money in his pocket. + + Precious money--tea and bread, + Physic, ease, for Mother dear, + Better than a golden head: + Yet our hero dropped one tear + When he spied himself close shorn, + Barer much than lamb new born. + + His Mother throve upon the money, + Ate and revived and kissed her son: + But oh! when she perceived her Johnny, + And understood what he had done + All and only for her sake, + She sobbed as if her heart must break. + + + + "HOLLOW-SOUNDING AND MYSTERIOUS." + + + There's no replying + To the Wind's sighing, + Telling, foretelling, + Dying, undying, + Dwindling and swelling, + Complaining, droning, + Whistling and moaning, + Ever beginning, + Ending, repeating, + Hinting and dinning, + Lagging and fleeting-- + We've no replying + Living or dying + To the Wind's sighing. + + What are you telling, + Variable Wind-tone? + What would be teaching, + O sinking, swelling, + Desolate Wind-moan? + Ever for ever + Teaching and preaching, + Never, ah never + Making us wiser-- + The earliest riser + Catches no meaning, + The last who hearkens + Garners no gleaning + Of wisdom's treasure, + While the world darkens:-- + Living or dying, + In pain, in pleasure, + We've no replying + To wordless flying + Wind's sighing. + + + + MAIDEN MAY. + + + Maiden May sat in her bower, + In her blush rose bower in flower, + Sweet of scent; + Sat and dreamed away an hour, + Half content, half uncontent. + + "Why should rose blossoms be born, + Tender blossoms, on a thorn + Though so sweet? + Never a thorn besets the corn + Scentless in its strength complete. + + "Why are roses all so frail, + At the mercy of the gale, + Of a breath? + Yet so sweet and perfect pale, + Still so sweet in life and death." + + Maiden May sat in her bower, + In her blush rose bower in flower, + Where a linnet + Made one bristling branch the tower + For her nest and young ones in it. + + "Gay and clear the linnet trills; + Yet the skylark only, thrills + Heaven and earth + When he breasts the height, and fills + Height and depth with song and mirth. + + "Nightingales which yield to night + Solitary strange delight, + Reign alone: + But the lark for all his height + Fills no solitary throne; + + "While he sings, a hundred sing; + Wing their flight below his wing + Yet in flight; + Each a lovely joyful thing + To the measure of its delight. + + "Why then should a lark be reckoned + One alone, without a second + Near his throne? + He in skyward flight unslackened, + In his music, not alone." + + Maiden May sat in her bower; + Her own face was like a flower + Of the prime, + Half in sunshine, half in shower, + In the year's most tender time. + + Her own thoughts in silent song + Musically flowed along, + Wise, unwise, + Wistful, wondering, weak or strong: + As brook shallows sink or rise. + + Other thoughts another day, + Maiden May, will surge and sway + Round your heart; + Wake, and plead, and turn at bay, + Wisdom part, and folly part. + + Time not far remote will borrow + Other joys, another sorrow, + All for you; + Not to-day, and yet to-morrow + Reasoning false and reasoning true. + + Wherefore greatest? Wherefore least? + Hearts that starve and hearts that feast? + You and I? + Stammering Oracles have ceased, + And the whole earth stands at "why?" + + Underneath all things that be + Lies an unsolved mystery; + Over all + Spreads a veil impenetrably, + Spreads a dense unlifted pall. + + Mystery of mysteries: + _This_ creation hears and sees + High and low-- + Vanity of vanities: + _This_ we test and _this_ we know. + + Maiden May, the days of flowering + Nurse you now in sweet embowering, + Sunny days; + Bright with rainbows all the showering, + Bright with blossoms all the ways. + + Close the inlet of your bower, + Close it close with thorn and flower, + Maiden May; + Lengthen out the shortening hour,-- + Morrows are not as to-day. + + Stay to-day which wanes too soon, + Stay the sun and stay the moon, + Stay your youth; + Bask you in the actual noon, + Rest you in the present truth. + + Let to-day suffice to-day: + For itself to-morrow may + Fetch its loss; + Aim and stumble, say its say, + Watch and pray and bear its cross. + + + + TILL TO-MORROW. + + + Long have I longed, till I am tired + Of longing and desire; + Farewell my points in vain desired, + My dying fire; + Farewell all things that die and fail and tire. + + Springtide and youth and useless pleasure + And all my useless scheming, + My hopes of unattainable treasure, + Dreams not worth dreaming, + Glow-worms that gleam but yield no warmth in gleaming, + + Farewell all shows that fade in showing: + My wish and joy stand over + Until to-morrow; Heaven is glowing + Through cloudy cover, + Beyond all clouds loves me my Heavenly Lover. + + + + DEATH-WATCHES. + + + The Spring spreads one green lap of flowers + Which Autumn buries at the fall, + No chilling showers of Autumn hours + Can stay them or recall; + Winds sing a dirge, while earth lays out of sight + Her garment of delight. + + The cloven East brings forth the sun, + The cloven West doth bury him + What time his gorgeous race is run + And all the world grows dim; + A funeral moon is lit in heaven's hollow, + And pale the star-lights follow. + + + + TOUCHING "NEVER." + + + Because you never yet have loved me, dear, + Think you you never can nor ever will? + Surely while life remains hope lingers still, + Hope the last blossom of life's dying year. + Because the season and mine age grow sere, + Shall never Spring bring forth her daffodil, + Shall never sweeter Summer feast her fill + Of roses with the nightingales they hear? + If you had loved me, I not loving you, + If you had urged me with the tender plea + Of what our unknown years to come might do + (Eternal years, if Time should count too few), + I would have owned the point you pressed on me, + Was possible, or probable, or true. + + + + BRANDONS BOTH. + + + Oh fair Milly Brandon, a young maid, a fair maid! + All her curls are yellow and her eyes are blue, + And her cheeks were rosy red till a secret care made + Hollow whiteness of their brightness as a care will do. + + Still she tends her flowers, but not as in the old days, + Still she sings her songs, but not the songs of old: + If now it be high Summer her days seem brief and cold days, + If now it be high Summer her nights are long and cold. + + If you have a secret keep it, pure maid Milly; + Life is filled with troubles and the world with scorn; + And pity without love is at best times hard and chilly, + Chilling sore and stinging sore a heart forlorn. + + Walter Brandon, do you guess Milly Brandon's secret? + Many things you know, but not everything, + With your locks like raven's plumage, and eyes like an egret, + And a laugh that is music, and such a voice to sing. + + Nelly Knollys, she is fair, but she is not fairer + Than fairest Milly Brandon was before she turned so pale: + Oh, but Nelly's dearer if she be not rarer, + She need not keep a secret or blush behind a veil. + + Beyond the first green hills, beyond the nearest valleys, + Nelly dwells at home beneath her mother's eyes: + Her home is neat and homely, not a cot and not a palace, + Just the home where love sets up his happiest memories. + + Milly has no mother; and sad beyond another + Is she whose blessed mother is vanished out of call: + Truly comfort beyond comfort is stored up in a mother + Who bears with all, and hopes through all, and loves us all. + + Where peacocks nod and flaunt up and down the terrace, + Furling and unfurling their scores of sightless eyes, + To and fro among the leaves and buds and flowers and berries + Maiden Milly strolls and pauses, smiles and sighs. + + On the hedged-in terrace of her father's palace + She may stroll and muse alone, may smile or sigh alone, + Letting thoughts and eyes go wandering over hills and valleys + To-day her father's, and one day to be all her own. + + If her thoughts go coursing down lowlands and up highlands, + It is because the startled game are leaping from their lair; + If her thoughts dart homeward to the reedy river islands, + It is because the waterfowl rise startled here or there. + + At length a footfall on the steps: she turns, composed and steady, + All the long-descended greatness of her father's house + Lifting up her head; and there stands Walter keen and ready + For hunting or for hawking, a flush upon his brows. + + "Good-morrow, fair cousin." "Good-morrow, fairest cousin: + The sun has started on his course, and I must start to-day. + If you have done me one good turn you've done me many a dozen, + And I shall often think of you, think of you away." + + "Over hill and hollow what quarry will you follow, + Or what fish will you angle for beside the river's edge? + There's cloud upon the hill-top and there 's mist deep down the hollow, + And fog among the rushes and the rustling sedge." + + "I shall speed well enough be it hunting or hawking, + Or casting a bait towards the shyest daintiest fin. + But I kiss your hands, my cousin; I must not loiter talking, + For nothing comes of nothing, and I'm fain to seek and win." + + "Here's a thorny rose: will you wear it an hour, + Till the petals drop apart still fresh and pink and sweet? + Till the petals drop from the drooping perished flower, + And only the graceless thorns are left of it." + + "Nay, I have another rose sprung in another garden, + Another rose which sweetens all the world for me. + Be you a tenderer mistress and be you a warier warden + Of your rose, as sweet as mine, and full as fair to see." + + "Nay, a bud once plucked there is no reviving, + Nor is it worth your wearing now, nor worth indeed my own; + The dead to the dead, and the living to the living. + It's time I go within, for it's time now you were gone." + + "Good-bye, Milly Brandon, I shall not forget you, + Though it be good-bye between us for ever from to-day; + I could almost wish to-day that I had never met you, + And I'm true to you in this one word that I say." + + "Good-bye, Walter. I can guess which thornless rose you covet; + Long may it bloom and prolong its sunny morn: + Yet as for my one thorny rose, I do not cease to love it, + And if it is no more a flower I love it as a thorn." + + + + A LIFE'S PARALLELS. + + + Never on this side of the grave again, + On this side of the river, + On this side of the garner of the grain, + Never,-- + + Ever while time flows on and on and on, + That narrow noiseless river, + Ever while corn bows heavy-headed, wan, + Ever,-- + + Never despairing, often fainting, ruing, + But looking back, ah never! + Faint yet pursuing, faint yet still pursuing + Ever. + + + + AT LAST. + + + Many have sung of love a root of bane: + While to my mind a root of balm it is, + For love at length breeds love; sufficient bliss + For life and death and rising up again. + Surely when light of Heaven makes all things plain, + Love will grow plain with all its mysteries; + Nor shall we need to fetch from over seas + Wisdom or wealth or pleasure safe from pain. + Love in our borders, love within our heart, + Love all in all, we then shall bide at rest, + Ended for ever life's unending quest, + Ended for ever effort, change and fear: + Love all in all;--no more that better part + Purchased, but at the cost of all things here. + + + + GOLDEN SILENCES. + + + There is silence that saith, "Ah me!" + There is silence that nothing saith; + One the silence of life forlorn, + One the silence of death; + One is, and the other shall be. + + One we know and have known for long, + One we know not, but we shall know, + All we who have ever been born; + Even so, be it so,-- + There is silence, despite a song. + + Sowing day is a silent day, + Resting night is a silent night; + But whoso reaps the ripened corn + Shall shout in his delight, + While silences vanish away. + + + + IN THE WILLOW SHADE. + + + I sat beneath a willow tree, + Where water falls and calls; + While fancies upon fancies solaced me, + Some true, and some were false. + + Who set their heart upon a hope + That never comes to pass, + Droop in the end like fading heliotrope, + The sun's wan looking-glass. + + Who set their will upon a whim + Clung to through good and ill, + Are wrecked alike whether they sink or swim, + Or hit or miss their will. + + All things are vain that wax and wane, + For which we waste our breath; + Love only doth not wane and is not vain, + Love only outlives death. + + A singing lark rose toward the sky, + Circling he sang amain; + He sang, a speck scarce visible sky-high, + And then he sank again. + + A second like a sunlit spark + Flashed singing up his track; + But never overtook that foremost lark, + And songless fluttered back. + + A hovering melody of birds + Haunted the air above; + They clearly sang contentment without words, + And youth and joy and love. + + O silvery weeping willow tree + With all leaves shivering, + Have you no purpose but to shadow me + Beside this rippled spring? + + On this first fleeting day of Spring, + For Winter is gone by, + And every bird on every quivering wing + Floats in a sunny sky; + + On this first Summer-like soft day, + While sunshine steeps the air, + And every cloud has gat itself away, + And birds sing everywhere. + + Have you no purpose in the world + But thus to shadow me + With all your tender drooping twigs unfurled, + O weeping willow tree? + + With all your tremulous leaves outspread + Betwixt me and the sun, + While here I loiter on a mossy bed + With half my work undone; + + My work undone, that should be done + At once with all my might; + For after the long day and lingering sun + Comes the unworking night. + + This day is lapsing on its way, + Is lapsing out of sight; + And after all the chances of the day + Comes the resourceless night. + + The weeping-willow shook its head + And stretched its shadow long; + The west grew crimson, the sun smouldered red, + The birds forbore a song. + + Slow wind sighed through the willow leaves, + The ripple made a moan, + The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves; + And then I felt alone. + + I rose to go, and felt the chill, + And shivered as I went; + Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still, + What more that willow meant; + + That silvery weeping-willow tree + With all leaves shivering, + Which spent one long day overshadowing me + Beside a spring in Spring. + + + + FLUTTERED WINGS. + + + The splendor of the kindling day, + The splendor of the setting sun, + These move my soul to wend its way, + And have done + With all we grasp and toil amongst and say. + + The paling roses of a cloud, + The fading bow that arches space, + These woo my fancy toward my shroud; + Toward the place + Of faces veiled, and heads discrowned and bowed. + + The nation of the awful stars, + The wandering star whose blaze is brief, + These make me beat against the bars + Of my grief; + My tedious grief, twin to the life it mars. + + O fretted heart tossed to and fro, + So fain to flee, so fain to rest! + All glories that are high or low, + East or west, + Grow dim to thee who art so fain to go. + + + + A FISHER-WIFE. + + + The soonest mended, nothing said; + And help may rise from east or west; + But my two hands are lumps of lead, + My heart sits leaden in my breast. + + O north wind swoop not from the north, + O south wind linger in the south, + Oh come not raving raging forth, + To bring my heart into my mouth; + + For I've a husband out at sea, + Afloat on feeble planks of wood; + He does not know what fear may be; + I would have told him if I could. + + I would have locked him in my arms, + I would have hid him in my heart; + For oh! the waves are fraught with harms, + And he and I so far apart. + + + + WHAT'S IN A NAME? + + + Why has Spring one syllable less + Than any its fellow season? + There may be some other reason, + And I'm merely making a guess; + But surely it hoards such wealth + Of happiness, hope and health, + Sunshine and musical sound, + It may spare a foot from its name + Yet all the same + Superabound. + + Soft-named Summer, + Most welcome comer, + Brings almost everything + Over which we dream or sing + Or sigh; + But then Summer wends its way, + To-morrow,--to-day,-- + Good-bye! + + Autumn,--the slow name lingers, + While we likewise flag; + It silences many singers; + Its slow days drag, + Yet hasten at speed + To leave us in chilly need + For Winter to strip indeed. + + In all-lack Winter, + Dull of sense and of sound, + We huddle and shiver + Beside our splinter + Of crackling pine, + Snow in sky and snow on ground. + Winter and cold + Can't last for ever! + To-day, to-morrow, the sun will shine; + When we are old, + But some still are young, + Singing the song + Which others have sung, + Ringing the bells + Which others have rung,-- + Even so! + We ourselves, who else? + We ourselves long + Long ago. + + + + MARIANA. + + + Not for me marring or making, + Not for me giving or taking; + I love my Love and he loves not me, + I love my Love and my heart is breaking. + + Sweet is Spring in its lovely showing, + Sweet the violet veiled in blowing, + Sweet it is to love and be loved; + Ah, sweet knowledge beyond my knowing! + + Who sighs for love sighs but for pleasure, + Who wastes for love hoards up a treasure; + Sweet to be loved and take no count, + Sweet it is to love without measure. + + Sweet my Love whom I loved to try for, + Sweet my Love whom I love and sigh for, + Will you once love me and sigh for me, + You my Love whom I love and die for? + + + + MEMENTO MORI. + + + Poor the pleasure + Doled out by measure, + Sweet though it be, while brief + As falling of the leaf; + Poor is pleasure + By weight and measure. + + Sweet the sorrow + Which ends to-morrow; + Sharp though it be and sore, + It ends for evermore: + Zest of sorrow, + What ends to-morrow. + + + + "ONE FOOT ON SEA, AND ONE ON SHORE." + + + "Oh tell me once and tell me twice + And tell me thrice to make it plain, + When we who part this weary day, + When we who part shall meet again." + + "When windflowers blossom on the sea + And fishes skim along the plain, + Then we who part this weary day, + Then you and I shall meet again." + + "Yet tell me once before we part, + Why need we part who part in pain? + If flowers must blossom on the sea, + Why, we shall never meet again. + + "My cheeks are paler than a rose, + My tears are salter than the main, + My heart is like a lump of ice + If we must never meet again." + + "Oh weep or laugh, but let me be, + And live or die, for all's in vain; + For life's in vain since we must part, + And parting must not meet again + + "Till windflowers blossom on the sea, + And fishes skim along the plain; + Pale rose of roses let me be, + Your breaking heart breaks mine again." + + + + BUDS AND BABIES. + + + A million buds are born that never blow, + That sweet with promise lift a pretty head + To blush and wither on a barren bed + And leave no fruit to show. + + Sweet, unfulfilled. Yet have I understood + One joy, by their fragility made plain: + Nothing was ever beautiful in vain, + Or all in vain was good. + + + + BOY JOHNNY. + + + "If you'll busk you as a bride + And make ready, + It's I will wed you with a ring, + O fair lady." + + "Shall I busk me as a bride, + I so bonny, + For you to wed me with a ring, + O boy Johnny?" + + "When you've busked you as a bride + And made ready, + Who else is there to marry you, + O fair lady?" + + "I will find my lover out, + I so bonny, + And you shall bear my wedding-train, + O boy Johnny." + + + + FREAKS OF FASHION. + + + Such a hubbub in the nests, + Such a bustle and squeak! + Nestlings, guiltless of a feather, + Learning just to speak, + Ask--"And how about the fashions?" + From a cavernous beak. + + Perched on bushes, perched on hedges, + Perched on firm hahas, + Perched on anything that holds them, + Gay papas and grave mammas + Teach the knowledge-thirsty nestlings: + Hear the gay papas. + + Robin says: "A scarlet waistcoat + Will be all the wear, + Snug, and also cheerful-looking + For the frostiest air, + Comfortable for the chest too + When one comes to plume and pair." + + "Neat gray hoods will be in vogue," + Quoth a Jackdaw: "Glossy gray, + Setting close, yet setting easy, + Nothing fly-away; + Suited to our misty mornings, + _A la negligée_." + + Flushing salmon, flushing sulphur, + Haughty Cockatoos + Answer--"Hoods may do for mornings, + But for evenings choose + High head-dresses, curved like crescents, + Such as well-bred persons use." + + "Top-knots, yes; yet more essential + Still, a train or tail," + Screamed the Peacock: "Gemmed and lustrous + Not too stiff, and not too frail; + Those are best which rearrange as + Fans, and spread or trail." + + Spoke the Swan, entrenched behind + An inimitable neck: + "After all, there's nothing sweeter + For the lawn or lake + Than simple white, if fine and flaky + And absolutely free from speck." + + "Yellow," hinted a Canary, + "Warmer, not less _distingué_." + "Peach color," put in a Lory, + "Cannot look _outré_." + "All the colors are in fashion, + And are right," the Parrots say. + + "Very well. But do contrast + Tints harmonious," + Piped a Blackbird, justly proud + Of bill aurigerous; + "Half the world may learn a lesson + As to that from us." + + Then a Stork took up the word: + "Aim at height and _chic_: + Not high heels, they're common; somehow, + Stilted legs, not thick, + Nor yet thin:" he just glanced downward + And snapped to his beak. + + Here a rustling and a whirring, + As of fans outspread, + Hinted that mammas felt anxious + Lest the next thing said + Might prove less than quite judicious, + Or even underbred. + + So a mother Auk resumed + The broken thread of speech: + "Let colors sort themselves, my dears, + Yellow, or red, or peach; + The main points, as it seems to me, + We mothers have to teach, + + "Are form and texture, elegance, + An air reserved, sublime; + The mode of wearing what we wear + With due regard to month and clime. + But now, let's all compose ourselves, + It's almost breakfast-time." + + A hubbub, a squeak, a bustle! + Who cares to chatter or sing + With delightful breakfast coming? + Yet they whisper under the wing: + "So we may wear whatever we like, + Anything, everything!" + + + + AN OCTOBER GARDEN. + + + In my Autumn garden I was fain + To mourn among my scattered roses; + Alas for that last rosebud which uncloses + To Autumn's languid sun and rain + When all the world is on the wane! + Which has not felt the sweet constraint of June, + Nor heard the nightingale in tune. + + Broad-faced asters by my garden walk, + You are but coarse compared with roses: + More choice, more dear that rosebud which uncloses + Faint-scented, pinched, upon its stalk, + That least and last which cold winds balk; + A rose it is though least and last of all, + A rose to me though at the fall. + + + + "SUMMER IS ENDED." + + + To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose + Scentless, colorless, _this!_ + Will it ever be thus (who knows?) + Thus with our bliss, + If we wait till the close? + + Though we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end + Sooner, later, at last, + Which nothing can mar, nothing mend: + An end locked fast, + Bent we cannot re-bend. + + + + PASSING AND GLASSING. + + + All things that pass + Are woman's looking-glass; + They show her how her bloom must fade, + And she herself be laid + With withered roses in the shade; + With withered roses and the fallen peach, + Unlovely, out of reach + Of summer joy that was. + + All things that pass + Are woman's tiring-glass; + The faded lavender is sweet, + Sweet the dead violet + Culled and laid by and cared for yet; + The dried-up violets and dried lavender + Still sweet, may comfort her, + Nor need she cry Alas! + + All things that pass + Are wisdom's looking-glass; + Being full of hope and fear, and still + Brimful of good or ill, + According to our work and will; + For there is nothing new beneath the sun; + Our doings have been done, + And that which shall be was. + + + + "I WILL ARISE." + + + Weary and weak,--accept my weariness; + Weary and weak and downcast in my soul, + With hope growing less and less, + And with the goal + Distant and dim,--accept my sore distress. + I thought to reach the goal so long ago, + At outset of the race I dreamed of rest, + Not knowing what now I know + Of breathless haste, + Of long-drawn straining effort across the waste. + + One only thing I knew, Thy love of me; + One only thing I know, Thy sacred same + Love of me full and free, + A craving flame + Of selfless love of me which burns in Thee. + How can I think of thee, and yet grow chill; + Of Thee, and yet grow cold and nigh to death? + Re-energize my will, + Rebuild my faith; + I will arise and run, Thou giving me breath. + + I will arise, repenting and in pain; + I will arise, and smite upon my breast + And turn to Thee again; + Thou choosest best, + Lead me along the road Thou makest plain. + Lead me a little way, and carry me + A little way, and listen to my sighs, + And store my tears with Thee, + And deign replies + To feeble prayers;--O Lord, I will arise. + + + + A PRODIGAL SON. + + + Does that lamp still burn in my Father's house, + Which he kindled the night I went away? + I turned once beneath the cedar boughs, + And marked it gleam with a golden ray; + Did he think to light me home some day? + + Hungry here with the crunching swine, + Hungry harvest have I to reap; + In a dream I count my Father's kine, + I hear the tinkling bells of his sheep, + I watch his lambs that browse and leap. + + There is plenty of bread at home, + His servants have bread enough and to spare; + The purple wine-fat froths with foam, + Oil and spices make sweet the air, + While I perish hungry and bare. + + Rich and blessed those servants, rather + Than I who see not my Father's face! + I will arise and go to my Father:-- + "Fallen from sonship, beggared of grace, + Grant me, Father, a servant's place." + + + + SOEUR LOUISE DE LA MISÉRICORDE. + + (1674.) + + + I have desired, and I have been desired; + But now the days are over of desire, + Now dust and dying embers mock my fire; + Where is the hire for which my life was hired? + Oh vanity of vanities, desire! + + Longing and love, pangs of a perished pleasure, + Longing and love, a disenkindled fire, + And memory a bottomless gulf of mire, + And love a fount of tears outrunning measure; + Oh vanity of vanities, desire! + + Now from my heart, love's deathbed, trickles, trickles, + Drop by drop slowly, drop by drop of fire, + The dross of life, of love, of spent desire; + Alas, my rose of life gone all to prickles,-- + Oh vanity of vanities, desire! + + Oh vanity of vanities, desire; + Stunting my hope which might have strained up higher, + Turning my garden plot to barren mire; + Oh death-struck love, oh disenkindled fire, + Oh vanity of vanities, desire! + + + + AN "IMMURATA" SISTER. + + + Life flows down to death; we cannot bind + That current that it should not flee: + Life flows down to death, as rivers find + The inevitable sea. + + Men work and think, but women feel; + And so (for I'm a woman, I) + And so I should be glad to die + And cease from impotence of zeal, + And cease from hope, and cease from dread, + And cease from yearnings without gain, + And cease from all this world of pain, + And be at peace among the dead. + + Hearts that die, by death renew their youth, + Lightened of this life that doubts and dies; + Silent and contented, while the Truth + Unveiled makes them wise. + + Why should I seek and never find + That something which I have not had? + Fair and unutterably sad + The world hath sought time out of mind; + The world hath sought and I have sought,-- + Ah, empty world and empty I! + For we have spent our strength for nought, + And soon it will be time to die. + + Sparks fly upward toward their fount of fire, + Kindling, flashing, hovering:-- + Kindle, flash, my soul; mount higher and higher, + Thou whole burnt-offering! + + + + "IF THOU SAYEST, BEHOLD, WE KNEW IT NOT." + --Proverbs xxiv. 11, 12. + + 1. + + I have done I know not what,--what have I done? + My brother's blood, my brother's soul, doth cry: + And I find no defence, find no reply, + No courage more to run this race I run + Not knowing what I have done, have left undone; + Ah me, these awful unknown hours that fly + Fruitless it may be, fleeting fruitless by + Rank with death-savor underneath the sun. + For what avails it that I did not know + The deed I did? what profits me the plea + That had I known I had not wronged him so? + Lord Jesus Christ, my God, him pity Thou; + Lord, if it may be, pity also me: + In judgment pity, and in death, and now. + + + 2. + + Thou Who hast borne all burdens, bear our load, + Bear Thou our load whatever load it be; + Our guilt, our shame, our helpless misery, + Bear Thou Who only canst, O God my God. + Seek us and find us, for we cannot Thee + Or seek or find or hold or cleave unto: + We cannot do or undo; Lord, undo + Our self-undoing, for Thine is the key + Of all we are not though we might have been. + Dear Lord, if ever mercy moved Thy mind, + If so be love of us can move Thee yet, + If still the nail-prints in Thy Hands are seen, + Remember us,--yea, how shouldst Thou forget? + Remember us for good, and seek, and find. + + + 3. + + Each soul I might have succored, may have slain, + All souls shall face me at the last Appeal, + That great last moment poised for woe or weal, + That final moment for man's bliss or bane. + Vanity of vanities, yea all is vain + Which then will not avail or help or heal: + Disfeatured faces, worn-out knees that kneel, + Will more avail than strength or beauty then. + Lord, by Thy Passion,--when Thy Face was marred + In sight of earth and hell tumultuous, + And Thy heart failed in Thee like melting wax, + And Thy Blood dropped more precious than the nard,-- + Lord, for Thy sake, not ours, supply our lacks, + For Thine own sake, not ours, Christ, pity us. + + + + THE THREAD OF LIFE. + + 1. + + The irresponsive silence of the land, + The irresponsive sounding of the sea, + Speak both one message of one sense to me:-- + Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand + Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band + Of inner solitude; we bind not thee; + But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free? + What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand?-- + And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek, + And sometimes I remember days of old + When fellowship seemed not so far to seek + And all the world and I seemed much less cold, + And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold, + And hope felt strong and life itself not weak. + + + 2. + + Thus am I mine own prison. Everything + Around me free and sunny and at ease: + Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees + Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing + And where all winds make various murmuring; + Where bees are found, with honey for the bees; + Where sounds are music, and where silences + Are music of an unlike fashioning. + Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew, + And smile a moment and a moment sigh + Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you? + But soon I put the foolish fancy by: + I am not what I have nor what I do; + But what I was I am, I am even I. + + + 3. + + Therefore myself is that one only thing + I hold to use or waste, to keep or give; + My sole possession every day I live, + And still mine own despite Time's winnowing. + Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring + From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanative; + Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve; + And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing. + And this myself as king unto my King + I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me; + Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing + A sweet new song of His redeemed set free; + He bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting? + And sing: O grave, where is thy victory? + + + + AN OLD-WORLD THICKET. + + ..."Una selva oscura."--Dante. + + + Awake or sleeping (for I know not which) + I was or was not mazed within a wood + Where every mother-bird brought up her brood + Safe in some leafy niche + Of oak or ash, of cypress or of beech, + + Of silvery aspen trembling delicately, + Of plane or warmer-tinted sycamore, + Of elm that dies in secret from the core, + Of ivy weak and free, + Of pines, of all green lofty things that be. + + Such birds they seemed as challenged each desire; + Like spots of azure heaven upon the wing, + Like downy emeralds that alight and sing, + Like actual coals on fire, + Like anything they seemed, and everything. + + Such mirth they made, such warblings and such chat + With tongue of music in a well-tuned beak, + They seemed to speak more wisdom than we speak, + To make our music flat + And all our subtlest reasonings wild or weak. + + Their meat was nought but flowers like butterflies, + With berries coral-colored or like gold; + Their drink was only dew, which blossoms hold + Deep where the honey lies; + Their wings and tails were lit by sparkling eyes. + + The shade wherein they revelled was a shade + That danced and twinkled to the unseen sun; + Branches and leaves cast shadows one by one, + And all their shadows swayed + In breaths of air that rustled and that played. + + A sound of waters neither rose nor sank, + And spread a sense of freshness through the air; + It seemed not here or there, but everywhere, + As if the whole earth drank, + Root fathom deep and strawberry on its bank. + + But I who saw such things as I have said, + Was overdone with utter weariness; + And walked in care, as one whom fears oppress + Because above his head + Death hangs, or damage, or the dearth of bread. + + Each sore defeat of my defeated life + Faced and outfaced me in that bitter hour; + And turned to yearning palsy all my power, + And all my peace to strife, + Self stabbing self with keen lack-pity knife. + + Sweetness of beauty moved me to despair, + Stung me to anger by its mere content, + Made me all lonely on that way I went, + Piled care upon my care, + Brimmed full my cup, and stripped me empty and bare: + + For all that was but showed what all was not, + But gave clear proof of what might never be; + Making more destitute my poverty, + And yet more blank my lot, + And me much sadder by its jubilee. + + Therefore I sat me down: for wherefore walk? + And closed mine eyes: for wherefore see or hear? + Alas, I had no shutter to mine ear, + And could not shun the talk + Of all rejoicing creatures far or near. + + Without my will I hearkened and I heard + (Asleep or waking, for I know not which), + Till note by note the music changed its pitch; + Bird ceased to answer bird, + And every wind sighed softly if it stirred. + + The drip of widening waters seemed to weep, + All fountains sobbed and gurgled as they sprang, + Somewhere a cataract cried out in its leap + Sheer down a headlong steep; + High over all cloud-thunders gave a clang. + + Such universal sound of lamentation + I heard and felt, fain not to feel or hear; + Nought else there seemed but anguish far and near; + Nought else but all creation + Moaning and groaning wrung by pain or fear, + + Shuddering in the misery of its doom: + My heart then rose a rebel against light, + Scouring all earth and heaven and depth and height, + Ingathering wrath and gloom, + Ingathering wrath to wrath and night to night. + + Ah me, the bitterness of such revolt, + All impotent, all hateful, and all hate, + That kicks and breaks itself against the bolt + Of an imprisoning fate, + And vainly shakes, and cannot shake the gate. + + Agony to agony, deep called to deep, + Out of the deep I called of my desire; + My strength was weakness and my heart was fire; + Mine eyes that would not weep + Or sleep, scaled height and depth, and could not sleep; + + The eyes, I mean, of my rebellious soul, + For still my bodily eyes were closed and dark: + A random thing I seemed without a mark, + Racing without a goal, + Adrift upon life's sea without an ark. + + More leaden than the actual self of lead + Outer and inner darkness weighed on me. + The tide of anger ebbed. Then fierce and free + Surged full above my head + The moaning tide of helpless misery. + + Why should I breathe, whose breath was but a sigh? + Why should I live, who drew such painful breath? + Oh weary work, the unanswerable why!-- + Yet I, why should I die, + Who had no hope in life, no hope in death? + + Grasses and mosses and the fallen leaf + Make peaceful bed for an indefinite term; + But underneath the grass there gnaws a worm-- + Haply, there gnaws a grief-- + Both, haply always; not, as now, so brief. + + The pleasure I remember, it is past; + The pain I feel is passing, passing by; + Thus all the world is passing, and thus I: + All things that cannot last + Have grown familiar, and are born to die. + + And being familiar, have so long been borne + That habit trains us not to break but bend: + Mourning grows natural to us who mourn + In foresight of an end, + But that which ends not who shall brave or mend? + + Surely the ripe fruits tremble on their bough, + They cling and linger trembling till they drop: + I, trembling, cling to dying life; for how + Face the perpetual Now? + Birthless and deathless, void of start or stop, + + Void of repentance, void of hope and fear, + Of possibility, alternative, + Of all that ever made us bear to live + From night to morning here, + Of promise even which has no gift to give. + + The wood, and every creature of the wood, + Seemed mourning with me in an undertone; + Soft scattered chirpings and a windy moan, + Trees rustling where they stood + And shivered, showed compassion for my mood. + + Rage to despair; and now despair had turned + Back to self-pity and mere weariness, + With yearnings like a smouldering fire that burned, + And might grow more or less, + And might die out or wax to white excess. + + Without, within me, music seemed to be; + Something not music, yet most musical, + Silence and sound in heavenly harmony; + At length a pattering fall + Of feet, a bell, and bleatings, broke through all. + + Then I looked up. The wood lay in a glow + From golden sunset and from ruddy sky; + The sun had stooped to earth though once so high; + Had stooped to earth, in slow + Warm dying loveliness brought near and low. + + Each water-drop made answer to the light, + Lit up a spark and showed the sun his face; + Soft purple shadows paved the grassy space + And crept from height to height, + From height to loftier height crept up apace. + + While opposite the sun a gazing moon + Put on his glory for her coronet, + Kindling her luminous coldness to its noon, + As his great splendor set; + One only star made up her train as yet. + + Each twig was tipped with gold, each leaf was edged + And veined with gold from the gold-flooded west; + Each mother-bird, and mate-bird, and unfledged + Nestling, and curious nest, + Displayed a gilded moss or beak or breast. + + And filing peacefully between the trees, + Having the moon behind them, and the sun + Full in their meek mild faces, walked at ease + A homeward flock, at peace + With one another and with every one. + + A patriarchal ram with tinkling bell + Led all his kin; sometimes one browsing sheep + Hung back a moment, or one lamb would leap + And frolic in a dell; + Yet still they kept together, journeying well, + + And bleating, one or other, many or few, + Journeying together toward the sunlit west; + Mild face by face, and woolly breast by breast, + Patient, sun-brightened too, + Still journeying toward the sunset and their rest. + + + + "ALL THY WORKS PRAISE THEE, O LORD." + + A PROCESSIONAL OF CREATION. + + + All. + + I, All-Creation, sing my song of praise + To God Who made me and vouchsafes my days, + And sends me forth by multitudinous ways. + + Seraph. + + I, like my Brethren, burn eternally + With love of Him Who is Love, and loveth me; + The Holy, Holy, Holy Unity. + + + Cherub. + + I, with my Brethren, gaze eternally + On Him Who is Wisdom, and Who knoweth me; + The Holy, Holy, Holy Trinity. + + + All Angels. + + We rule, we serve, we work, we store His treasure, + Whose vessels are we, brimmed with strength and pleasure; + Our joys fulfil, yea, overfill our measure. + + + Heavens. + + We float before the Presence Infinite, + We cluster round the Throne in our delight, + Revolving and rejoicing in God's sight. + + + Firmament. + + I, blue and beautiful, and framed of air, + At sunrise and at sunset grow most fair; + His glory by my glories I declare. + + + Powers. + + We Powers are powers because He makes us strong; + Wherefore we roll all rolling orbs along, + We move all moving things, and sing our song. + + + Sun. + + I blaze to Him in mine engarlanding + Of rays, I flame His whole burnt-offering, + While as a bridegroom I rejoice and sing. + + + Moon. + + I follow, and am fair, and do His Will; + Through all my changes I am faithful still, + Full-orbed or strait, His mandate to fulfil. + + + Stars. + + We Star-hosts numerous, innumerous, + Throng space with energy untumultuous, + And work His Will Whose eye beholdeth us. + + + Galaxies and Nebulæ. + + No thing is far or near; and therefore we + Float neither far nor near; but where we be + Weave dances round the Throne perpetually. + + + Comets and Meteors. + + Our lights dart here and there, whirl to and fro, + We flash and vanish, we die down and glow; + All doing His Will Who bids us do it so. + + + Showers. + + We give ourselves; and be we great or small, + Thus are we made like Him Who giveth all, + Like Him Whose gracious pleasure bids us fall. + + + Dews. + + We give ourselves in silent secret ways, + Spending and spent in silence full of grace; + And thus are made like God, and show His praise. + + + Winds. + + We sift the air and winnow all the earth; + And God Who poised our weights and weighs our worth + Accepts the worship of our solemn mirth. + + + Fire. + + My power and strength are His Who fashioned me, + Ordained me image of His Jealousy, + Forged me His weapon fierce exceedingly. + + + Heat. + + I glow unto His glory, and do good: + I glow, and bring to life both bud and brood; + I glow, and ripen harvest-crops for food. + + + Winter and Summer. + + Our wealth and joys and beauties celebrate + His wealth of beauty Who sustains our state, + Before Whose changelessness we alternate. + + + Spring and Autumn. + + I hope,-- + And I remember,-- + + We give place + Either to other with contented grace, + Acceptable and lovely all our days. + + + Frost. + + I make the unstable stable, binding fast + The world of waters prone to ripple past: + Thus praise I God, Whose mercies I forecast. + + + Cold. + + I rouse and goad the slothful, apt to nod, + I stir and urge the laggards with my rod: + My praise is not of men, yet I praise God. + + + Snow. + + My whiteness shadoweth Him Who is most fair, + All spotless: yea, my whiteness which I wear + Exalts His Purity beyond compare. + + + Vapors. + + We darken sun and moon, and blot the day, + The good Will of our Maker to obey: + Till to the glory of God we pass away. + + + Night. + + Moon and all stars I don for diadem + To make me fair: I cast myself and them + Before His feet, Who knows us gem from gem. + + + Day. + + I shout before Him in my plenitude + Of light and warmth, of hope and wealth and food; + Ascribing all good to the Only Good. + + + Light and Darkness. + + I am God's dwelling-place,-- + And also I + Make His pavilion,-- + Lo, we bide and fly + Exulting in the Will of God Most High. + + + Lightning and Thunder. + + We indivisible flash forth His Fame, + We thunder forth the glory of His Name, + In harmony of resonance and flame. + + + Clouds. + + Sweet is our store, exhaled from sea or river: + We wear a rainbow, praising God the Giver + Because His mercy is for ever and ever. + + + Earth. + + I rest in Him rejoicing: resting so + And so rejoicing, in that I am low; + Yet known of Him, and following on to know. + + + Mountains. + + Our heights which laud Him, sink abased before + Him higher than the highest evermore: + God higher than the highest we adore. + + + Hills. + + We green-tops praise Him, and we fruitful heads, + Whereon the sunshine and the dew He sheds: + We green-tops praise Him, rising from out beds. + + + Green Things. + + We all green things, we blossoms bright or dim, + Trees, bushes, brushwood, corn and grasses slim, + We lift our many-favored lauds to Him. + + + Rose,--Lily,--Violet. + + I praise Him on my thorn which I adorn,-- + And I, amid my world of thistle and thorn,-- + And I, within my veil where I am born. + + + Apple,--Citron,--Pomegranate. + + We, Apple-blossom, Citron, Pomegranate, + We, clothed of God without our toil and fret, + We offer fatness where His Throne is set. + + + Vine,--Cedar,--Palm. + + I proffer Him my sweetness, who am sweet,-- + I bow my strength in fragrance at His feet,-- + I wave myself before His Judgment Seat. + + + Medicinal Herbs. + + I bring refreshment,-- + I bring ease and calm,-- + I lavish strength and healing,-- + I am balm,-- + We work His pitiful Will and chant our psalm. + + + A Spring. + + Clear my pure fountain, clear and pure my rill, + My fountain and mine outflow deep and still, + I set His semblance forth and do His Will. + + + Sea. + + To-day I praise God with a sparkling face, + My thousand thousand waves all uttering praise: + To-morrow I commit me to His Grace. + + + Floods. + + We spring and swell meandering to and fro, + From height to depth, from depth to depth we flow, + We fertilize the world, and praise Him so. + + + Whales and Sea Mammals. + + We Whales and Monsters gambol in His sight + Rejoicing every day and every night, + Safe in the tender keeping of His Might. + + + Fishes. + + Our fashions and our colors and our speeds + Set forth His praise Who framed us and Who feeds, + Who knows our number and regards our needs. + + + Birds. + + Winged Angels of this visible world, we fly + To sing God's praises in the lofty sky; + We scale the height to praise our Lord most High. + + + Eagle and Dove. + + I the sun-gazing Eagle,-- + I the Dove, + With plumes of softness and a note of love,-- + We praise by divers gifts One God above. + + + Beasts and Cattle. + + We forest Beasts,-- + We Beasts of hill or cave,-- + We border-loving Creatures of the wave,-- + We praise our King with voices deep and grave. + + + Small Animals. + + God forms us weak and small, but pours out all + We need, and notes us while we stand or fall: + Wherefore we praise Him, weak and safe and small. + + + Lamb. + + I praise my loving Lord, Who maketh me + His type by harmless sweet simplicity: + Yet He the Lamb of lambs incomparably. + + + Lion. + + I praise the Lion of the Royal Race, + Strongest in fight and swiftest in the chase: + With all my might I leap and lavish praise. + + + All Men. + + All creatures sing around us, and we sing: + We bring our own selves as our offering, + Our very selves we render to our King. + + + Israel. + + Flock of our Shepherd's pasture and His fold, + Purchased and well-beloved from days of old, + We tell His praise which still remains untold. + + + Priests. + + We free-will Shepherds tend His sheep, and feed; + We follow Him while caring for their need; + We follow praising Him, and them we lead. + + + Servants of God. + + We love God, for He loves us; we are free + In serving Him, who serve Him willingly: + As kings we reign, and praise His Majesty. + + + Holy and Humble Persons. + + All humble souls he calls and sanctifies; + All holy souls He calls to make them wise; + Accepting all, His free-will sacrifice. + + + Babes. + + He maketh me,-- + And me,-- + And me,-- + To be + His blessed little ones around His knee, + Who praise Him by mere love confidingly. + + + Women. + + God makes our service love, and makes our wage + Love: so we wend on patient pilgrimage, + Extolling Him by love from age to age. + + + Men. + + God gives us power to rule: He gives us power + To rule ourselves, and prune the exuberant flower + Of youth, and worship Him hour after hour. + + + Spirits and Souls-- + + Lo, in the hidden world we chant our chant + To Him Who fills us that we nothing want, + To Him Whose bounty leaves our craving scant. + + + of Babes-- + + With milky mouths we praise God, from the breast + Called home betimes to rest the perfect rest, + By love and joy fufilling His behest. + + + of Women-- + + We praise His Will which made us what He would, + His Will which fashioned us and called us good, + His Will our plenary beatitude. + + of Men. + + We praise His Will Who bore with us so long, + Who out of weakness wrought us swift and strong, + Champions of right and putters-down of wrong. + + + All. + + Let everything that hath or hath not breath, + Let days and endless days, let life and death, + Praise God, praise God, praise God, His creature saith. + + + + LATER LIFE: A DOUBLE SONNET OF SONNETS. + + + 1. + + Before the mountains were brought forth, before + Earth and the world were made, then God was God: + And God will still be God, when flames shall roar + Round earth and heaven dissolving at His nod: + And this God is our God, even while His rod + Of righteous wrath falls on us smiting sore: + And this God is our God for evermore + Through life, through death, while clod returns to clod. + For though He slay us we will trust in Him; + We will flock home to Him by divers ways: + Yea, though He slay us we will vaunt His praise, + Serving and loving with the Cherubim, + Watching and loving with the Seraphim, + Our very selves His praise through endless days. + + + 2. + + Rend hearts and rend not garments for our sins; + Gird sackcloth not on body but on soul; + Grovel in dust with faces toward the goal + Nor won, nor neared: he only laughs who wins. + Not neared the goal, the race too late begins; + Or left undone, we have yet to do the whole; + The sun is hurrying west and toward the pole + Where darkness waits for earth with all her kins. + Let us to-day, while it is called to-day, + Set out, if utmost speed may yet avail-- + The shadows lengthen and the light grows pale: + For who through darkness and the shadow of death, + Darkness that may be felt, shall find a way, + Blind-eyed, deaf-eared, and choked with failing breath? + + + 3. + + Thou Who didst make and knowest whereof we are made, + Oh bear in mind our dust and nothingness, + Our wordless tearless dumbness of distress: + Bear Thou in mind the burden Thou hast laid + Upon us, and our feebleness unstayed + Except Thou stay us: for the long long race + Which stretches far and far before our face + Thou knowest,--remember Thou whereof we are made. + If making makes us Thine, then Thine we are; + And if redemption, we are twice Thine own: + If once Thou didst come down from heaven afar + To seek us and to find us, how not save? + Comfort us, save us, leave us not alone, + Thou Who didst die our death and fill our grave. + + + 4. + + So tired am I, so weary of to-day, + So unrefreshed from foregone weariness, + So overburdened by foreseen distress, + So lagging and so stumbling on my way, + I scarce can rouse myself to watch or pray, + To hope, or aim, or toil for more or less,-- + Ah, always less and less, even while I press + Forward and toil and aim as best I may. + Half-starved of soul and heartsick utterly, + Yet lift I up my heart and soul and eyes + (Which fail in looking upward) toward the prize: + Me, Lord, Thou seest though I see not Thee; + Me now, as once the Thief in Paradise, + Even me, O Lord my Lord, remember me. + + + 5. + + Lord, Thou Thyself art Love and only Thou; + Yet I who am not love would fain love Thee; + But Thou alone being Love canst furnish me + With that same love my heart is craving now. + Allow my plea! for if Thou disallow, + No second fountain can I find but Thee; + No second hope or help is left to me, + No second anything, but only Thou. + O Love accept, according my request; + O Love exhaust, fulfilling my desire: + Uphold me with the strength that cannot tire, + Nerve me to labor till Thou bid me rest, + Kindle my fire from Thine unkindled fire, + And charm the willing heart from out my breast. + + + 6. + + We lack, yet cannot fix upon the lack: + Not this, nor that; yet somewhat, certainly. + We see the things we do not yearn to see + Around us: and what see we glancing back? + Lost hopes that leave our hearts upon the rack, + Hopes that were never ours yet seemed to be, + For which we steered on life's salt stormy sea + Braving the sunstroke and the frozen pack. + If thus to look behind is all in vain, + And all in vain to look to left or right, + Why face we not our future once again, + Launching with hardier hearts across the main, + Straining dim eyes to catch the invisible sight, + And strong to bear ourselves in patient pain? + + + 7. + + To love and to remember; that is good: + To love and to forget; that is not well: + To lapse from love to hatred; that is hell + And death and torment, rightly understood. + Soul dazed by love and sorrow, cheer thy mood; + More blest art thou than mortal tongue can tell: + Ring not thy funeral but thy marriage bell, + And salt with hope thy life's insipid food. + Love is the goal, love is the way we wend, + Love is our parallel unending line + Whose only perfect Parallel is Christ, + Beginning not begun, End without end: + For He Who hath the heart of God sufficed, + Can satisfy all hearts,--yea, thine and mine. + + + 8. + + We feel and see with different hearts and eyes:-- + Ah Christ, if all our hearts could meet in Thee + How well it were for them and well for me, + Our hearts Thy dear accepted sacrifice. + Thou, only Life of hearts and Light of eyes, + Our life, our light, if once we turn to Thee, + So be it, O Lord, to them and so to me; + Be all alike Thine own dear sacrifice. + Thou Who by death hast ransomed us from death, + Thyself God's sole well-pleasing Sacrifice, + Thine only sacred Self I plead with Thee: + Make Thou it well for them and well for me + That Thou hast given us souls and wills and breath; + And hearts to love Thee; and to see Thee, eyes. + + + 9. + + Star Sirius and the Pole Star dwell afar + Beyond the drawings each of other's strength: + One blazes through the brief bright summer's length + Lavishing life-heat from a flaming car; + While one unchangeable upon a throne + Broods o'er the frozen heart of earth alone, + Content to reign the bright particular star + Of some who wander or of some who groan. + They own no drawings each of other's strength, + Nor vibrate in a visible sympathy, + Nor veer along their courses each toward each: + Yet are their orbits pitched in harmony + Of one dear heaven, across whose depth and length + Mayhap they talk together without speech. + + + 10. + + Tread softly! all the earth is holy ground. + It may be, could we look with seeing eyes, + This spot we stand on is a Paradise + Where dead have come to life and lost been found, + Where Faith has triumphed, Martyrdom been crowned, + Where fools have foiled the wisdom of the wise; + From this same spot the dust of saints may rise, + And the King's prisoners come to light unbound. + O earth, earth, earth, hear thou thy Maker's Word: + "Thy dead thou shalt give up, nor hide thy slain"-- + Some who went weeping forth shall come again + Rejoicing from the east or from the west, + As doves fly to their windows, love's own bird + Contented and desirous to the nest.[1] + + + [Footnote 1: + + "Quali colombe dal disio chiamate + Con l'ali aperte e ferme al dolce nido + Volan per l'aer dal voler portate." + + Dante.] + + 11. + + Lifelong our stumbles, lifelong our regret, + Lifelong our efforts failing and renewed, + While lifelong is our witness, "God is good:" + Who bore with us till now, bears with us yet, + Who still remembers and will not forget, + Who gives us light and warmth and daily food; + And gracious promises half understood, + And glories half unveiled, whereon to set + Our heart of hearts and eyes of our desire; + Uplifting us to longing and to love, + Luring us upward from this world of mire, + Urging us to press on and mount above + Ourselves and all we have had experience of, + Mounting to Him in love's perpetual fire. + + + 12. + + A dream there is wherein we are fain to scream, + While struggling with ourselves we cannot speak: + And much of all our waking life, as weak + And misconceived, eludes us like the dream. + For half life's seemings are not what they seem, + And vain the laughs we laugh, the shrieks we shriek; + Yea, all is vain that mars the settled meek + Contented quiet of our daily theme. + When I was young I deemed that sweets are sweet: + But now I deem some searching bitters are + Sweeter than sweets, and more refreshing far, + And to be relished more, and more desired, + And more to be pursued on eager feet, + On feet untired, and still on feet though tired. + + + 13. + + Shame is a shadow cast by sin: yet shame + Itself may be a glory and a grace, + Refashioning the sin-disfashioned face; + A nobler bruit than hollow-sounded fame, + A new-lit lustre on a tarnished name, + One virtue pent within an evil place, + Strength for the fight, and swiftness for the race, + A stinging salve, a life-requickening flame. + A salve so searching we may scarcely live, + A flame so fierce it seems that we must die, + An actual cautery thrust into the heart: + Nevertheless, men die not of such smart; + And shame gives back what nothing else can give, + Man to himself,--then sets him up on high. + + + 14. + + When Adam and when Eve left Paradise + Did they love on and cling together still, + Forgiving one another all that ill + The twain had wrought on such a different wise? + She propped upon his strength, and he in guise + Of lover though of lord, girt to fulfil + Their term of life and die when God should will; + Lie down and sleep, and having slept arise. + Boast not against us, O our enemy! + To-day we fall, but we shall rise again; + We grope to-day, to-morrow we shall see: + What is to-day that we should fear to-day? + A morrow cometh which shall sweep away + Thee and thy realm of change and death and pain. + + + 15. + + Let woman fear to teach and bear to learn, + Remembering the first woman's first mistake. + Eve had for pupil the inquiring snake, + Whose doubts she answered on a great concern; + But he the tables so contrived to turn, + It next was his to give and hers to take; + Till man deemed poison sweet for her sweet sake, + And fired a train by which the world must burn. + Did Adam love his Eve from first to last? + I think so; as we love who works us ill, + And wounds us to the quick, yet loves us still. + Love pardons the unpardonable past: + Love in a dominant embrace holds fast + His frailer self, and saves without her will. + + + 16. + + Our teachers teach that one and one make two: + Later, Love rules that one and one make one: + Abstruse the problems! neither need we shun, + But skilfully to each should yield its due. + The narrower total seems to suit the few, + The wider total suits the common run; + Each obvious in its sphere like moon or sun; + Both provable by me, and both by you. + Befogged and witless, in a wordy maze + A groping stroll perhaps may do us good; + If cloyed we are with much we have understood, + If tired of half our dusty world and ways, + If sick of fasting, and if sick of food;-- + And how about these long still-lengthening days? + + + 17. + + Something this foggy day, a something which + Is neither of this fog nor of to-day, + Has set me dreaming of the winds that play + Past certain cliffs, along one certain beach, + And turn the topmost edge of waves to spray: + Ah pleasant pebbly strand so far away, + So out of reach while quite within my reach, + As out of reach as India or Cathay! + I am sick of where I am and where I am not, + I am sick of foresight and of memory, + I am sick of all I have and all I see, + I am sick of self, and there is nothing new; + Oh weary impatient patience of my lot!-- + Thus with myself: how fares it, Friends, with you? + + + 18. + + So late in Autumn half the world's asleep, + And half the wakeful world looks pinched and pale; + For dampness now, not freshness, rides the gale; + And cold and colorless comes ashore the deep + With tides that bluster or with tides that creep; + Now veiled uncouthness wears an uncouth veil + Of fog, not sultry haze; and blight and bale + Have done their worst, and leaves rot on the heap. + So late in Autumn one forgets the Spring, + Forgets the Summer with its opulence, + The callow birds that long have found a wing, + The swallows that more lately gat them hence: + Will anything like Spring, will anything + Like Summer, rouse one day the slumbering sense? + + + 19. + + Here now is Winter. Winter, after all, + Is not so drear as was my boding dream + While Autumn gleamed its latest watery gleam + On sapless leafage too inert to fall. + Still leaves and berries clothe my garden wall + Where ivy thrives on scantiest sunny beam; + Still here a bud and there a blossom seem + Hopeful, and robin still is musical. + Leaves, flowers and fruit and one delightful song + Remain; these days are short, but now the nights + Intense and long, hang out their utmost lights; + Such starry nights are long, yet not too long; + Frost nips the weak, while strengthening still the strong + Against that day when Spring sets all to rights. + + + 20. + + A hundred thousand birds salute the day:-- + One solitary bird salutes the night: + Its mellow grieving wiles our grief away, + And tunes our weary watches to delight; + It seems to sing the thoughts we cannot say, + To know and sing them, and to set them right; + Until we feel once more that May is May, + And hope some buds may bloom without a blight. + This solitary bird outweighs, outvies, + The hundred thousand merry-making birds + Whose innocent warblings yet might make us wise + Would we but follow when they bid us rise, + Would we but set their notes of praise to words + And launch our hearts up with them to the skies. + + + 21. + + A host of things I take on trust: I take + The nightingales on trust, for few and far + Between those actual summer moments are + When I have heard what melody they make. + So chanced it once at Como on the Lake: + But all things, then, waxed musical; each star + Sang on its course, each breeze sang on its car, + All harmonies sang to senses wide-awake. + All things in tune, myself not out of tune, + Those nightingales were nightingales indeed: + Yet truly an owl had satisfied my need, + And wrought a rapture underneath that moon, + Or simple sparrow chirping from a reed; + For June that night glowed like a doubled June. + + + 22. + + The mountains in their overwhelming might + Moved me to sadness when I saw them first, + And afterwards they moved me to delight; + Struck harmonies from silent chords which burst + Out into song, a song by memory nursed; + Forever unrenewed by touch or sight + Sleeps the keen magic of each day or night, + In pleasure and in wonder then immersed. + All Switzerland behind us on the ascent, + All Italy before us we plunged down + St. Gothard, garden of forget-me-not: + Yet why should such a flower choose such a spot? + Could we forget that way which once we went + Though not one flower had bloomed to weave its crown? + + + 23. + + Beyond the seas we know stretch seas unknown, + Blue and bright-colored for our dim and green; + Beyond the lands we see, stretch lands unseen + With many-tinted tangle overgrown; + And icebound seas there are like seas of stone, + Serenely stormless as death lies serene; + And lifeless tracks of sand, which intervene + Betwixt the lands where living flowers are blown. + This dead and living world befits our case + Who live and die: we live in wearied hope, + We die in hope not dead; we run a race + To-day, and find no present halting-place; + All things we see lie far within our scope, + And still we peer beyond with craving face. + + + 24. + + The wise do send their hearts before them to + Dear blesséd Heaven, despite the veil between; + The foolish nurse their hearts within the screen + Of this familiar world, where all we do + Or have is old, for there is nothing new: + Yet elder far that world we have not seen; + God's Presence antedates what else hath been: + Many the foolish seem, the wise seem few. + Oh foolishest fond folly of a heart + Divided, neither here nor there at rest! + That hankers after Heaven, but clings to earth; + That neither here nor there knows thorough mirth, + Half-choosing, wholly missing, the good part:-- + Oh fool among the foolish, in thy quest. + + + 25. + + When we consider what this life we lead + Is not, and is; how full of toil and pain, + How blank of rest and of substantial gain, + Beset by hunger earth can never feed, + And propping half our hearts upon a reed; + We cease to mourn lost treasures mourned in vain, + Lost treasures we are fain and yet not fain + To fetch back for a solace of our need. + For who that feel this burden and this strain, + This wide vacuity of hope and heart, + Would bring their cherished well-beloved again: + To bleed with them and wince beneath the smart, + To have with stinted bliss such lavish bane, + To hold in lieu of all so poor a part? + + + 26. + + This Life is full of numbness and of balk, + Of haltingness and baffled short-coming, + Of promise unfulfilled, of everything + That is puffed vanity and empty talk: + Its very bud hangs cankered on the stalk, + Its very song-bird trails a broken wing, + Its very Spring is not indeed like Spring, + But sighs like Autumn round an aimless walk. + This Life we live is dead for all its breath; + Death's self it is, set off on pilgrimage, + Travelling with tottering steps the first short stage: + The second stage is one mere desert dust + Where Death sits veiled amid creation's rust:-- + Unveil thy face, O Death who art not Death. + + + 27. + + I have dreamed of Death:--what will it be to die + Not in a dream, but in the literal truth + With all Death's adjuncts ghastly and uncouth, + The pang that is the last and the last sigh? + Too dulled, it may be, for a last good-bye, + Too comfortless for any one to soothe, + A helpless charmless spectacle of ruth + Through long last hours, so long while yet they fly. + So long to those who hopeless in their fear + Watch the slow breath and look for what they dread: + While I supine, with ears that cease to hear, + With eyes that glaze, with heart-pulse running down, + (Alas! no saint rejoicing on her bed), + May miss the goal at last, may miss a crown. + + + 28. + + In life our absent friend is far away: + But death may bring our friend exceeding near, + Show him familiar faces long so dear + And lead him back in reach of words we say. + He only cannot utter yea or nay + In any voice accustomed to our ear; + He only cannot make his face appear + And turn the sun back on our shadowed day. + The dead may be around us, dear and dead; + The unforgotten dearest dead may be + Watching us, with unslumbering eyes and heart, + Brimful of words which cannot yet be said, + Brimful of knowledge they may not impart, + Brimful of love for you and love for me. + + + + "FOR THINE OWN SAKE, O MY GOD." + + + Wearied of sinning, wearied of repentance, + Wearied of self, I turn, my God, to Thee; + To Thee, my Judge, on Whose all-righteous sentence + Hangs mine eternity: + I turn to Thee, I plead Thyself with Thee,-- + Be pitiful to me. + + Wearied I loathe myself, I loathe my sinning, + My stains, my festering sores, my misery: + Thou the Beginning, Thou ere my beginning + Didst see and didst foresee + Me miserable, me sinful, ruined me,-- + I plead Thyself with Thee. + + I plead Thyself with Thee Who art my Maker, + Regard Thy handiwork that cries to Thee; + I plead Thyself with Thee Who wast partaker + Of mine infirmity, + Love made Thee what Thou art, the love of me,-- + I plead Thyself with Thee. + + + + UNTIL THE DAY BREAK. + + + When will the day bring its pleasure? + When will the night bring its rest? + Reaper and gleaner and thresher + Peer toward the east and the west:-- + The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best. + + Meteors flash forth and expire, + Northern lights kindle and pale; + These are the days of desire, + Of eyes looking upward that fail; + Vanishing days as a finishing tale. + + Bows down the crop in its glory + Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold; + The millet is ripened and hoary, + The wheat ears are ripened to gold:-- + Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold? + + The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth + Who knoweth the first and the last: + The Sower Who patiently soweth, + He scanneth the present and past: + He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast." + + Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers + The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown: + On threshers and gleaners and reapers, + O Lord of the harvest, look down; + Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown! + + "Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers, + The Lord of the first and the last: + "O My toilers, My weary, My weepers, + What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast. + Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past." + + + + "OF HIM THAT WAS READY TO PERISH." + + + Lord, I am waiting, weeping, watching for Thee: + My youth and hope lie by me buried and dead, + My wandering love hath not where to lay its head + Except Thou say "Come to Me." + + My noon is ended, abolished from life and light, + My noon is ended, ended and done away, + My sun went down in the hours that still were day, + And my lingering day is night. + + How long, O Lord, how long in my desperate pain + Shall I weep and watch, shall I weep and long for Thee? + Is Thy grace ended, Thy love cut off from me? + How long shall I long in vain? + + O God Who before the beginning hast seen the end, + Who hast made me flesh and blood, not frost and not fire, + Who hast filled me full of needs and love and desire + And a heart that craves a friend, + + Who hast said "Come to Me and I will give thee rest," + Who hast said "Take on thee My yoke and learn of Me," + Who calledst a little child to come to Thee + And pillowedst John on Thy breast; + + Who spak'st to women that followed Thee sorrowing, + Bidding them weep for themselves and weep for their own; + Who didst welcome the outlaw adoring Thee all alone, + And plight Thy word as a King,-- + + By Thy love of these and of all that ever shall be, + By Thy love of these and of all the born and unborn, + Turn Thy gracious eyes on me and think no scorn + Of me, not even of me. + + Beside Thy Cross I hang on my cross in shame, + My wounds, weakness, extremity cry to Thee: + Bid me also to Paradise, also me + For the glory of Thy Name. + + + + "BEHOLD THE MAN!" + + + Shall Christ hang on the Cross, and we not look? + Heaven, earth, and hell stood gazing at the first, + While Christ for long-cursed man was counted cursed; + Christ, God and Man, Whom God the Father strook + And shamed and sifted and one while forsook:-- + Cry shame upon our bodies we have nursed + In sweets, our souls in pride, our spirits immersed + In wilfulness, our steps run all acrook. + Cry shame upon us! for He bore our shame + In agony, and we look on at ease + With neither hearts on flame nor cheeks on flame: + What hast thou, what have I, to do with peace? + Not to send peace but send a sword He came, + And fire and fasts and tearful night-watches. + + + + THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS. + + + Is this the Face that thrills with awe + Seraphs who veil their face above? + Is this the Face without a flaw, + The Face that is the Face of Love? + Yea, this defaced, a lifeless clod, + Hath all creation's love sufficed, + Hath satisfied the love of God, + This Face the Face of Jesus Christ. + + + + "IT IS FINISHED." + + + Dear Lord, let me recount to Thee + Some of the great things thou hast done + For me, even me + Thy little one. + + It was not I that cared for Thee,-- + But Thou didst set Thy heart upon + Me, even me + Thy little one. + + And therefore was it sweet to Thee + To leave Thy Majesty and Throne, + And grow like me + A Little One, + + A swaddled Baby on the knee + Of a dear Mother of Thine own, + Quite weak like me + Thy little one. + + Thou didst assume my misery, + And reap the harvest I had sown, + Comforting me + Thy little one. + + Jerusalem and Galilee,-- + Thy love embraced not those alone, + But also me + Thy little one. + + Thy unblemished Body on the Tree + Was bared and broken to atone + For me, for me + Thy little one. + + Thou lovedst me upon the Tree,-- + Still me, hid by the ponderous stone,-- + Me always,--me + Thy little one. + + And love of me arose with Thee + When death and hell lay overthrown: + Thou lovedst me + Thy little one. + + And love of me went up with Thee + To sit upon Thy Father's Throne: + Thou lovest me + Thy little one. + + Lord, as Thou me, so would I Thee + Love in pure love's communion, + For Thou lov'st me + Thy little one: + + Which love of me brings back with Thee + To Judgment when the Trump is blown, + Still loving me + Thy little one. + + + + AN EASTER CAROL. + + + Spring bursts to-day, + For Christ is risen and all the earth's at play. + + Flash forth, thou Sun, + The rain is over and gone, its work is done. + + Winter is past, + Sweet Spring is come at last, is come at last. + + Bud, Fig and Vine, + Bud, Olive, fat with fruit and oil and wine. + + Break forth this morn + In roses, thou but yesterday a Thorn. + + Uplift thy head, + O pure white Lily through the Winter dead. + + Beside your dams + Leap and rejoice, you merry-making Lambs. + + All Herds and Flocks + Rejoice, all Beasts of thickets and of rocks. + + Sing, Creatures, sing, + Angels and Men and Birds and everything. + + All notes of Doves + Fill all our world: this is the time of loves. + + + + "BEHOLD A SHAKING." + + + 1. + + Man rising to the doom that shall not err,-- + Which hath most dread: the arouse of all or each; + All kindreds of all nations of all speech, + Or one by one of _him_ and _him_ and _her_? + While dust reanimate begins to stir + Here, there, beyond, beyond, reach beyond reach; + While every wave refashions on the beach + Alive or dead-in-life some seafarer. + Now meeting doth not join or parting part; + True meeting and true parting wait till then, + When whoso meet are joined for evermore, + Face answering face and heart at rest in heart:-- + God bring us all rejoicing to the shore + Of happy Heaven, His sheep home to the pen. + + + 2. + + Blessèd that flock safe penned in Paradise; + Blessèd this flock which tramps in weary ways; + All form one flock, God's flock; all yield Him praise + By joy or pain, still tending toward the prize. + Joy speaks in praises there, and sings and flies + Where no night is, exulting all its days; + Here, pain finds solace, for, behold, it prays; + In both love lives the life that never dies. + Here life is the beginning of our death, + And death the starting-point whence life ensues; + Surely our life is death, our death is life: + Nor need we lay to heart our peace or strife, + But calm in faith and patience breathe the breath + God gave, to take again when He shall choose. + + + + ALL SAINTS. + + + They are flocking from the East + And the West, + They are flocking from the North + And the South, + Every moment setting forth + From realm of snake or lion, + Swamp or sand, + Ice or burning; + Greatest and least, + Palm in hand + And praise in mouth, + They are flocking up the path + To their rest, + Up the path that hath + No returning. + + Up the steeps of Zion + They are mounting, + Coming, coming, + Throngs beyond man's counting; + With a sound + Like innumerable bees + Swarming, humming + Where flowering trees + Many-tinted, + Many-scented, + All alike abound + With honey,-- + With a swell + Like a blast upswaying unrestrainable + From a shadowed dell + To the hill-tops sunny,-- + With a thunder + Like the ocean when in strength + Breadth and length + It sets to shore; + More and more + Waves on waves redoubled pour + Leaping flashing to the shore + (Unlike the under + Drain of ebb that loseth ground + For all its roar.) + + They are thronging + From the East and West, + From the North and South, + Saints are thronging, loving, longing, + To their land + Of rest, + Palm in hand + And praise in mouth. + + + + "TAKE CARE OF HIM." + + + "Thou whom I love, for whom I died, + Lovest thou Me, My bride?"-- + Low on my knees I love Thee, Lord, + Believed in and adored. + + "That I love thee the proof is plain: + How dost thou love again?"-- + In prayer, in toil, in earthly loss, + In a long-carried cross. + + "Yea, thou dost love: yet one adept + Brings more for Me to accept."-- + I mould my will to match with Thine, + My wishes I resign. + + "Thou givest much: then give the whole + For solace of My soul."-- + More would I give, if I could get: + But, Lord, what lack I yet? + + "In Me thou lovest Me: I call + Thee to love Me in all."-- + Brim full my heart, dear Lord, that so + My love may overflow. + + "Love Me in sinners and in saints, + In each who needs or faints."-- + Lord, I will love Thee as I can + In every brother man. + + "All sore, all crippled, all who ache, + Tend all for My dear sake."-- + All for Thy sake, Lord: I will see + In every sufferer, Thee. + + "So I at last, upon My Throne + Of glory, Judge alone, + So I at last will say to thee: + Thou diddest it to Me." + + + + A MARTYR. + + THE VIGIL OF THE FEAST. + + + Inner not outer, without gnash of teeth + Or weeping, save quiet sobs of some who pray + And feel the Everlasting Arms beneath,-- + Blackness of darkness this, but not for aye; + Darkness that even in gathering fleeteth fast, + Blackness of blackest darkness close to day. + Lord Jesus, through Thy darkened pillar cast, + Thy gracious eyes all-seeing cast on me + Until this tyranny be overpast. + Me, Lord, remember who remember Thee, + And cleave to Thee, and see Thee without sight, + And choose Thee still in dire extremity, + And in this darkness worship Thee my Light, + And Thee my Life adore in shadow of death, + Thee loved by day, and still beloved by night. + It is the Voice of my Beloved that saith: + "I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, I go + Whither that soul knows well that followeth"-- + + O Lord, I follow, little as I know; + At this eleventh hour I rise and take + My life into my hand, and follow so, + With tears and heart-misgivings and heart-ache; + Thy feeblest follower, yet Thy follower + Indomitable for Thine only sake. + To-night I gird my will afresh, and stir + My strength, and brace my heart to do and dare, + Marvelling: Will to-morrow wake the whirr + Of the great rending wheel, or from his lair + Startle the jubilant lion in his rage, + Or clench the headsman's hand within my hair, + Or kindle fire to speed my pilgrimage, + Chariot of fire and horses of sheer fire + Whirling me home to heaven by one fierce stage? + Thy Will I will, I Thy desire desire; + Let not the waters close above my head, + Uphold me that I sink not in this mire: + For flesh and blood are frail and sore afraid; + And young I am, unsatisfied and young, + With memories, hopes, with cravings all unfed, + My song half sung, its sweetest notes unsung, + All plans cut short, all possibilities, + Because my cord of life is soon unstrung. + Was I a careless woman set at ease + That this so bitter cup is brimmed for me? + + Had mine own vintage settled on the lees? + A word, a puff of smoke, would set me free; + A word, a puff of smoke, over and gone:... + Howbeit, whom have I, Lord, in heaven but Thee? + Yea, only Thee my choice is fixed upon + In heaven or earth, eternity or time:-- + Lord, hold me fast, Lord, leave me not alone, + Thy silly heartless dove that sees the lime + Yet almost flutters to the tempting bough: + Cover me, hide me, pluck me from this crime. + A word, a puff of smoke, would save me now:... + But who, my God, would save me in the day + Of Thy fierce anger? only Saviour Thou. + Preoccupy my heart, and turn away + And cover up mine eyes from frantic fear, + And stop mine ears lest I be driven astray: + For one stands ever dinning in mine ear + How my gray Father withers in the blight + Of love for me, who cruel am and dear; + And how my Mother through this lingering night + Until the day, sits tearless in her woe, + Loathing for love of me the happy light + Which brings to pass a concourse and a show + To glut the hungry faces merciless, + The thousand faces swaying to and fro, + Feasting on me unveiled in helplessness + + Alone,--yet not alone: Lord, stand by me + As once by lonely Paul in his distress. + As blossoms to the sun I turn to Thee; + Thy dove turns to her window, think no scorn; + As one dove to an ark on shoreless sea, + To Thee I turn mine eyes, my heart forlorn; + Put forth Thy scarred right Hand, kind Lord, take hold + Of me Thine all-forsaken dove who mourn: + For Thou hast loved me since the days of old, + And I love Thee Whom loving I will love + Through life's short fever-fits of heat and cold; + Thy Name will I extol and sing thereof, + Will flee for refuge to Thy Blessèd Name. + Lord, look upon me from thy bliss above: + Look down on me, who shrink from all the shame + And pangs and desolation of my death, + Wrenched piecemeal or devoured or set on flame, + While all the world around me holds its breath + With eyes glued on me for a gazing-stock, + Pitiless eyes, while no man pitieth. + The floods are risen, I stagger in their shock, + My heart reels and is faint, I fail, I faint: + My God, set Thou me up upon the rock, + Thou Who didst long ago Thyself acquaint + With death, our death; Thou Who didst long ago + + Pour forth Thy soul for sinner and for saint. + Bear me in mind, whom no one else will know; + Thou Whom Thy friends forsook, take Thou my part, + Of all forsaken in mine overthrow; + Carry me in Thy bosom, in Thy heart, + Carry me out of darkness into light, + To-morrow make me see Thee as Thou art. + Lover and friend Thou hidest from my sight:-- + Alas, alas, mine earthly love, alas, + For whom I thought to don the garments white + And white wreath of a bride, this rugged pass + Hath utterly divorced me from thy care; + Yea, I am to thee as a shattered glass + Worthless, with no more beauty lodging there, + Abhorred, lest I involve thee in my doom: + For sweet are sunshine and this upper air, + And life and youth are sweet, and give us room + For all most sweetest sweetnesses we taste: + Dear, what hast thou in common with a tomb? + I bow my head in silence, I make haste + Alone, I make haste out into the dark, + My life and youth and hope all run to waste. + Is this my body cold and stiff and stark, + Ashes made ashes, earth becoming earth, + Is this a prize for man to make his mark? + + Am I, that very I who laughed in mirth + A while ago, a little, little while, + Yet all the while a-dying since my birth? + Now am I tired, too tired to strive or smile; + I sit alone, my mouth is in the dust: + Look Thou upon me, Lord, for I am vile. + In Thee is all my hope, is all my trust, + On Thee I centre all my self that dies, + And self that dies not with its mortal crust, + But sleeps and wakes, and in the end will rise + With hymns and hallelujahs on its lips, + Thee loving with the love that satisfies. + As once in Thine unutterable eclipse + The sun and moon grew dark for sympathy, + And earth cowered quaking underneath the drips + Of Thy slow Blood priceless exceedingly, + So now a little spare me, and show forth + Some pity, O my God, some pity of me. + If trouble comes not from the south or north, + But meted to us by Thy tender hand, + Let me not in Thine eyes be nothing worth: + Behold me where in agony I stand, + Behold me no man caring for my soul, + And take me to Thee in the far-off land, + Shorten the race and lift me to the goal. + + + + WHY? + + + Lord, if I love Thee and Thou lovest me, + Why need I any more these toilsome days; + Why should I not run singing up Thy ways + Straight into heaven, to rest myself with Thee? + What need remains of death-pang yet to be, + If all my soul is quickened in Thy praise; + If all my heart loves Thee, what need the amaze, + Struggle and dimness of an agony?-- + Bride whom I love, if thou too lovest Me, + Thou needs must choose My Likeness for thy dower: + So wilt thou toil in patience, and abide + Hungering and thirsting for that blessed hour + When I My Likeness shall behold in thee, + And thou therein shalt waken satisfied. + + + + "LOVE IS STRONG AS DEATH." + + + "I have not sought Thee, I have not found Thee, + I have not thirsted for Thee: + And now cold billows of death surround me, + Buffeting billows of death astound me,-- + Wilt Thou look upon, wilt Thou see + Thy perishing me?" + + "Yea, I have sought thee, yea, I have found thee, + Yea, I have thirsted for thee, + Yea, long ago with love's bands I bound thee: + Now the Everlasting Arms surround thee,-- + Through death's darkness I look and see + And clasp thee to Me." + + + + BIRCHINGTON CHURCHYARD. + + + A lowly hill which overlooks a flat, + Half sea, half country side; + A flat-shored sea of low-voiced creeping tide + Over a chalky, weedy mat. + + A hill of hillocks, flowery and kept green + Round Crosses raised for hope, + With many-tinted sunsets where the slope + Faces the lingering western sheen. + + A lowly hope, a height that is but low, + While Time sets solemnly, + While the tide rises of Eternity, + Silent and neither swift nor slow. + + + + ONE SEA-SIDE GRAVE. + + + Unmindful of the roses, + Unmindful of the thorn, + A reaper tired reposes + Among his gathered corn: + So might I, till the morn! + + Cold as the cold Decembers, + Past as the days that set, + While only one remembers + And all the rest forget,-- + But one remembers yet. + + + + BROTHER BRUIN. + + + A dancing Bear grotesque and funny + Earned for his master heaps of money, + Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey, + And cheerful if the day was sunny. + Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood + He tramped, and on some common stood; + There, cottage children circling gaily, + He in their midmost footed daily. + Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle + Were quite enough his brain to puzzle: + But like a philosophic bear + He let alone extraneous care + And danced contented anywhere. + + Still, year on year, and wear and tear, + Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear. + A day came when he scarce could prance, + And when his master looked askance + On dancing Bear who would not dance. + + To looks succeeded blows; hard blows + Battered his ears and poor old nose. + From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon; + He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon, + Capered in fury fast and faster. + Ah, could he once but hug his master + And perish in one joint disaster! + But deafness, blindness, weakness growing, + Not fury's self could keep him going. + One dark day when the snow was snowing + His cup was brimmed to overflowing: + He tottered, toppled on one side, + Growled once, and shook his head, and died. + The master kicked and struck in vain, + The weary drudge had distanced pain + And never now would wince again. + The master growled; he might have howled + Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled. + So gnawed by rancor and chagrin + One thing remained: he sold the skin. + + What next the man did is not worth + Your notice or my setting forth, + But hearken what befell at last. + His idle working days gone past, + And not one friend and not one penny + Stored up (if ever he had any + Friends; but his coppers had been many), + All doors stood shut against him but + The workhouse door, which cannot shut. + There he droned on,--a grim old sinner, + Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner, + Unpitied quite, uncared for much + (The rate-payers not favoring such), + Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare; + Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear + Danced back, a haunting memory. + Indeed, I hope so, for you see + If once the hard old heart relented, + The hard old man may have repented. + + + + "A HELPMEET FOR HIM." + + + Woman was made for man's delight,-- + Charm, O woman! Be not afraid! + His shadow by day, his moon by night, + Woman was made. + + Her strength with weakness is overlaid; + Meek compliances veil her might; + Him she stays, by whom she is stayed. + + World-wide champion of truth and right, + Hope in gloom, and in danger aid, + Tender and faithful, ruddy and white, + Woman was made. + + + + A SONG OF FLIGHT. + + + While we slumber and sleep, + The sun leaps up from the deep,-- + Daylight born at the leap,-- + Rapid, dominant, free, + Athirst to bathe in the uttermost sea. + + While we linger at play-- + If the year would stand at May!-- + Winds are up and away, + Over land, over sea, + To their goal, wherever their goal may be. + + It is time to arise, + To race for the promised prize; + The sun flies, the wind flies, + We are strong, we are free, + And home lies beyond the stars and the sea. + + + + A WINTRY SONNET. + + + A robin said: The Spring will never come, + And I shall never care to build again. + A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome, + My sap will never stir for sun or rain. + The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow, + I neither care to wax nor care to wane. + The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago, + Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main. + When springtime came, red Robin built a nest, + And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight. + Gray hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might + Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core. + The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest, + Dimpled his blue,--yet thirsted evermore. + + + + RESURGAM. + + + From depth to height, from height to loftier height, + The climber sets his foot and sets his face, + Tracks lingering sunbeams to their halting-place, + And counts the last pulsations of the light. + Strenuous thro' day and unsurprised by night + He runs a race with Time, and wins the race, + Emptied and stripped of all save only Grace, + Will, Love,--a threefold panoply of might. + Darkness descends for light he toiled to seek; + He stumbles on the darkened mountain-head, + Left breathless in the unbreathable thin air, + Made freeman of the living and the dead,-- + He wots not he has topped the topmost peak, + But the returning sun will find him there. + + + + TO-DAY'S BURDEN. + + + "Arise, depart, for this is not your rest." + Oh, burden of all burdens,--still to arise + And still depart, nor rest in any wise! + Rolling, still rolling thus to east from west, + Earth journeys on her immemorial quest, + Whom a moon chases in no different guise. + Thus stars pursue their courses, and thus flies + The sun, and thus all creatures manifest + Unrest, the common heritage, the ban + Flung broadcast on all humankind,--on all + Who live; for living, all are bound to die. + That which is old, we know that it is man. + These have no rest who sit and dream and sigh, + Nor have those rest who wrestle and who fall. + + + + "THERE IS A BUDDING MORROW IN MIDNIGHT." + + + Wintry boughs against a wintry sky; + Yet the sky is partly blue + And the clouds are partly bright. + Who can tell but sap is mounting high + Out of sight, + Ready to burst through? + + Winter is the mother-nurse of Spring, + Lovely for her daughter's sake. + Not unlovely for her own; + For a future buds in everything + Grown or blown + Or about to break. + + + + EXULTATE DEO. + + + Many a flower hath perfume for its dower, + And many a bird a song, + And harmless lambs milkwhite beside their dams + Frolic along,-- + Perfume and song and whiteness offering praise + In humble, peaceful ways. + + Man's high degree hath will and memory, + Affection and desire; + By loftier ways he mounts of prayer and praise, + Fire unto fire, + Deep unto deep responsive, height to height, + Until he walk in white. + + + + A HOPE CAROL. + + + A night was near, a day was near; + Between a day and night + I heard sweet voices calling clear, + Calling me: + I heard a whirr of wing on wing, + But could not see the sight; + I long to see my birds that sing,-- + I long to see. + + Below the stars, beyond the moon, + Between the night and day, + I heard a rising falling tune + Calling me: + I long to see the pipes and strings + Whereon such minstrels play; + I long to see each face that sings,-- + I long to see. + + To-day or may be not to-day, + To-night or not to-night; + All voices that command or pray, + Calling me, + Shall kindle in my soul such fire, + And in my eyes such light, + That I shall see that heart's desire + I long to see. + + + + CHRISTMAS CAROLS. + + + 1. + + Whoso hears a chiming for Christmas at the nighest, + Hears a sound like Angels chanting in their glee, + Hears a sound like palm-boughs waving in the highest, + Hears a sound like ripple of a crystal sea. + + Sweeter than a prayer-bell for a saint in dying, + Sweeter than a death-bell for a saint at rest, + Music struck in Heaven with earth's faint replying, + "Life is good, and death is good, for Christ is Best." + + + 2. + + A holy, heavenly chime + Rings fulness in of time, + And on His Mother's breast + Our Lord God ever-Blest + Is laid a Babe at rest. + + Stoop, Spirits unused to stoop, + Swoop, Angels, flying swoop, + Adoring as you gaze, + Uplifting hymns of praise,-- + "Grace to the Full of Grace!" + + The cave is cold and strait + To hold the angelic state. + More strait it is, more cold, + To foster and infold + Its Maker one hour old. + + Thrilled through with awestruck love, + Meek Angels poised above, + To see their God look down. + "What, is there never a Crown + For Him in swaddled gown? + + "How comes He soft and weak + With such a tender cheek, + With such a soft, small hand?-- + The very Hand which spann'd + Heaven when its girth was plann'd. + + "How comes He with a voice + Which is but baby-noise?-- + That Voice which spake with might: + 'Let there be light!' and light + Sprang out before our sight. + + "What need hath He of flesh + Made flawless now afresh? + What need of human heart?-- + Heart that must bleed and smart, + Choosing the better part. + + "But see: His gracious smile + Dismisses us a while + To serve Him in His kin. + Haste we, make haste, begin + To fetch His brethren in." + + Like stars they flash and shoot, + The Shepherds they salute. + "Glory to God" they sing; + "Good news of peace we bring, + For Christ is born a King." + + + 3. + + Lo! newborn Jesus, + Soft and weak and small, + Wrapped in baby's bands + By His Mother's hands, + Lord God of all. + + Lord God of Mary, + Whom His Lips caress + While He rocks to rest + On her milky breast + In helplessness. + + Lord God of shepherds + Flocking through the cold, + Flocking through the dark + To the only Ark, + The only Fold. + + Lord God of all things, + Be they near or far, + Be they high or low; + Lord of storm and snow, + Angel and star. + + Lord God of all men,-- + My Lord and my God! + Thou who lovest me, + Keep me close to Thee + By staff and rod. + + Lo! newborn Jesus, + Loving great and small, + Love's free Sacrifice, + Opening Arms and Eyes + To one and all. + + + + A CANDLEMAS DIALOGUE. + + + "Love brought Me down; and cannot love make thee + Carol for joy to Me? + Hear cheerful robin carol from his tree, + Who owes not half to Me + I won for thee." + + "Yea, Lord, I hear his carol's wordless voice; + And well may he rejoice + Who hath not heard of death's discordant noise. + So might I too rejoice + With such a voice." + + "True, thou hast compassed death; but hast not thou + The tree of life's own bough? + Am I not Life and Resurrection now? + My Cross balm-bearing bough + For such as thou?" + + "Ah me, Thy Cross!--but that seems far away; + Thy Cradle-song to-day + I too would raise, and worship Thee and pray: + Not empty, Lord, to-day + Send me away." + + "If thou wilt not go empty, spend thy store; + And I will give thee more, + Yea, make thee ten times richer than before. + Give more and give yet more + Out of thy store." + + "Because Thou givest me Thyself, I will + Thy blessed word fulfil, + Give with both hands, and hoard by giving still; + Thy pleasure to fulfil, + And work Thy Will." + + + + MARY MAGDALENE AND THE OTHER MARY. + + A SONG FOR ALL MARIES. + + + Our Master lies asleep and is at rest; + His Heart has ceased to bleed, His Eye to weep. + The sun ashamed has dropt down in the west; + Our Master lies asleep. + + Now we are they who weep, and trembling keep + Vigil, with wrung heart in a sighing breast, + While slow time creeps, and slow the shadows creep. + + Renew Thy youth, as eagle from the nest; + O Master, who hast sown, arise to reap: + No cock-crow yet, no flush on eastern crest; + Our Master lies asleep. + + + + PATIENCE OF HOPE. + + + The flowers that bloom in sun and shade + And glitter in the dew, + The flowers must fade. + The birds that build their nest and sing + When lovely spring is new, + Must soon take wing. + + The sun that rises in his strength + To wake and warm the world, + Must set at length. + The sea that overflows the shore + With billows frothed and curled, + Must ebb once more. + + All come and go, all wax and wane, + O Lord, save only Thou + Who dost remain + The Same to all eternity. + All things which fail us now + We trust to Thee. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Note: + +Some apparent printers' errors in the original have been +retained here, including "fufilling" and "aguish." There +are also many inconsistently hyphenated words that sometimes +occur without a hyphen. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Christina G. Rossetti + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 19188-8.txt or 19188-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/8/19188/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins, Jeffrey Johnson and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Rossetti + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Christina G. Rossetti + +Release Date: September 5, 2006 [EBook #19188] +[Date last updated: September 11, 2006] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins, Jeffrey Johnson and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/illus-001.png" width="400" height="606" border="0" alt=""></div> +<h1 align="center"> </h1> +<h1 align="center">POEMS. +</h1> + +<h6 align="center">BY + + + +</h6> +<h2 align="center">CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. + + + +</h2> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/002a.png" width="500" height="451" border="0" alt=""></div> + + + +<br /> +<br /> +<p style="text-align: center;">BOSTON:<br /> +LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.<br /> +1906.</p> + +<HR style="WIDTH: 65%"> + +<pre> </pre> +<pre>AUTHOR'S EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED + + + +</pre> +<pre>1876. + +</pre> +<pre class="smcap">University Press: +John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.</pre> +<HR style="WIDTH: 65%"> + +<pre> </pre> +<pre> +TO + + + +</pre> +<pre>MY MOTHER, + +IN ALL REVERENCE AND LOVE, + + + +</pre> +<pre><i>I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK</i>. + +</pre> +<pre> </pre> +<HR style="WIDTH: 65%"> + +<pre> </pre> +<pre>THE AUTHOR TO HER AMERICAN +READERS. + + +My little book seems scarcely to admit of prefatory +words: either it will speak for itself, or all my additions +must fail to speak for it. + +Its reappearance, however, in an American edition, +gives me a welcome opportunity of acknowledging the +courtesy and liberality of Messrs. Roberts Brothers, who +have arranged with me and with my kind friend and +publisher, Mr. Macmillan, to bring it before the American +public.</pre> +<pre> + +CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. + +</pre> +<pre><span class="smcap">London</span></pre> +<HR style="WIDTH: 65%"> + +<pre> </pre> +<h2 align="center"><a name="CONTENTS.">CONTENTS.</a> + +</h2> +<h3 align="center"> + +</h3> + + <table border="0" width="413" align="center"> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <h4>GOBLIN MARKET, ETC. + + + </h4> + </td> <td width="64"> + + <pre><span class="smcap">Page</span></pre> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_3"><span class="smcap">Goblin Market </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="3">3</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_23"><span class="smcap">In the Round Tower at Jhansi, June 8, 1857 </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="23">23</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_24"><span class="smcap">Dream-land</span></a><span class="smcap"> </span></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="24">24</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_25A"><span class="smcap">At Home </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="25">25</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_26A"><span class="smcap">From Sunset to Star Rise </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="26">26</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_27A">Love from the North </a></span></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="27">27</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_29"><span class="smcap">Winter Rain </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="29">29</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_30A"><span class="smcap">A Dirge </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="30">30</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_31"><span class="smcap">Confluents</span></a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="31">31</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_32A"><span class="smcap">Noble Sisters </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="32">32</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_34A"><span class="smcap">Spring </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="34">34</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_36"><span class="smcap">The Lambs of Grasmere, 1860 </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="36">36</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_37A">A Birthday</a></span><a href="#p_37A"> </a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="37">37</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_38"><span class="smcap">Remember </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="38">38</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_39">After Death </a></span></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="39">39</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_40"><span class="smcap">An End </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="40">40</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_41">My Dream </a></span></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="41">41</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_43">Song</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="43">43</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_43A">The Hour and the Ghost </a></span></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="p_43B">43</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_46A">A Summer Wish</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="46">46</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_47A">An Apple Gathering</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="47">47</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_48A">Song</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="48">48</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_49">Maude Clare</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="49">49</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_51A"><span class="smcap">Echo</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="51">51</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_52"><span class="smcap">Winter: My Secret</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="52">52</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_53A"><span class="smcap">Another Spring</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"> +<a name="53">53</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_54A">A Peal of Bells</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="54">54</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_55A">Fata Morgana</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="55">55</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_56A"><span class="smcap">"No, thank you, John"</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="56">56</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_57A">May</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="57">57</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_58A">A Pause of Thought</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="58">58</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_59A"><span class="smcap">Twilight Calm</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="59">59</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_61A">Wife to Husband</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="61">61</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_63">Three Seasons</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="63">63</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_63A">Mirage</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="p_63B">63</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_64A"><span class="smcap">Shut out</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="64">64</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_65A">Sound Sleep</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="65">65</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_66A">Song</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="66">66</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_67">Song</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="67">67</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_68"><span class="smcap">Dead before Death</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="68">68</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_68A">Bitter for Sweet</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="p_68B">68</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_69"><span class="smcap">"The Master is Come, and Calleth for Thee"</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="69">69</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_70">Rest</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="70">70</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_70A"><span class="smcap">The First Spring Day </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="p_70B">70</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_71A"><span class="smcap">The Convent Threshold </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="71">71</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_77"><span class="smcap">Uphill</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="77">77</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <h4>DEVOTIONAL PIECES.</h4> + </td> <td width="64"> + <h5> </h5> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_81"><span class="smcap">"The Love of Christ which passeth Knowledge"</span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="81">81</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_82A">"A Bruised Reed shall he not Break"</a></span></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="82">82</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_83A"><span class="smcap">A Better Resurrection </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="83">83</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_84A"><span class="smcap">Advent </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="84">84</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_87">The Three Enemies</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="87">87</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_89A"><span class="smcap">One Certainty</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="89">89</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_90">Christian and Jew</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="90">90</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_93">Sweet Death</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="93">93</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_94">Symbols</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="94">94</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_95"><span class="smcap">"Consider the Lilies of the Field" </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="95">95</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_96">The World</a></span></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="96">96</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_97">A Testimony</a></span></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="97">97</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_100"><span class="smcap">Sleep at Sea </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="100">100</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_103A"><span class="smcap">From House to Home </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="103">103</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_113"><span class="smcap">Old and New Year Ditties</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="113">113</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_115A"><span class="smcap">Amen</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="115">115</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_116A">Mother Country</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="116">116</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <h4>THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS, ETC.</h4> + </td> <td width="64"> + <h5> </h5> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_119"><span class="smcap">The Prince's Progress</span></a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="119">119</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_140"><span class="smcap">Maiden-Song</span></a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="140">140</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_148A"><span class="smcap">Jessie Cameron</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="148">148</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_153"><span class="smcap">Spring Quiet </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="153">153</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_154A"><span class="smcap">The Poor Ghost</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="154">154</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_156"><span class="smcap">A Portrait</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="156">156</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_157A"><span class="smcap">Dream-Love</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="157">157</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_160"><span class="smcap">Twice</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="160">160</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_162"><span class="smcap">Songs in a Cornfield</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="162">162</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_166A"><span class="smcap">A Year's Windfalls</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="166">166</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_170A"><span class="smcap">The Queen of Hearts</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="170">170</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_171A">One Day</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="171">171</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_172A"><span class="smcap">A Bird's-Eye View</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="172">172</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_176"><span class="smcap">"Thy Brother's Blood Crieth"</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="176">176</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_177A"><span class="smcap">"To-day for Me"</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="177">177</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_179"><span class="smcap">On the Wing</span></a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="179">179</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_180"><span class="smcap">Consider </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="180">180</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_181"><span class="smcap">Beauty is Vain</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="181">181</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_182"><span class="smcap">Maggie a Lady</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="182">182</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_184A"><span class="smcap">What would I give</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="184">184</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_185"><span class="smcap">The Bourne</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="185">185</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_185A">Summer</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="p_185B">185</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_187"><span class="smcap">Autumn</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="187">187</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_189A"><span class="smcap">The Ghost's Petition</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="189">189</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_193">Memory</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="193">193</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_195"><span class="smcap">A Royal Princess</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="195">195</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_202A"><span class="smcap">Shall I Forget?</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="202">202</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_203"><span class="smcap">Vanity of Vanities</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="203">203</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_204"><span class="smcap">L. E. L.</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="204">204</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_206"><span class="smcap">Life and Death</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="206">206</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_207"><span class="smcap">Bird or Beast?</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="207">207</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_208">Eve</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="208">208</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_211"><span class="smcap">Grown and Flown</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="211">211</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_212"><span class="smcap">A Farm Walk</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="212">212</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_215"><span class="smcap">Somewhere or Other</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="215">215</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_216"><span class="smcap">A Chill</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="216">216</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><span class="smcap"><a href="#p_217">Child's Talk in April</a></span> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="217">217</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_219"><span class="smcap">Gone for Ever</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="219">219</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_220"><span class="smcap">Under the Rose</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="220">220</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_239A"><span class="smcap">Song</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="239">239</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_240"><span class="smcap">By the Sea</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="240">240</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_240A"><span class="smcap">Days of Vanity</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="p_240B">240</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_242"><span class="smcap">Enrica, 1865</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="242">242</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_243"><span class="smcap">Once for All</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="243">243</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_243A"><span class="smcap">Autumn Violets</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="p_243B">243</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_244A"><span class="smcap">"They Desire a Better Country"</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="244">244</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_246"><span class="smcap">A Green Cornfield</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="246">246</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_247"><span class="smcap">A Bride Song</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="247">247</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_249"><span class="smcap">The Lowest Room</span><span class="smcap"> </span></a></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="249">249</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_261"><span class="smcap">Dead Hope</span></a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="261">261</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_261A"><span class="smcap">A Daughter of Eve</span></a><span class="smcap"> </span></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="p_261B">261</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_262A"><span class="smcap">Venus' Looking-Glass</span></a><span class="smcap"> </span></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="262">262</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_263"><span class="smcap">Love lies Bleeding</span></a><span class="smcap"> </span></p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="263">263</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_263A">Bird Raptures</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="p_263B">263</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_264A">My Friend</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="264">264</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_265">Twilight Night</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="265">265</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_266A">A Bird Song</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="266">266</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_267">A Smile and a Sigh</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="267">267</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <h4>DEVOTIONAL PIECES.</h4> + </td> <td width="64"> + <h5> </h5> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_267A">Amor Mundi</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="p_267B">267</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_269">A Christmas Carol</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="269">269</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_271">By the Waters of Babylon</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="271">271</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_274A">Paradise</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="274">274</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_276">"I will lift up mine Eyes unto the Hills"</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="276">276</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_278">Saints and Angels</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="278">278</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_280">"When my Heart is Vexed, I will Complain"</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="280">280</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_281A">After Communion</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="281">281</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_282A">A Rose Plant in Jericho</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="282">282</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_283">Who shall Deliver Me?</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="283">283</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_287">Despised and Rejected</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="287">287</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_289A">Long Barren</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="289">289</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_290A">If Only</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="290">290</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_291">Dost thou not Care?</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="291">291</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_292">Weary in Well-Doing</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="292">292</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_293">Martyrs' Song</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="293">293</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_296">After this the Judgment</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="296">296</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_299">Good Friday</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="299">299</a> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="339"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#p_300">The Lowest Place</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="64"><a name="300">300</a> </td> + </tr> + </table> +<p> </p> + +<p> </p> +<table border="0" width="419" align="center"> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <h4 class="smcap">A PAGEANT AND OTHER POEMS.</h4> + </td> <td width="69"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_11">The Key-Note</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B11">11</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_13">The Months: A Pageant</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B13">13</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_33">Pastime</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B33">33</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_34">"Italia, io ti saluto!"</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B34">34</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_35">Mirrors of Life and Death</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B35">35</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_42">A Ballad of Boding</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B42">42</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_52">Yet a little while</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B52">52</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_53">He and She</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B53">53</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_54">Monna Innominata</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B54">54</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_69">"Luscious and Sorrowful"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B69">69</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_70">De Profundis</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B70">70</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_71">Tempus fugit</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B71">71</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_72">Golden Glories</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B72">72</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_73">Johnny</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B73">73</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_77">"Hollow-sounding and Mysterious"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B77">77</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_79">Maiden May</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B79">79</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_84">Till To-morrow</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B84">84</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_85">Death-Watches</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B85">85</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_86">Touching "Never"</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B86">86</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_87">Brandons both</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B87">87</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_92">A Life's Parallels</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B92">92</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_93">At Last</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B93">93</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_94">Golden Silences</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B94">94</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_95">In the Willow Shade</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B95">95</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_99">Fluttered Wings</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B99">99</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_100">A Fisher-Wife</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B100">100</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_101">What's in a Name?</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B101">101</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_103">Mariana</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B103">103</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_104">Memento Mori</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B104">104</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_105">"One Foot on Sea, and one on Shore"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B105">105</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_107">Buds and Babies</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B107">107</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_108">Boy Johnny</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B108">108</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_109">Freaks of Fashion</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B109">109</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_113">An October Garden</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B113">113</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_114">Summer is ended</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B114">114</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_115">Passing and Glassing</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B115">11</a>5</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_117">"I will arise"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B117">117</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_119">A Prodigal Son</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B119">119</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_120">Soeur Louise de la Miséricorde</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B120">120</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_122">An "immurata" Sister</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B122">122</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_124">"If Thou sayest, Behold, we knew it not"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B124">124</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_127">The Thread of Life</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B127">127</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_130">An Old-World Thicket</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B130">130</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_140">"All Thy Works praise Thee, O Lord"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B140">140</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_154">Later Life</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B154">154</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_182">"For Thine own Sake, O my God"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B182">182</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_183">Until the Day break</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B183">183</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_185">"Of Him that was ready to perish"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B185">185</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_187">"Behold the Man!"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B187">187</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_188">The Descent from the Cross</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B188">188</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_189">"It is finished"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B189">189</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_192">An Easter Carol</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B192">192</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_194">"Behold a shaking"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B194">194</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_196">All Saints</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B196">196</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_199">"Take care of him"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B199">199</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_201">A Martyr</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B201">201</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_207">Why?</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B207">207</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_208">"Love is strong as Death"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B208">208</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_209">Birchington Churchyard</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B209">209</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_210">One Sea-side Grave</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B210">210</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_211">Brother Bruin</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B211">211</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_214">"A Helpmeet for him"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B214">214</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_215">A Song of Flight</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B215">215</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_216">A Wintry Sonnet</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B216">216</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_217">Resurgam</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B217">217</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_218">To-day's Burden</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B218">218</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_219">"There is a Budding Morrow in Midnight"</a></p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B219">219</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_220">Exultate Deo</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B220">220</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_221">A Hope Carol</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B221">221</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_223">Christmas Carols</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B223">223</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_228">A Candlemas Dialogue</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B228">228</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_230">Mary Magdalene and the other Mary</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B230">230</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td width="340"> + <p class="smcap"><a href="#II_231">Patience of Hope</a> </p> + </td> + <td width="69"><a name="B231">231</a></td> + </tr> +</table> +<pre> + +</pre><pre> </pre> +<HR style="WIDTH: 65%"> +<p align="center" class="figcenter"><img src="images/013a.png" width="414" height="500" border="0" alt=""></p> +<p align="left"><a name="p_3"><span class="pagenum">[3]</span></a></p> +<p align="left"> </p> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#3">GOBLIN MARKET.</a></h4> + +<pre>Morning and evening +Maids heard the goblins cry: +"Come buy our orchard fruits, +Come buy, come buy: +Apples and quinces, +Lemons and oranges, +Plump unpecked cherries, +Melons and raspberries, +Bloom-down-cheeked peaches, +Swart-headed mulberries, +Wild free-born cranberries, +Crab-apples, dewberries, +Pine-apples, blackberries, +Apricots, strawberries;-- +All ripe together +In summer weather,-- +Morns that pass by, +Fair eves that fly; +Come buy, come buy: +Our grapes fresh from the vine, +Pomegranates full and fine, +Dates and sharp bullaces, +Rare pears and greengages, +<a name="p_4"><span class="pagenum">[4]</span></a>Damsons and bilberries, +Taste them and try: +Currants and gooseberries, +Bright-fire-like barberries, +Figs to fill your mouth, +Citrons from the South, +Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; +Come buy, come buy." + + Evening by evening +Among the brookside rushes, +Laura bowed her head to hear, +Lizzie veiled her blushes: +Crouching close together +In the cooling weather, +With clasping arms and cautioning lips, +With tingling cheeks and finger-tips. +"Lie close," Laura said, +Pricking up her golden head: +"We must not look at goblin men, +We must not buy their fruits: +Who knows upon what soil they fed +Their hungry thirsty roots?" +"Come buy," call the goblins +Hobbling down the glen. +"O," cried Lizzie, "Laura, Laura, +You should not peep at goblin men." +Lizzie covered up her eyes, +Covered close lest they should look; +Laura reared her glossy head, +<a name="p_5"><span class="pagenum">[5]</span></a>And whispered like the restless brook: +"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie, +Down the glen tramp little men. +One hauls a basket, +One bears a plate, +One lugs a golden dish +Of many pounds' weight. +How fair the vine must grow +Whose grapes are so luscious; +How warm the wind must blow +Through those fruit bushes." +"No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no; +Their offers should not charm us, +Their evil gifts would harm us." +She thrust a dimpled finger +In each ear, shut eyes and ran: +Curious Laura chose to linger +Wondering at each merchant man. +One had a cat's face, +One whisked a tail, +One tramped at a rat's pace, +One crawled like a snail, +One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry, +One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry. +She heard a voice like voice of doves +Cooing all together: +They sounded kind and full of loves +In the pleasant weather. + + Laura stretched her gleaming neck +<a name="p_6"><span class="pagenum">[6]</span></a>Like a rush-imbedded swan, +Like a lily from the beck, +Like a moonlit poplar branch, +Like a vessel at the launch +When its last restraint is gone. + + Backwards up the mossy glen +Turned and trooped the goblin men, +With their shrill repeated cry, +"Come buy, come buy." +When they reached where Laura was +They stood stock still upon the moss, +Leering at each other, +Brother with queer brother; +Signalling each other, +Brother with sly brother. +One set his basket down, +One reared his plate; +One began to weave a crown +Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown +(Men sell not such in any town); +One heaved the golden weight +Of dish and fruit to offer her: +"Come buy, come buy," was still their cry. +Laura stared but did not stir, +Longed but had no money: +The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste +In tones as smooth as honey, +The cat-faced purr'd, +The rat-paced spoke a word +<a name="p_7"><span class="pagenum">[7]</span></a>Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard; +One parrot-voiced and jolly +Cried "Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty Polly";-- +One whistled like a bird. + + But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: +"Good folk, I have no coin; +To take were to purloin: +I have no copper in my purse, +I have no silver either, +And all my gold is on the furze +That shakes in windy weather +Above the rusty heather." +"You have much gold upon your head," +They answered altogether: +"Buy from us with a golden curl." +She clipped a precious golden lock, +She dropped a tear more rare than pearl, +Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: +Sweeter than honey from the rock, +Stronger than man-rejoicing wine, +Clearer than water flowed that juice; +She never tasted such before, +How should it cloy with length of use? +She sucked and sucked and sucked the more +Fruits which that unknown orchard bore; +She sucked until her lips were sore; +Then flung the emptied rinds away, +But gathered up one kernel stone, +And knew not was it night or day +As she turned home alone.</pre> +<pre> + <a name="p_8"><span class="pagenum">[8]</span></a>Lizzie met her at the gate +Full of wise upbraidings: +"Dear, you should not stay so late, +Twilight is not good for maidens; +Should not loiter in the glen +In the haunts of goblin men. +Do you not remember Jeanie, +How she met them in the moonlight, +Took their gifts both choice and many, +Ate their fruits and wore their flowers +Plucked from bowers +Where summer ripens at all hours? +But ever in the noonlight +She pined and pined away; +Sought them by night and day, +Found them no more, but dwindled and grew gray, +Then fell with the first snow, +While to this day no grass will grow +Where she lies low: +I planted daisies there a year ago +That never blow. +You should not loiter so." +"Nay, hush," said Laura: +"Nay, hush, my sister: +I ate and ate my fill, +Yet my mouth waters still; +To-morrow night I will +Buy more,"--and kissed her. +"Have done with sorrow; +I'll bring you plums to-morrow +<a name="p_9"><span class="pagenum">[9]</span></a>Fresh on their mother twigs, +Cherries worth getting; +You cannot think what figs +My teeth have met in, +What melons icy-cold +Piled on a dish of gold +Too huge for me to hold, +What peaches with a velvet nap, +Pellucid grapes without one seed: +Odorous indeed must be the mead +Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink, +With lilies at the brink, +And sugar-sweet their sap." + + Golden head by golden head, +Like two pigeons in one nest +Folded in each other's wings, +They lay down in their curtained bed: +Like two blossoms on one stem, +Like two flakes of new-fallen snow, +Like two wands of ivory +Tipped with gold for awful kings. +Moon and stars gazed in at them, +Wind sang to them lullaby, +Lumbering owls forbore to fly, +Not a bat flapped to and fro +Round their rest: +Cheek to cheek and breast to breast +Locked together in one nest.</pre><pre> + <a name="p_10"><span class="pagenum">[10]</span></a>Early in the morning +When the first cock crowed his warning, +Neat like bees, as sweet and busy, +Laura rose with Lizzie: +Fetched in honey, milked the cows, +Aired and set to rights the house, +Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat, +Cakes for dainty mouths to eat, +Next churned butter, whipped up cream, +Fed their poultry, sat and sewed; +Talked as modest maidens should: +Lizzie with an open heart, +Laura in an absent dream, +One content, one sick in part; +One warbling for the mere bright day's delight, +One longing for the night. + + At length slow evening came: +They went with pitchers to the reedy brook; +Lizzie most placid in her look, +Laura most like a leaping flame. +They drew the gurgling water from its deep; +Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags, +Then turning homeward said: "The sunset flushes +Those furthest loftiest crags; +Come, Laura, not another maiden lags, +No wilful squirrel wags, +The beasts and birds are fast asleep." +But Laura loitered still among the rushes +And said the bank was steep.</pre><pre> + <a name="p_11"><span class="pagenum">[11]</span></a>And said the hour was early still, +The dew not fallen, the wind not chill: +Listening ever, but not catching +The customary cry, +"Come buy, come buy," +With its iterated jingle +Of sugar-baited words: +Not for all her watching +Once discerning even one goblin +Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling; +Let alone the herds +That used to tramp along the glen, +In groups or single, +Of brisk fruit-merchant men. + + Till Lizzie urged: "O Laura, come; +I hear the fruit-call, but I dare not look: +You should not loiter longer at this brook: +Come with me home. +The stars rise, the moon bends her arc, +Each glow-worm winks her spark, +Let us get home before the night grows dark; +For clouds may gather +Though this is summer weather, +Put out the lights and drench us through; +Then if we lost our way what should we do?" + + Laura turned cold as stone +To find her sister heard that cry alone, +That goblin cry, +<a name="p_12"><span class="pagenum">[12]</span></a>"Come buy our fruits, come buy." +Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit? +Must she no more such succous pasture find, +Gone deaf and blind? +Her tree of life drooped from the root: +She said not one word in her heart's sore ache; +But peering thro' the dimness, naught discerning, +Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way; +So crept to bed, and lay +Silent till Lizzie slept; +Then sat up in a passionate yearning, +And gnashed her teeth for balked desire, and wept +As if her heart would break. + + Day after day, night after night, +Laura kept watch in vain, +In sullen silence of exceeding pain. +She never caught again the goblin cry: +"Come buy, come buy";-- +She never spied the goblin men +Hawking their fruits along the glen: +But when the noon waxed bright +Her hair grew thin and gray; +She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn +To swift decay, and burn +Her fire away. + + One day remembering her kernel-stone +She set it by a wall that faced the south; +Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root, +<a name="p_13"><span class="pagenum">[13]</span></a>Watched for a waxing shoot, +But there came none; +It never saw the sun, +It never felt the trickling moisture run: +While with sunk eyes and faded mouth +She dreamed of melons, as a traveller sees +False waves in desert drouth +With shade of leaf-crowned trees, +And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. + + She no more swept the house, +Tended the fowls or cows, +Fetched honey, kneaded cakes of wheat, +Brought water from the brook: +But sat down listless in the chimney-nook +And would not eat. + + Tender Lizzie could not bear +To watch her sister's cankerous care, +Yet not to share. +She night and morning +Caught the goblins' cry: +"Come buy our orchard fruits, +Come buy, come buy." +Beside the brook, along the glen, +She heard the tramp of goblin men, +The voice and stir +Poor Laura could not hear; +Longed to buy fruit to comfort her, +But feared to pay too dear. +<a name="p_14"><span class="pagenum">[14]</span></a>She thought of Jeanie in her grave, +Who should have been a bride; +But who for joys brides hope to have +Fell sick and died +In her gay prime, +In earliest winter-time, +With the first glazing rime, +With the first snow-fall of crisp winter-time. + + Till Laura, dwindling, +Seemed knocking at Death's door: +Then Lizzie weighed no more +Better and worse, +But put a silver penny in her purse, +Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze +At twilight, halted by the brook; +And for the first time in her life +Began to listen and look. + + Laughed every goblin +When they spied her peeping: +Came towards her hobbling, +Flying, running, leaping, +Puffing and blowing, +Chuckling, clapping, crowing, +Clucking and gobbling, +Mopping and mowing, +Full of airs and graces, +Pulling wry faces, +Demure grimaces, +<a name="p_15"><span class="pagenum">[15]</span></a>Cat-like and rat-like, +Ratel and wombat-like, +Snail-paced in a hurry, +Parrot-voiced and whistler, +Helter-skelter, hurry-skurry, +Chattering like magpies, +Fluttering like pigeons, +Gliding like fishes,-- +Hugged her and kissed her; +Squeezed and caressed her; +Stretched up their dishes, +Panniers and plates: +"Look at our apples +Russet and dun, +Bob at our cherries, +Bite at our peaches, +Citrons and dates, +Grapes for the asking, +Pears red with basking +Out in the sun, +Plums on their twigs; +Pluck them and suck them, +Pomegranates, figs." + + "Good folk," said Lizzie, +Mindful of Jeanie, +"Give me much and many";-- +Held out her apron, +Tossed them her penny. +"Nay, take a seat with us, +<a name="p_16"><span class="pagenum">[16]</span></a>Honor and eat with us," +They answered grinning: +"Our feast is but beginning. +Night yet is early, +Warm and dew-pearly, +Wakeful and starry: +Such fruits as these +No man can carry; +Half their bloom would fly, +Half their dew would dry, +Half their flavor would pass by. +Sit down and feast with us, +Be welcome guest with us, +Cheer you and rest with us." +"Thank you," said Lizzie; "but one waits +At home alone for me: +So, without further parleying, +If you will not sell me any +Of your fruits though much and many, +Give me back my silver penny +I tossed you for a fee." +They began to scratch their pates, +No longer wagging, purring, +But visibly demurring, +Grunting and snarling. +One called her proud, +Cross-grained, uncivil; +Their tones waxed loud, +Their looks were evil. +Lashing their tails +<a name="p_17"><span class="pagenum">[17]</span></a>They trod and hustled her, +Elbowed and jostled her, +Clawed with their nails, +Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, +Tore her gown and soiled her stocking, +Twitched her hair out by the roots, +Stamped upon her tender feet, +Held her hands and squeezed their fruits +Against her mouth to make her eat. + + White and golden Lizzie stood, +Like a lily in a flood,-- +Like a rock of blue-veined stone +Lashed by tides obstreperously,-- +Like a beacon left alone +In a hoary roaring sea, +Sending up a golden fire,-- +Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree +White with blossoms honey-sweet +Sore beset by wasp and bee,-- +Like a royal virgin town +Topped with gilded dome and spire +Close beleaguered by a fleet +Mad to tug her standard down. + + One may lead a horse to water, +Twenty cannot make him drink. +Though the goblins cuffed and caught her, +Coaxed and fought her, +Bullied and besought her, +<a name="p_18"><span class="pagenum">[18]</span></a>Scratched her, pinched her black as ink, +Kicked and knocked her, +Mauled and mocked her, +Lizzie uttered not a word; +Would not open lip from lip +Lest they should cram a mouthful in; +But laughed in heart to feel the drip +Of juice that syrupped all her face, +And lodged in dimples of her chin, +And streaked her neck which quaked like curd. +At last the evil people, +Worn out by her resistance, +Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit +Along whichever road they took, +Not leaving root or stone or shoot. +Some writhed into the ground, +Some dived into the brook +With ring and ripple, +Some scudded on the gale without a sound, +Some vanished in the distance. + + In a smart, ache, tingle, +Lizzie went her way; +Knew not was it night or day; +Sprang up the bank, tore through the furze, +Threaded copse and dingle, +And heard her penny jingle +Bouncing in her purse,-- +Its bounce was music to her ear. +She ran and ran +<a name="p_19"><span class="pagenum">[19]</span></a>As if she feared some goblin man +Dogged her with gibe or curse +Or something worse: +But not one goblin skurried after, +Nor was she pricked by fear; +The kind heart made her windy-paced +That urged her home quite out of breath with haste +And inward laughter. + + She cried "Laura," up the garden, +"Did you miss me? +Come and kiss me. +Never mind my bruises, +Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices +Squeezed from goblin fruits for you, +Goblin pulp and goblin dew. +Eat me, drink me, love me; +Laura, make much of me: +For your sake I have braved the glen +And had to do with goblin merchant men." + + Laura started from her chair, +Flung her arms up in the air, +Clutched her hair: +"Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted +For my sake the fruit forbidden? +Must your light like mine be hidden, +Your young life like mine be wasted, +Undone in mine undoing +And ruined in my ruin, +<a name="p_20"><span class="pagenum">[20]</span></a>Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden?" +She clung about her sister, +Kissed and kissed and kissed her: +Tears once again +Refreshed her shrunken eyes, +Dropping like rain +After long sultry drouth; +Shaking with aguish fear, and pain, +She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. + + Her lips began to scorch, +That juice was wormwood to her tongue, +She loathed the feast: +Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung, +Rent all her robe, and wrung +Her hands in lamentable haste, +And beat her breast. +Her locks streamed like the torch +Borne by a racer at full speed, +Or like the mane of horses in their flight, +Or like an eagle when she stems the light +Straight toward the sun, +Or like a caged thing freed, +Or like a flying flag when armies run. + + Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart, +Met the fire smouldering there +And overbore its lesser flame; +She gorged on bitterness without a name: +<a name="p_21"><span class="pagenum">[21]</span></a>Ah! fool, to choose such part +Of soul-consuming care! +Sense failed in the mortal strife: +Like the watch-tower of a town +Which an earthquake shatters down, +Like a lightning-stricken mast, +Like a wind-uprooted tree +Spun about, +Like a foam-topped water-spout +Cast down headlong in the sea, +She fell at last; +Pleasure past and anguish past, +Is it death or is it life? + + Life out of death. +That night long Lizzie watched by her, +Counted her pulse's flagging stir, +Felt for her breath, +Held water to her lips, and cooled her face +With tears and fanning leaves: +But when the first birds chirped about their eaves, +And early reapers plodded to the place +Of golden sheaves, +And dew-wet grass +Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass, +And new buds with new day +Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream, +Laura awoke as from a dream, +Laughed in the innocent old way, +Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice; +<a name="p_22"><span class="pagenum">[22]</span></a>Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of gray, +Her breath was sweet as May, +And light danced in her eyes. + + Days, weeks, months, years +Afterwards, when both were wives +With children of their own; +Their mother-hearts beset with fears, +Their lives bound up in tender lives; +Laura would call the little ones +And tell them of her early prime, +Those pleasant days long gone +Of not-returning time: +Would talk about the haunted glen, +The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men, +Their fruits like honey to the throat, +But poison in the blood; +(Men sell not such in any town;) +Would tell them how her sister stood +In deadly peril to do her good, +And win the fiery antidote: +Then joining hands to little hands +Would bid them cling together, +"For there is no friend like a sister, +In calm or stormy weather, +To cheer one on the tedious way, +To fetch one if one goes astray, +To lift one if one totters down, +To strengthen whilst one stands." + </pre><pre> +<a name="p_23"><span class="pagenum">[23]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#23">IN THE ROUND TOWER AT JHANSI,</a> + +<br><span class="smcap">June</span> 8, 1857. + +</h4> +<pre>A hundred, a thousand to one; even so; + Not a hope in the world remained: +The swarming, howling wretches below + Gained and gained and gained. + +Skene looked at his pale young wife:-- + "Is the time come?"--"The time is come!"-- +Young, strong, and so full of life: + The agony struck them dumb. + +Close his arm about her now, + Close her cheek to his, +Close the pistol to her brow-- + God forgive them this! + +"Will it hurt much?"--"No, mine own: + I wish I could bear the pang for both." +"I wish I could bear the pang alone: + Courage, dear, I am not loth." + +Kiss and kiss: "It is not pain + Thus to kiss and die. +One kiss more."--"And yet one again."-- + "Good by."--"Good by." + +<span class="smcap">Note.</span>--I retain this little poem, not as historically accurate, +but as written and published before I heard the supposed +facts of its first verse contradicted. </pre> +<pre><a name="p_24"><span class="pagenum">[24]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#24">DREAM-LAND.</a> + +</h4> +<pre>Where sunless rivers weep +Their waves into the deep, +She sleeps a charmèd sleep: + Awake her not. +Led by a single star, +She came from very far +To seek where shadows are + Her pleasant lot. + +She left the rosy morn, +She left the fields of corn, +For twilight cold and lorn + And water springs. +Through sleep, as through a veil, +She sees the sky look pale, +And hears the nightingale + That sadly sings. + +Rest, rest, a perfect rest +Shed over brow and breast; +Her face is toward the west, + The purple land. +She cannot see the grain +Ripening on hill and plain; +She cannot feel the rain + Upon her hand. + +<a name="p_25"><span class="pagenum">[25]</span></a>Rest, rest, forevermore +Upon a mossy shore; +Rest, rest at the heart's core + Till time shall cease: +Sleep that no pain shall wake, +Night that no morn shall break, +Till joy shall overtake + Her perfect peace. +<a name="p_25A"></a> +</pre> +<h4> +<a href="#25">AT HOME.</a> + +</h4><pre>When I was dead, my spirit turned + To seek the much-frequented house +I passed the door, and saw my friends + Feasting beneath green orange-boughs; +From hand to hand they pushed the wine, + They sucked the pulp of plum and peach; +They sang, they jested, and they laughed, + For each was loved of each. + +I listened to their honest chat: + Said one: "To-morrow we shall be +Plod plod along the featureless sands, + And coasting miles and miles of sea." +Said one: "Before the turn of tide + We will achieve the eyrie-seat." +Said one: "To-morrow shall be like + To-day, but much more sweet." + +<a name="p_26"><span class="pagenum">[26]</span></a>"To-morrow," said they, strong with hope, + And dwelt upon the pleasant way: +"To-morrow," cried they, one and all, + While no one spoke of yesterday. +Their life stood full at blessed noon; + I, only I, had passed away: +"To-morrow and to-day," they cried; + I was of yesterday. + +I shivered comfortless, but cast + No chill across the table-cloth; +I, all-forgotten, shivered, sad + To stay, and yet to part how loth: +I passed from the familiar room, + I who from love had passed away, +Like the remembrance of a guest + That tarrieth but a day.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_26A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre><pre> +</pre><h4> +<a href="#26">FROM SUNSET TO STAR RISE.</a> +</h4> +<pre>Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not: + I am no summer friend, but wintry cold, + A silly sheep benighted from the fold, +A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. +Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot, + Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold; + Lest you with me should shiver on the wold, +Athirst and hungering on a barren spot. + +<a name="p_27"><span class="pagenum">[27]</span></a>For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge, + I live alone, I look to die alone: +Yet sometimes when a wind sighs through the sedge, + Ghosts of my buried years and friends come back, +My heart goes sighing after swallows flown + On sometime summer's unreturning track.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_27A"></a></pre> +<pre> + +</pre><h4><a href="#27">LOVE FROM THE NORTH.</a></h4> +<pre>I had a love in soft south land, + Beloved through April far in May; +He waited on my lightest breath, + And never dared to say me nay. + +He saddened if my cheer was sad, + But gay he grew if I was gay; +We never differed on a hair, + My yes his yes, my nay his nay. + +The wedding hour was come, the aisles + Were flushed with sun and flowers that day; +I pacing balanced in my thoughts,-- + "It's quite too late to think of nay."-- + +My bridegroom answered in his turn, + Myself had almost answered "yea": +When through the flashing nave I heard. + A struggle and resounding "nay." + +<a name="p_28"><span class="pagenum">[28]</span></a>Bridemaids and bridegroom shrank in fear, + But I stood high who stood at bay: +"And if I answer yea, fair Sir, + What man art thou to bar with nay?" + +He was a strong man from the north, + Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous gray: +"Put yea by for another time + In which I will not say thee nay." + +He took me in his strong white arms, + He bore me on his horse away +O'er crag, morass, and hair-breadth pass, + But never asked me yea or nay. + +He made me fast with book and bell, + With links of love he makes me stay; +Till now I've neither heart nor power + Nor will nor wish to say him nay. + +</pre> +<pre> </pre> +<pre><a name="p_29"><span class="pagenum">[29]</span></a></pre> +<pre> + +</pre><h4><a href="#29">WINTER RAIN.</a></h4> +<pre>Every valley drinks, + Every dell and hollow: +Where the kind rain sinks and sinks, + Green of Spring will follow. + +Yet a lapse of weeks + Buds will burst their edges, +Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks, + In the woods and hedges; + +Weave a bower of love + For birds to meet each other, +Weave a canopy above + Nest and egg and mother. + +But for fattening rain + We should have no flowers, +Never a bud or leaf again + But for soaking showers; + +Never a mated bird + In the rocking tree-tops, +Never indeed a flock or herd + To graze upon the lea-crops. + +Lambs so woolly white, + Sheep the sun-bright leas on, +<a name="p_30"><span class="pagenum">[30]</span></a>They could have no grass to bite + But for rain in season. + +We should find no moss + In the shadiest places, +Find no waving meadow-grass + Pied with broad-eyed daisies; + +But miles of barren sand, + With never a son or daughter, +Not a lily on the land, + Or lily on the water.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_30A"></a> +</pre><h4><a href="#30">A DIRGE.</a></h4> +<pre>Why were you born when the snow was falling? +You should have come to the cuckoo's calling, +Or when grapes are green in the cluster, +Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster + For their far off flying + From summer dying. + +Why did you die when the lambs were cropping? +You should have died at the apples' dropping, +When the grasshopper comes to trouble, +And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble, + And all winds go sighing + For sweet things dying.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_31"><span class="pagenum">[31]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#31">CONFLUENTS</a></h4> +<pre>As rivers seek the sea, + Much more deep than they, +So my soul seeks thee + Far away: +As running rivers moan +On their course alone + So I moan + Left alone. + +As the delicate rose + To the sun's sweet strength +Doth herself unclose, + Breadth and length: +So spreads my heart to thee +Unveiled utterly, + I to thee + Utterly. + +As morning dew exhales + Sunwards pure and free, +So my spirit fails + After thee: +As dew leaves not a trace +On the green earth's face; + I, no trace + On thy face. + +<a name="p_32"><span class="pagenum">[32]</span></a>Its goal the river knows, + Dewdrops find a way, +Sunlight cheers the rose + In her day: +Shall I, lone sorrow past, +Find thee at the last? + Sorrow past, + Thee at last?</pre> +<pre> + <a name="p_32A"></a></pre><h4><a href="#32">NOBLE SISTERS.</a></h4> +<pre>"Now did you mark a falcon, + Sister dear, sister dear, +Flying toward my window + In the morning cool and clear? +With jingling bells about her neck, + But what beneath her wing? +It may have been a ribbon, + Or it may have been a ring."-- + "I marked a falcon swooping + At the break of day: + And for your love, my sister dove, + I 'frayed the thief away."-- + +"Or did you spy a ruddy hound, + Sister fair and tall, +Went snuffing round my garden bound, + Or crouched by my bower wall? +<a name="p_33"><span class="pagenum">[33]</span></a>With a silken leash about his neck; + But in his mouth may be +A chain of gold and silver links, + Or a letter writ to me."-- + "I heard a hound, high-born sister, + Stood baying at the moon: + I rose and drove him from your wall + Lest you should wake too soon."-- + +"Or did you meet a pretty page + Sat swinging on the gate; +Sat whistling, whistling like a bird, + Or may be slept too late: +With eaglets broidered on his cap, + And eaglets on his glove? +If you had turned his pockets out, + You had found some pledge of love."-- + "I met him at this daybreak, + Scarce the east was red: + Lest the creaking gate should anger you, + I packed him home to bed."-- + +"O patience, sister. Did you see + A young man tall and strong, +Swift-footed to uphold the right + And to uproot the wrong, +Come home across the desolate sea + To woo me for his wife? +And in his heart my heart is locked, + And in his life my life."-- + <a name="p_34"><span class="pagenum">[34]</span></a>"I met a nameless man, sister, + Who loitered round our door: + I said: Her husband loves her much. + And yet she loves him more."-- + +"Fie, sister, fie, a wicked lie, + A lie, a wicked lie; +I have none other love but him, + Nor will have till I die. +And you have turned him from our door, + And stabbed him with a lie: +I will go seek him thro' the world + In sorrow till I die."-- + "Go seek in sorrow, sister, + And find in sorrow too: + If thus you shame our father's name + My curse go forth with you."</pre> +<pre><a name="p_34A"></a> + +</pre><h4><a href="#34">SPRING.</a></h4> +<pre>Frost-locked all the winter, +Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, +What shall make their sap ascend +That they may put forth shoots? +Tips of tender green, +Leaf, or blade, or sheath; +Telling of the hidden life +That breaks forth underneath, +Life nursed in its grave by Death. + +<a name="p_35"><span class="pagenum">[35]</span></a>Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly, +Drips the soaking rain, +By fits looks down the waking sun: +Young grass springs on the plain; +Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees; +Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, +Swollen with sap, put forth their shoots; +Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane; +Birds sing and pair again. + +There is no time like Spring, +When life's alive in everything, +Before new nestlings sing, +Before cleft swallows speed their journey back +Along the trackless track,-- +God guides their wing, +He spreads their table that they nothing lack,-- +Before the daisy grows a common flower, +Before the sun has power +To scorch the world up in his noontide hour. + +There is no time like Spring, +Like Spring that passes by; +There is no life like Spring-life born to die,-- +Piercing the sod, +Clothing the uncouth clod, +Hatched in the nest, +Fledged on the windy bough, +Strong on the wing: +There is no time like Spring that passes by, +Now newly born, and now +Hastening to die.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_36"><span class="pagenum">[36]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#36">THE LAMBS OF GRASMERE, 1860.</a></h4> +<pre>The upland flocks grew starved and thinned: + Their shepherds scarce could feed the lambs +Whose milkless mothers butted them, + Or who were orphaned of their dams. +The lambs athirst for mother's milk + Filled all the place with piteous sounds: +Their mothers' bones made white for miles + The pastureless wet pasture grounds. + +Day after day, night after night, + From lamb to lamb the shepherds went, +With teapots for the bleating mouths + Instead of nature's nourishment. +The little shivering gaping things + Soon knew the step that brought them aid, +And fondled the protecting hand, + And rubbed it with a woolly head. + +Then, as the days waxed on to weeks, + It was a pretty sight to see +These lambs with frisky heads and tails + Skipping and leaping on the lea, +Bleating in tender, trustful tones, + Resting on rocky crag or mound, +And following the beloved feet + That once had sought for them and found. + +<a name="p_37"><span class="pagenum">[37]</span></a>These very shepherds of their flocks, + These loving lambs so meek to please, +Are worthy of recording words + And honor in their due degrees: +So I might live a hundred years, + And roam from strand to foreign strand, +Yet not forget this flooded spring + And scarce-saved lambs of Westmoreland.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_37A"></a> + +</pre><h4><a href="#37">A BIRTHDAY.</a></h4> +<pre> +My heart is like a singing bird + Whose nest is in a watered shoot; +My heart is like an apple-tree + Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; +My heart is like a rainbow shell + That paddles in a halcyon sea; +My heart is gladder than all these + Because my love is come to me. + +Raise me a dais of silk and down; + Hang it with vair and purple dyes; +Carve it in doves and pomegranates, + And peacocks with a hundred eyes; +Work it in gold and silver grapes, + In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; +Because the birthday of my life + Is come, my love is come to me.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_38"><span class="pagenum">[38]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#38">REMEMBER.</a></h4> +<h5>SONNET.</h5> +<pre>Remember me when I am gone away, + Gone far away into the silent land; + When you can no more hold me by the hand, +Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. +Remember me when no more, day by day, + You tell me of our future that you planned: + Only remember me; you understand +It will be late to counsel then or pray. +Yet if you should forget me for a while + And afterwards remember, do not grieve: + For if the darkness and corruption leave + A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, +Better by far you should forget and smile + Than that you should remember and be sad. + +</pre> +<pre><a name="p_39"><span class="pagenum">[39]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#39">AFTER DEATH.</a></h4> +<h5>SONNET.</h5> +<pre>The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept + And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may + Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, +Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. +He leaned above me, thinking that I slept + And could not hear him; but I heard him say: + "Poor child, poor child": and as he turned away +Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. +He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold + That hid my face, or take my hand in his, + Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: + He did not love me living; but once dead + He pitied me; and very sweet it is +To know he still is warm though I am cold.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_40"><span class="pagenum">[40]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#40">AN END.</a></h4> +<pre>Love, strong as Death, is dead. +Come, let us make his bed +Among the dying flowers: +A green turf at his head; +And a stone at his feet, +Whereon we may sit +In the quiet evening hours. + +He was born in the Spring, +And died before the harvesting: +On the last warm summer day +He left us; he would not stay +For autumn twilight, cold and gray. +Sit we by his grave, and sing +He is gone away. + +To few chords and sad and low +Sing we so: +Be our eyes fixed on the grass +Shadow-veiled as the years pass, +While we think of all that was +In the long ago.</pre> +<pre> +<a name="p_41"><span class="pagenum">[41]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#41">MY DREAM.</a></h4> +<pre> +Hear now a curious dream I dreamed last night, +Each word whereof is weighed and sifted truth. + + I stood beside Euphrates while it swelled +Like overflowing Jordan in its youth: +It waxed and colored sensibly to sight, +Till out of myriad pregnant waves there welled +Young crocodiles, a gaunt blunt-featured crew, +Fresh-hatched perhaps and daubed with birthday dew. +The rest if I should tell, I fear my friend, +My closest friend, would deem the facts untrue; +And therefore it were wisely left untold; +Yet if you will, why, hear it to the end. + + Each crocodile was girt with massive gold +And polished stones, that with their wearers grew: +But one there was who waxed beyond the rest, +Wore kinglier girdle and a kingly crown, +Whilst crowns and orbs and sceptres starred his breast. +All gleamed compact and green with scale on scale, +But special burnishment adorned his mail, +And special terror weighed upon his frown; +His punier brethren quaked before his tail, +Broad as a rafter, potent as a flail. +So he grew lord and master of his kin: +<a name="p_42"><span class="pagenum">[42]</span></a>But who shall tell the tale of all their woes? +An execrable appetite arose, +He battened on them, crunched, and sucked them in. +He knew no law, he feared no binding law, +But ground them with inexorable jaw: +The luscious fat distilled upon his chin, +Exuded from his nostrils and his eyes, +While still like hungry death he fed his maw; +Till every minor crocodile being dead +And buried too, himself gorged to the full, +He slept with breath oppressed and unstrung claw. +O marvel passing strange which next I saw: +In sleep he dwindled to the common size, +And all the empire faded from his coat. +Then from far off a wingèd vessel came, +Swift as a swallow, subtle as a flame: +I know not what it bore of freight or host, +But white it was as an avenging ghost. +It levelled strong Euphrates in its course; +Supreme yet weightless as an idle mote +It seemed to tame the waters without force +Till not a murmur swelled or billow beat: +Lo, as the purple shadow swept the sands, +The prudent crocodile rose on his feet +And shed appropriate tears and wrung his hands. + + What can it mean? you ask. I answer not +For meaning, but myself must echo, What? +And tell it as I saw it on the spot.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_43"><span class="pagenum">[43]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#43">SONG.</a></h4> +<pre>O roses for the flush of youth, + And laurel for the perfect prime; +But pluck an ivy branch for me + Grown old before my time. + +O violets for the grave of youth, + And bay for those dead in their prime; +Give me the withered leaves I chose + Before in the old time.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_43A"></a> + +</pre><h4><a href="#p_43B">THE HOUR AND THE GHOST.</a></h4> +<pre> + BRIDE. + +O love, love, hold me fast,-- +He draws me away from thee; +I cannot stem the blast, +Nor the cold strong sea: +Far away a light shines +Beyond the hills and pines; +It is lit for me. + + BRIDEGROOM. + +I have thee close, my dear, +No terror can come near; +Only far off the northern light shines clear. + + GHOST. + +<a name="p_44"><span class="pagenum">[44]</span></a>Come with me, fair and false, +To our home, come home. +It is my voice that calls: +Once thou wast not afraid +When I wooed, and said, +"Come, our nest is newly made,"-- +Now cross the tossing foam. + + BRIDE. + +Hold me one moment longer, +He taunts me with the past, +His clutch is waxing stronger, +Hold me fast, hold me fast. +He draws me from thy heart, +And I cannot withhold: +He bids my spirit depart +With him into the cold:-- +O bitter vows of old! + + BRIDEGROOM. + +Lean on me, hide thine eyes: +Only ourselves, earth and skies, +Are present here: be wise. + + GHOST. + +Lean on me, come away, +I will guide and steady: +Come, for I will not stay: +Come, for house and bed are ready. +<a name="p_45"><span class="pagenum">[45]</span></a>Ah, sure bed and house, +For better and worse, for life and death: +Goal won with shortened breath: +Come, crown our vows. + + BRIDE. + +One moment, one more word, +While my heart beats still, +While my breath is stirred +By my fainting will. +O friend forsake me not, +Forget not as I forgot: +But keep thy heart for me, +Keep thy faith true and bright; +Through the lone cold winter night +Perhaps I may come to thee. + + BRIDEGROOM. + +Nay, peace, my darling, peace: +Let these dreams and terrors cease: +Who spoke of death or change or aught but ease? + + GHOST. + +O fair frail sin, +O poor harvest gathered in! +Thou shalt visit him again +To watch his heart grow cold; +To know the gnawing pain +I knew of old; +To see one much more fair +<a name="p_46"><span class="pagenum">[46]</span></a>Fill up the vacant chair, +Fill his heart, his children bear:-- +While thou and I together +In the outcast weather +Toss and howl and spin.</pre> +<pre> </pre> +<pre><a name="p_46A"></a> +</pre> +<h4><a href="#46">A SUMMER WISH.</a></h4> +<pre>Live all thy sweet life through + Sweet Rose, dew-sprent, +Drop down thine evening dew +To gather it anew +When day is bright: + I fancy thou wast meant +Chiefly to give delight. + +Sing in the silent sky, + Glad soaring bird; +Sing out thy notes on high +To sunbeam straying by +Or passing cloud; + Heedless if thou art heard +Sing thy full song aloud. + +O that it were with me + As with the flower; +Blooming on its own tree +For butterfly and bee +<a name="p_47"><span class="pagenum">[47]</span></a>Its summer morns: + That I might bloom mine hour +A rose in spite of thorns. + +O that my work were done + As birds' that soar +Rejoicing in the sun: +That when my time is run +And daylight too, + I so might rest once more +Cool with refreshing dew.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_47A"></a> + +</pre><h4><a href="#47">AN APPLE GATHERING.</a></h4> +<pre>I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple-tree, + And wore them all that evening in my hair: +Then in due season when I went to see + I found no apples there. + +With dangling basket all along the grass + As I had come I went the selfsame track: +My neighbors mocked me while they saw me pass + So empty-handed back. + +Lilian and Lilias smiled in trudging by, + Their heaped-up basket teased me like a jeer; +Sweet-voiced they sang beneath the sunset sky, + Their mother's home was near. + +<a name="p_48"><span class="pagenum">[48]</span></a>Plump Gertrude passed me with her basket full, + A stronger hand than hers helped it along; +A voice talked with her through the shadows cool + More sweet to me than song. + +Ah, Willie, Willie, was my love less worth + Than apples with their green leaves piled above? +I counted rosiest apples on the earth + Of far less worth than love. + +So once it was with me you stooped to talk + Laughing and listening in this very lane: +To think that by this way we used to walk + We shall not walk again! + +I let my neighbors pass me, ones and twos + And groups; the latest said the night grew chill, +And hastened: but I loitered, while the dews + Fell fast I loitered still.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_48A"></a> + +</pre><h4><a href="#48">SONG.</a></h4> +<pre>Two doves upon the selfsame branch, + Two lilies on a single stem, +Two butterflies upon one flower:-- + O happy they who look on them. + +Who look upon them hand in hand + Flushed in the rosy summer light; +Who look upon them hand in hand + And never give a thought to night.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_49"><span class="pagenum">[49]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#49">MAUDE CLARE.</a></h4> +<pre>Out of the church she followed them + With a lofty step and mien: +His bride was like a village maid, + Maude Clare was like a queen. + +"Son Thomas," his lady mother said, + With smiles, almost with tears: +"May Nell and you but live as true + As we have done for years; + +"Your father thirty years ago + Had just your tale to tell; +But he was not so pale as you, + Nor I so pale as Nell." + +My lord was pale with inward strife, + And Nell was pale with pride; +My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare + Or ever he kissed the bride. + +"Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord, + Have brought my gift," she said: +"To bless the hearth, to bless the board, + To bless the marriage-bed. + +<a name="p_50"><span class="pagenum">[50]</span></a>"Here's my half of the golden chain + You wore about your neck, +That day we waded ankle-deep + For lilies in the beck: + +"Here's my half of the faded leaves + We plucked from budding bough, +With feet amongst the lily-leaves,-- + The lilies are budding now." + +He strove to match her scorn with scorn, + He faltered in his place: +"Lady," he said,--"Maude Clare," he said,-- + "Maude Clare":--and hid his face. + +She turned to Nell: "My Lady Nell, + I have a gift for you; +Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone, + Or, were it flowers, the dew. + +"Take my share of a fickle heart, + Mine of a paltry love: +Take it or leave it as you will, + I wash my hands thereof." + +"And what you leave," said Nell, "I'll take, + And what you spurn, I'll wear; +For he's my lord for better and worse, + And him I love, Maude Clare. + +</pre> +<pre><a name="p_51"><span class="pagenum">[51]</span></a>"Yea, though you're taller by the head, + More wise, and much more fair; +I'll love him till he loves me best, + Me best of all, Maude Clare."</pre> +<pre> </pre> +<pre><a name="p_51A"></a> +</pre> +<h4><a href="#51">ECHO.</a></h4> +<pre>Come to me in the silence of the night; + Come in the speaking silence of a dream; +Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright + As sunlight on a stream; + Come back in tears, +O memory, hope, love of finished years. + +O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet, + Whose wakening should have been in Paradise, +Where souls brimful of love abide and meet; + Where thirsting longing eyes + Watch the slow door +That opening, letting in, lets out no more. + +Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live + My very life again though cold in death: +Come back to me in dreams, that I may give + Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: + Speak low, lean low, +As long ago, my love, how long ago!</pre> +<pre> <a name="p_52"><span class="pagenum">[52]</span></a> +</pre> +<h4><a href="#52">WINTER: MY SECRET. +</a> + + + + +</h4> +<pre> I tell my secret? No indeed, not I: +Perhaps some day, who knows? +But not to-day; it froze, and blows, and snows, +And you're too curious: fie! +You want to hear it? well: +Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell. + + Or, after all, perhaps there's none: +Suppose there is no secret after all, +But only just my fun. +To-day's a nipping day, a biting day; +In which one wants a shawl, +A veil, a cloak, and other wraps: +I cannot ope to every one who taps, +And let the draughts come whistling through my hall; +Come bounding and surrounding me, +Come buffeting, astounding me, +Nipping and clipping through my wraps and all. +I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows +His nose to Russian snows +To be pecked at by every wind that blows? +You would not peck? I thank you for good-will, +Believe, but leave that truth untested still. + + Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trust +March with its peck of dust, +<a name="p_53"><span class="pagenum">[53]</span></a>Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers, +Nor even May, whose flowers +One frost may wither through the sunless hours. + + Perhaps some languid summer day, +When drowsy birds sing less and less, +And golden fruit is ripening to excess, +If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud, +And the warm wind is neither still nor loud, +Perhaps my secret I may say, +Or you may guess.</pre> +<pre> <a name="p_53A"></a></pre> +<h4><a href="#53">ANOTHER SPRING.</a></h4> +<pre>If I might see another Spring + I'd not plant summer flowers and wait: +I'd have my crocuses at once, +My leafless pink mezereons, + My chill-veined snowdrops, choicer yet + My white or azure violet, +Leaf-nested primrose; anything + To blow at once not late. + +If I might see another Spring + I'd listen to the daylight birds +That build their nests and pair and sing, +Nor wait for mateless nightingale; + I'd listen to the lusty herds, + The ewes with lambs as white as snow, +<a name="p_54"><span class="pagenum">[54]</span></a>I'd find out music in the hail + And all the winds that blow. + +If I might see another Spring-- + O stinging comment on my past +That all my past results in "if"-- + If I might see another Spring +I'd laugh to-day, to-day is brief; + I would not wait for anything: + I'd use to-day that cannot last, + Be glad to-day and sing.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_54A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre><h4><a href="#54">A PEAL OF BELLS.</a></h4> +<pre>Strike the bells wantonly, + Tinkle tinkle well; +Bring me wine, bring me flowers, + Ring the silver bell. +All my lamps burn scented oil, + Hung on laden orange-trees, +Whose shadowed foliage is the foil + To golden lamps and oranges. +Heap my golden plates with fruit, + Golden fruit, fresh-plucked and ripe; + Strike the bells and breathe the pipe; +Shut out showers from summer hours; +Silence that complaining lute; + <a name="p_55"><span class="pagenum">[55]</span></a>Shut out thinking, shut out pain, + From hours that cannot come again. + +Strike the bells solemnly, + Ding dong deep: +My friend is passing to his bed, + Fast asleep; +There's plaited linen round his head, + While foremost go his feet,-- +His feet that cannot carry him. +My feast's a show, my lights are dim; + Be still, your music is not sweet,-- +There is no music more for him: + His lights are out, his feast is done; +His bowl that sparkled to the brim +Is drained, is broken, cannot hold; +My blood is chill, his blood is cold; + His death is full, and mine begun.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_55A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#55">FATA MORGANA.</a></h4> +<pre>A blue-eyed phantom far before + Is laughing, leaping toward the sun; +Like lead I chase it evermore, + I pant and run. + +It breaks the sunlight bound on bound; + Goes singing as it leaps along +To sheep-bells with a dreamy sound + A dreamy song. + +<a name="p_56"><span class="pagenum">[56]</span></a>I laugh, it is so brisk and gay; + It is so far before, I weep: +I hope I shall lie down some day, + Lie down and sleep.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_56A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#56">"NO, THANK YOU, JOHN."</a></h4> +<pre>I never said I loved you, John: + Why will you tease me, day by day, +And wax a weariness to think upon + With always "do" and "pray"? + +You know I never loved you, John; + No fault of mine made me your toast: +Why will you haunt me with a face as wan + As shows an hour-old ghost? + +I dare say Meg or Moll would take + Pity upon you, if you'd ask: +And pray don't remain single for my sake + Who can't perform that task. + +I have no heart?--Perhaps I have not; + But then you're mad to take offence +That I don't give you what I have not got: + Use your own common sense. + +Let bygones be bygones: + Don't call me false, who owed not to be true: +<a name="p_57"><span class="pagenum">[57]</span></a>I'd rather answer "No" to fifty Johns + Than answer "Yes" to you. + +Let's mar our pleasant days no more, + Song-birds of passage, days of youth: +Catch at to-day, forget the days before: + I'll wink at your untruth. + +Let us strike hands as hearty friends; + No more, no less: and friendship's good: +Only don't keep in view ulterior ends, + And points not understood + +In open treaty. Rise above + Quibbles and shuffling off and on: +Here's friendship for you if you like; but love,-- + No, thank you, John.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_57A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#57">MAY.</a></h4> +<pre>I cannot tell you how it was; +But this I know: it came to pass +Upon a bright and breezy day +When May was young; ah, pleasant May! +As yet the poppies were not born +Between the blades of tender corn; +The last eggs had not hatched as yet, +Nor any bird foregone its mate.</pre> +<pre> +<a name="p_58"><span class="pagenum">[58]</span></a> I cannot tell you what it was; +But this I know: it did but pass. +It passed away with sunny May, +With all sweet things it passed away, +And left me old, and cold, and gray.</pre><pre><a name="p_58A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#58">A PAUSE OF THOUGHT.</a></h4> +<pre>I looked for that which is not, nor can be, + And hope deferred made my heart sick in truth + But years must pass before a hope of youth + Is resigned utterly. + +I watched and waited with a steadfast will: + And though the object seemed to flee away + That I so longed for, ever day by day + I watched and waited still. + +Sometimes I said: This thing shall be no more; + My expectation wearies and shall cease; + I will resign it now and be at peace: + Yet never gave it o'er. + +Sometimes I said: It is an empty name + I long for; to a name why should I give + The peace of all the days I have to live?-- + Yet gave it all the same. + +<a name="p_59"><span class="pagenum">[59]</span></a>Alas, thou foolish one! alike unfit + For healthy joy and salutary pain: + Thou knowest the chase useless, and again + Turnest to follow it.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_59A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#59">TWILIGHT CALM.</a></h4> +<pre> O pleasant eventide! + Clouds on the western side +Grow gray and grayer, hiding the warm sun: +The bees and birds, their happy labors done, + Seek their close nests and bide. + + Screened in the leafy wood + The stock-doves sit and brood: +The very squirrel leaps from bough to bough +But lazily; pauses; and settles now + Where once he stored his food. + + One by one the flowers close, + Lily and dewy rose +Shutting their tender petals from the moon: +The grasshoppers are still; but not so soon + Are still the noisy crows. + + The dormouse squats and eats + Choice little dainty bits +Beneath the spreading roots of a broad lime; +Nibbling his fill he stops from time to time + And listens where he sits. + + <a name="p_60"><span class="pagenum">[60]</span></a>From far the lowings come + Of cattle driven home: +From farther still the wind brings fitfully +The vast continual murmur of the sea, + Now loud, now almost dumb. + + The gnats whirl in the air, + The evening gnats; and there +The owl opes broad his eyes and wings to sail +For prey; the bat wakes; and the shell-less snail + Comes forth, clammy and bare. + + Hark! that's the nightingale, + Telling the self-same tale +Her song told when this ancient earth was young: +So echoes answered when her song was sung + In the first wooded vale. + + We call it love and pain + The passion of her strain; +And yet we little understand or know: +Why should it not be rather joy that so + Throbs in each throbbing vein? + + In separate herds the deer + Lie; here the bucks, and here +The does, and by its mother sleeps the fawn: +Through all the hours of night until the dawn + They sleep, forgetting fear. + + <a name="p_61"><span class="pagenum">[61]</span></a>The hare sleeps where it lies, + With wary half-closed eyes; +The cock has ceased to crow, the hen to cluck: +Only the fox is out, some heedless duck + Or chicken to surprise. + + Remote, each single star + Comes out, till there they are +All shining brightly: how the dews fall damp! +While close at hand the glow-worm lights her lamp + Or twinkles from afar. + + But evening now is done + As much as if the sun +Day-giving had arisen in the east: +For night has come; and the great calm has ceased, + The quiet sands have run.</pre> +<pre> <a name="p_61A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#61">WIFE TO HUSBAND.</a></h4> +<pre>Pardon the faults in me, + For the love of years ago: + Good by. +I must drift across the sea, + I must sink into the snow, + I must die. + +You can bask in this sun, + You can drink wine, and eat: + Good by. +<a name="p_62"><span class="pagenum">[62]</span></a>I must gird myself and run, + Though with unready feet: + I must die. + +Blank sea to sail upon, + Cold bed to sleep in: + Good by. +While you clasp, I must be gone + For all your weeping: + I must die. + +A kiss for one friend, + And a word for two,-- + Good by:-- +A lock that you must send, + A kindness you must do: + I must die. + +Not a word for you, + Not a lock or kiss, + Good by. +We, one, must part in two: + Verily death is this: + I must die.</pre> +<pre> <a name="p_63"><span class="pagenum">[63]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#63">THREE SEASONS.</a></h4> +<pre> "A cup for hope!" she said, +In springtime ere the bloom was old: +The crimson wine was poor and cold + By her mouth's richer red. + + "A cup for love!" how low, +How soft the words; and all the while +Her blush was rippling with a smile + Like summer after snow. + + "A cup for memory!" +Cold cup that one must drain alone: +While autumn winds are up and moan + Across the barren sea. + + Hope, memory, love: +Hope for fair morn, and love for day, +And memory for the evening gray + And solitary dove.</pre> +<pre> <a name="p_63A"></a></pre> +<h4><a href="#p_63B">MIRAGE.</a></h4> +<pre>The hope I dreamed of was a dream, + Was but a dream; and now I wake +Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old, + For a dream's sake. + +<a name="p_64"><span class="pagenum">[64]</span></a>I hang my harp upon a tree, + A weeping willow in a lake; +I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt + For a dream's sake. + +Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart; + My silent heart, lie still and break: +Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed + For a dream's sake.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_64A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#64">SHUT OUT.</a></h4> +<pre>The door was shut. I looked between + Its iron bars; and saw it lie, + My garden, mine, beneath the sky, +Pied with all flowers bedewed and green: + +From bough to bough the song-birds crossed, + From flower to flower the moths and bees; + With all its nests and stately trees +It had been mine, and it was lost. + +A shadowless spirit kept the gate, + Blank and unchanging like the grave. + I peering through said: "Let me have +Some buds to cheer my outcast state." + +He answered not. "Or give me, then, + But one small twig from shrub or tree; + And bid my home remember me +Until I come to it again." + +<a name="p_65"><span class="pagenum">[65]</span></a>The spirit was silent; but he took + Mortar and stone to build a wall; + He left no loophole great or small +Through which my straining eyes might look: + +So now I sit here quite alone + Blinded with tears; nor grieve for that, + For naught is left worth looking at +Since my delightful land is gone. + +A violet bed is budding near, + Wherein a lark has made her nest: + And good they are, but not the best; +And dear they are, but not so dear.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_65A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#65">SOUND SLEEP.</a></h4> +<pre>Some are laughing, some are weeping; +She is sleeping, only sleeping. +Round her rest wild flowers are creeping; +There the wind is heaping, heaping +Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping, +By the cornfields ripe for reaping. + +There are lilies, and there blushes +The deep rose, and there the thrushes +Sing till latest sunlight flushes +In the west; a fresh wind brushes +Through the leaves while evening hushes. + +<a name="p_66"><span class="pagenum">[66]</span></a>There by day the lark is singing +And the grass and weeds are springing: +There by night the bat is winging; +There forever winds are bringing +Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing. + +Night and morning, noon and even, +Their sound fills her dreams with Heaven: +The long strife at length is striven: +Till her grave-bands shall be riven +Such is the good portion given +To her soul at rest and shriven.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_66A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#66">SONG.</a></h4> +<pre>She sat and sang alway + By the green margin of a stream, +Watching the fishes leap and play + Beneath the glad sunbeam. + +I sat and wept alway + Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam, +Watching the blossoms of the May + Weep leaves into the stream. + +I wept for memory; + She sang for hope that is so fair: +My tears were swallowed by the sea; + Her songs died on the air.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_67"><span class="pagenum">[67]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#67">SONG.</a></h4> +<pre>When I am dead, my dearest, + Sing no sad songs for me; +Plant thou no roses at my head, + Nor shady cypress-tree: +Be the green grass above me + With showers and dewdrops wet; +And if thou wilt, remember, + And if thou wilt, forget. + +I shall not see the shadows, + I shall not feel the rain; +I shall not hear the nightingale + Sing on, as if in pain: +And dreaming through the twilight + That doth not rise nor set, +Haply I may remember, + And haply may forget.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_68"><span class="pagenum">[68]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#68">DEAD BEFORE DEATH.</a></h4> +<h5>SONNET.</h5> +<pre>Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold! + With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes: + Changed, yet the same; much knowing, little wise; +<i>This</i> was the promise of the days of old! +Grown hard and stubborn in the ancient mould, + Grown rigid in the sham of lifelong lies: + We hoped for better things as years would rise, +But it is over as a tale once told. +All fallen the blossom that no fruitage bore, + All lost the present and the future time, +All lost, all lost, the lapse that went before: +So lost till death shut-to the opened door, + So lost from chime to everlasting chime, +So cold and lost forever evermore.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_68A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#p_68B">BITTER FOR SWEET.</a></h4> +<pre>Summer is gone with all its roses, + Its sun and perfumes and sweet flowers, + Its warm air and refreshing showers: + And even Autumn closes. + +Yea, Autumn's chilly self is going, + And winter comes which is yet colder; + Each day the hoar-frost waxes bolder + And the last buds cease blowing.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_69"><span class="pagenum">[69]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#69">"THE MASTER IS COME, AND CALLETH +FOR THEE."</a></h4> +<pre>Who calleth?--Thy Father calleth, + Run, O Daughter, to wait on Him: +He Who chasteneth but for a season + Trims thy lamp that it burn not dim. + +Who calleth?--Thy Master calleth, + Sit, Disciple, and learn of Him: +He Who teacheth wisdom of Angels + Makes thee wise as the Cherubim, + +Who calleth?--Thy Monarch calleth, + Rise, O Subject, and follow Him: +He is stronger than Death or Devil, + Fear not thou if the foe be grim. + +Who calleth?--Thy Lord God calleth. + Fall, O Creature, adoring Him: +He is jealous, thy God Almighty, + Count not dear to thee life or limb. + +Who calleth?--Thy Bridegroom calleth, + Soar, O Bride, with the Seraphim: +He Who loves thee as no man loveth, + Bids thee give up thy heart to Him.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_70"><span class="pagenum">[70]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#70">REST.</a></h4> +<h5><span class="figcenter">SONNET.</span></h5> +<pre>O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes; + Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth; + Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth +With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs. +She hath no questions, she hath no replies, + Hushed in and curtained with a blessed dearth + Of all that irked her from the hour of birth; +With stillness that is almost Paradise. +Darkness more clear than noonday holdeth her, + Silence more musical than any song; +Even her very heart has ceased to stir: +Until the morning of Eternity +Her rest shall not begin nor end, but be; + And when she wakes she will not think it long.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_70A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#p_70B">THE FIRST SPRING DAY.</a></h4> +<pre>I wonder if the sap is stirring yet, +If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, +If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun +And crocus fires are kindling one by one: + Sing, robin, sing! +I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring. + +<a name="p_71"><span class="pagenum">[71]</span></a>I wonder if the spring-tide of this year +Will bring another Spring both lost and dear; +If heart and spirit will find out their Spring, +Or if the world alone will bud and sing: + Sing, hope, to me! +Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory. + +The sap will surely quicken soon or late, +The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate; +So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom, +Or in this world, or in the world to come: + Sing, voice of Spring! +Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_71A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#71">THE CONVENT THRESHOLD.</a></h4> +<pre>There's blood between us, love, my love, +There's father's blood, there's brother's blood; +And blood's a bar I cannot pass: +I choose the stairs that mount above, +Stair after golden skyward stair, +To city and to sea of glass. +My lily feet are soiled with mud, +With scarlet mud which tells a tale +Of hope that was, of guilt that was, +Of love that shall not yet avail; +Alas, my heart, if I could bare +My heart, this self-same stain is there: +<a name="p_72"><span class="pagenum">[72]</span></a>I seek the sea of glass and fire +To wash the spot, to burn the snare; +Lo, stairs are meant to lift us higher: +Mount with me, mount the kindled stair. + + Your eyes look earthward, mine look up. +I see the far-off city grand, +Beyond the hills a watered land, +Beyond the gulf a gleaming strand +Of mansions where the righteous sup; +Who sleep at ease among their trees, +Or wake to sing a cadenced hymn +With Cherubim and Seraphim; +They bore the Cross, they drained the cup, +Racked, roasted, crushed, wrenched limb from limb, +They the offscouring of the world: +The heaven of starry heavens unfurled, +The sun before their face is dim. + +You looking earthward, what see you? +Milk-white, wine-flushed among the vines, +Up and down leaping, to and fro, +Most glad, most full, made strong with wines, +Blooming as peaches pearled with dew, +Their golden windy hair afloat, +Love-music warbling in their throat, +Young men and women come and go. + + You linger, yet the time is short: +Flee for your life, gird up your strength +<a name="p_73"><span class="pagenum">[73]</span></a>To flee: the shadows stretched at length +Show that day wanes, that night draws nigh; +Flee to the mountain, tarry not. +Is this a time for smile and sigh, +For songs among the secret trees +Where sudden bluebirds nest and sport? +The time is short and yet you stay: +To-day, while it is called to-day, +Kneel, wrestle, knock, do violence, pray; +To-day is short, to-morrow nigh: +Why will you die? why will you die? + + You sinned with me a pleasant sin: +Repent with me, for I repent. +Woe's me the lore I must unlearn! +Woe's me that easy way we went, +So rugged when I would return! +How long until my sleep begin, +How long shall stretch these nights and days? +Surely, clean Angels cry, she prays; +She laves her soul with tedious tears: +How long must stretch these years and years? + + I turn from you my cheeks and eyes, +My hair which you shall see no more,-- +Alas for joy that went before, +For joy that dies, for love that dies. +Only my lips still turn to you, +My livid lips that cry, Repent! +O weary life, O weary Lent, +O weary time whose stars are few! + +<a name="p_74"><span class="pagenum">[74]</span></a> How should I rest in Paradise, +Or sit on steps of Heaven alone? +If Saints and Angels spoke of love +Should I not answer from my throne? +Have pity upon me, ye my friends, +For I have heard the sound thereof: +Should I not turn with yearning eyes, +Turn earthwards with a pitiful pang? +O save me from a pang in Heaven! +By all the gifts we took and gave, +Repent, repent, and be forgiven: +This life is long, but yet it ends; +Repent and purge your soul and save: +No gladder song the morning stars +Upon their birthday morning sang +Than Angels sing when one repents. + + I tell you what I dreamed last night: +A spirit with transfigured face +Fire-footed clomb an infinite space. +I heard his hundred pinions clang, +Heaven-bells rejoicing rang and rang, +Heaven-air was thrilled with subtle scents, +Worlds spun upon their rushing cars: +He mounted shrieking: "Give me light!" +Still light was poured on him, more light; +Angels, Archangels he outstripped, +Exultant in exceeding might, +And trod the skirts of Cherubim. +Still "Give me light," he shrieked; and dipped +<a name="p_75"><span class="pagenum">[75]</span></a>His thirsty face, and drank a sea, +Athirst with thirst it could not slake. +I saw him, drunk with knowledge, take +From aching brows the aureole crown,-- +His locks writhed like a cloven snake,-- +He left his throne to grovel down +And lick the dust of Seraphs' feet: +For what is knowledge duly weighed? +Knowledge is strong, but love is sweet; +Yea, all the progress he had made +Was but to learn that all is small +Save love, for love is all in all. + + I tell you what I dreamed last night: +It was not dark, it was not light, +Cold dews had drenched my plenteous hair +Through clay; you came to seek me there. +And "Do you dream of me?" you said. +My heart was dust that used to leap +To you; I answered half asleep: +"My pillow is damp, my sheets are red, +There's a leaden tester to my bed: +Find you a warmer playfellow, +A warmer pillow for your head, +A kinder love to love than mine." +You wrung your hands; while I like lead +Crushed downwards through the sodden earth: +You smote your hands but not in mirth, +And reeled but were not drunk with wine. + +<a name="p_76"><span class="pagenum">[76]</span></a> For all night long I dreamed of you: +I woke and prayed against my will, +Then slept to dream of you again. +At length I rose and knelt and prayed: +I cannot write the words I said, +My words were slow, my tears were few; +But through the dark my silence spoke +Like thunder. When this morning broke, +My face was pinched, my hair was gray, +And frozen blood was on the sill +Where stifling in my struggle I lay. + + If now you saw me you would say: +Where is the face I used to love? +And I would answer: Gone before; +It tarries veiled in Paradise. +When once the morning star shall rise, +When earth with shadow flees away +And we stand safe within the door, +Then you shall lift the veil thereof. +Look up, rise up: for far above +Our palms are grown, our place is set; +There we shall meet as once we met, +And love with old familiar love.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_77"><span class="pagenum">[77]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#77">UP-HILL.</a></h4> +<pre>Does the road wind up-hill all the way? + Yes, to the very end. +Will the day's journey take the whole long day? + From morn to night, my friend. + +But is there for the night a resting-place? + A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. +May not the darkness hide it from my face? + You cannot miss that inn. + +Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? + Those who have gone before. +Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? + They will not keep you standing at that door. + +Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? + Of labor you shall find the sum. +Will there be beds for me and all who seek? + Yea, beds for all who come.</pre> +<pre> + + + </pre> +<h3> +DEVOTIONAL PIECES.</h3> +<pre><a name="p_81"><span class="pagenum">[81]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4> +<a href="#81">"THE LOVE OF CHRIST WHICH PASSETH KNOWLEDGE."</a></h4> +<pre>I bore with thee long weary days and nights, + Through many pangs of heart, through many tears; +I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights, + For three and thirty years. + +Who else had dared for thee what I have dared? + I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above; +I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared: + Give thou Me love for love. + +For thee I thirsted in the daily drouth, + For thee I trembled in the nightly frost: +Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth: + Why wilt thou still be lost? + +I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced: + Men only marked upon My shoulders borne +The branding cross; and shouted hungry-voiced, + Or wagged their heads in scorn. +<a name="p_82"><span class="pagenum">[82]</span></a> +Thee did nails grave upon My hands, thy name + Did thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine eyes: +I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame; + I, God, Priest, Sacrifice. + +A thief upon My right hand and My left; + Six hours alone, athirst, in misery: +At length in death one smote My heart and cleft + A hiding-place for thee. + +Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of down + More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep: +So did I win a kingdom,--share My crown; + A harvest,--come and reap.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_82A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#82">"A BRUISED REED SHALL HE NOT BREAK."</a></h4> +<pre>I will accept thy will to do and be, + Thy hatred and intolerance of sin, +Thy will at least to love, that burns within + And thirsteth after Me: +So will I render fruitful, blessing still + The germs and small beginnings in thy heart, + Because thy will cleaves to the better part.-- + Alas, I cannot will. + +Dost not thou will, poor soul? Yet I receive + The inner unseen longings of the soul; + <a name="p_83"><span class="pagenum">[83]</span></a>I guide them turning towards Me; I control + And charm hearts till they grieve: +If thou desire, it yet shall come to pass, + Though thou but wish indeed to choose My love; + For I have power in earth and heaven above.-- + I cannot wish, alas! + +What, neither choose nor wish to choose? and yet + I still must strive to win thee and constrain: + For thee I hung upon the cross in pain, + How then can I forget? +If thou as yet dost neither love, nor hate, + Nor choose, nor wish,--resign thyself, be still + Till I infuse love, hatred, longing, will.-- + I do not deprecate.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_83A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#83">A BETTER RESURRECTION.</a></h4> +<pre>I have no wit, no words, no tears; + My heart within me like a stone +Is numbed too much for hopes or fears; + Look right, look left, I dwell alone; +I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief + No everlasting hills I see; +My life is in the falling leaf: + O Jesus, quicken me! +<a name="p_84"><span class="pagenum">[84]</span></a> +My life is like a faded leaf, + My harvest dwindled to a husk; +Truly my life is void and brief + And tedious in the barren dusk; +My life is like a frozen thing, + No bud nor greenness can I see: +Yet rise it shall,--the sap of Spring; + O Jesus, rise in me! + +My life is like a broken bowl, + A broken bowl that cannot hold +One drop of water for my soul + Or cordial in the searching cold; +Cast in the fire the perished thing, + Melt and remould it, till it be +A royal cup for Him my King: + O Jesus, drink of me!</pre> +<pre><a name="p_84A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#84">ADVENT.</a></h4> +<pre>This Advent moon shines cold and clear, + These Advent nights are long; +Our lamps have burned year after year, + And still their flame is strong. +"Watchman, what of the night?" we cry, + Heart-sick with hope deferred: +"No speaking signs are in the sky," + Is still the watchman's word. +<a name="p_85"><span class="pagenum">[85]</span></a> +The Porter watches at the gate, + The servants watch within; +The watch is long betimes and late, + The prize is slow to win. +"Watchman, what of the night?" but still + His answer sounds the same: +"No daybreak tops the utmost hill, + Nor pale our lamps of flame." + +One to another hear them speak, + The patient virgins wise: +"Surely He is not far to seek,"-- + "All night we watch and rise." +"The days are evil looking back, + The coming days are dim; +Yet count we not His promise slack, + But watch and wait for Him." + +One with another, soul with soul, + They kindle fire from fire: +"Friends watch us who have touched the goal." + "They urge us, come up higher." +"With them shall rest our waysore feet, + With them is built our home, +With Christ." "They sweet, but He most sweet, + Sweeter than honeycomb." + +There no more parting, no more pain, + The distant ones brought near, +The lost so long are found again, + Long lost but longer dear: +<a name="p_86"><span class="pagenum">[86]</span></a>Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, + Nor heart conceived that rest, +With them our good things long deferred, + With Jesus Christ our Best. + +We weep because the night is long, + We laugh, for day shall rise, +We sing a slow contented song + And knock at Paradise. +Weeping we hold Him fast Who wept + For us,--we hold Him fast; +And will not let Him go except + He bless us first or last. + +Weeping we hold Him fast to-night; + We will not let Him go +Till daybreak smite our wearied sight, + And summer smite the snow: +Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove + Shall coo the livelong day; +Then He shall say, "Arise, My love, + My fair one, come away." + +</pre> +<pre><a name="p_87"><span class="pagenum">[87]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#87">THE THREE ENEMIES.</a></h4> +<h5>THE FLESH.</h5> +<pre>"Sweet, thou art pale." + "More pale to see, +Christ hung upon the cruel tree +And bore His Father's wrath for me." + +"Sweet, thou art sad." + "Beneath a rod +More heavy, Christ for my sake trod +The winepress of the wrath of God." + +"Sweet, thou art weary." + "Not so Christ: +Whose mighty love of me sufficed +For Strength, Salvation, Eucharist." + +"Sweet, thou art footsore." + "If I bleed, +His feet have bled: yea, in my need +His Heart once bled for mine indeed."</pre> +<h5>THE WORLD.</h5> +<pre>"Sweet, thou art young." + "So He was young +Who for my sake in silence hung +Upon the Cross with Passion wrung."</pre> +<pre><a name="p_88"><span class="pagenum">[88]</span></a>"Look, thou art fair." + "He was more fair +Than men, Who deigned for me to wear +A visage marred beyond compare." + +"And thou hast riches." + "Daily bread: +All else is His; Who living, dead, +For me lacked where to lay His Head." + +"And life is sweet." + "It was not so +To Him, Whose Cup did overflow +With mine unutterable woe."</pre> +<h5>THE DEVIL.</h5> +<pre>"Thou drinkest deep." + "When Christ would sup +He drained the dregs from out my cup: +So how should I be lifted up?" + +"Thou shalt win Glory." + "In the skies, +Lord Jesus, cover up mine eyes +Lest they should look on vanities." + +"Thou shalt have Knowledge." + "Helpless dust, +In Thee, O Lord, I put my trust: +Answer Thou for me, Wise and Just." + +<a name="p_89"><span class="pagenum">[89]</span></a>"And Might." + "Get thee behind me. Lord, +Who hast redeemed and not abhorred +My soul, O keep it by Thy Word."</pre> +<pre><a name="p_89A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#89">ONE CERTAINTY.</a></h4> +<h5>SONNET.</h5> +<pre>Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith, + All things are vanity. The eye and ear + Cannot be filled with what they see and hear. +Like early dew, or like the sudden breath +Of wind, or like the grass that withereth, + Is man, tossed to and fro by hope and fear: + So little joy hath he, so little cheer, +Till all things end in the long dust of death. +To-day is still the same as yesterday, + To-morrow also even as one of them; +And there is nothing new under the sun: +Until the ancient race of Time be run, + The old thorns shall grow out of the old stem, +And morning shall be cold, and twilight gray.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_90"><span class="pagenum">[90]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#90">CHRISTIAN AND JEW.</a></h4> +<h5>A DIALOGUE.</h5> +<pre>"O happy happy land! +Angels like rushes stand + About the wells of light."-- + "Alas, I have not eyes for this fair sight: +Hold fast my hand."-- + +"As in a soft wind, they +Bend all one blessed way, + Each bowed in his own glory, star with star."-- + "I cannot see so far, + Here shadows are."-- + +"White-winged the cherubim, +Yet whiter seraphim, + Glow white with intense fire of love."-- +"Mine eyes are dim: + I look in vain above, +And miss their hymn."-- + +"Angels, Archangels cry +One to other ceaselessly + (I hear them sing) + One 'Holy, Holy, Holy,' to their King."-- +"I do not hear them, I."-- + +<a name="p_91"><span class="pagenum">[91]</span></a>"Joy to thee, Paradise,-- + Garden and goal and nest! +Made green for wearied eyes; + Much softer than the breast +Of mother-dove clad in a rainbow's dyes. + +"All precious souls are there + Most safe, elect by grace, + All tears are wiped forever from their face: +Untired in prayer + They wait and praise, + Hidden for a little space. + +"Boughs of the Living Vine, +They spread in summer shine + Green leaf with leaf: +Sap of the Royal Vine, it stirs like wine + In all both less and chief. + +"Sing to the Lord, + All spirits of all flesh, sing; +For He hath not abhorred + Our low estate nor scorned our offering: + Shout to our King."-- + +"But Zion said: + My Lord forgetteth me. +Lo, she hath made her bed + In dust; forsaken weepeth she + Where alien rivers swell the sea. + +<a name="p_92"><span class="pagenum">[92]</span></a>"She laid her body as the ground, + Her tender body as the ground to those +Who passed; her harpstrings cannot sound +In a strange land; discrowned + She sits, and drunk with woes."-- + +"O drunken not with wine, + Whose sins and sorrows have fulfilled the sum,-- + Be not afraid, arise, be no more dumb; +Arise, shine, + For thy light is come."-- + +"Can these bones live?"-- + "God knows: + The prophet saw such clothed with flesh and skin + A wind blew on them and life entered in; +They shook and rose. + Hasten the time, O Lord, blot out their sin, + Let life begin."</pre> +<pre><a name="p_93"><span class="pagenum">[93]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#93">SWEET DEATH.</a></h4> +<pre>The sweetest blossoms die. + And so it was that, going day by day + Unto the church to praise and pray, +And crossing the green churchyard thoughtfully, + I saw how on the graves the flowers + Shed their fresh leaves in showers, +And how their perfume rose up to the sky + Before it passed away. + +The youngest blossoms die. + They die and fall and nourish the rich earth + From which they lately had their birth; +Sweet life, but sweeter death that passeth by + And is as though it had not been:-- + All colors turn to green; +The bright hues vanish and the odors fly, + The grass hath lasting worth. + +And youth and beauty die. + So be it, O my God, Thou God of truth: + Better than beauty and than youth +Are Saints and Angels, a glad company; + And Thou, O Lord, our Rest and Ease, + Art better far than these. +Why should we shrink from our full harvest? why + Prefer to glean with Ruth?</pre> +<pre><a name="p_94"><span class="pagenum">[94]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#94">SYMBOLS.</a></h4> +<pre>I watched a rosebud very long + Brought on by dew and sun and shower, + Waiting to see the perfect flower: +Then, when I thought it should be strong, + It opened at the matin hour +And fell at even-song. + +I watched a nest from day to day, + A green nest full of pleasant shade, + Wherein three speckled eggs were laid: +But when they should have hatched in May, + The two old birds had grown afraid +Or tired, and flew away. + +Then in my wrath I broke the bough + That I had tended so with care, + Hoping its scent should fill the air; +I crushed the eggs, not heeding how + Their ancient promise had been fair: +I would have vengeance now. + +But the dead branch spoke from the sod, + And the eggs answered me again: + Because we failed dost thou complain? +Is thy wrath just? And what if God, + Who waiteth for thy fruits in vain, +Should also take the rod?</pre> +<pre><a name="p_95"><span class="pagenum">[95]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#95">"CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELD."</a></h4> +<pre>Flowers preach to us if we will hear:-- +The rose saith in the dewy morn, +I am most fair; +Yet all my loveliness is born +Upon a thorn. +The poppy saith amid the corn: +Let but my scarlet head appear +And I am held in scorn; +Yet juice of subtle virtue lies +Within my cup of curious dyes. +The lilies say: Behold how we +Preach without words of purity. +The violets whisper from the shade +Which their own leaves have made: +Men scent our fragrance on the air, +Yet take no heed +Of humble lessons we would read. + +But not alone the fairest flowers: +The merest grass +Along the roadside where we pass, +Lichen and moss and sturdy weed, +Tell of His love who sends the dew, +The rain and sunshine too, +To nourish one small seed.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_96"><span class="pagenum">[96]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre><h4><a href="#96">THE WORLD.</a></h4> +<h5>SONNET.</h5> +<pre>By day she wooes me, soft, exceeding fair:<BR> But all night as the moon so changeth she;<BR> Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosy,<BR>And subtle serpents gliding in her hair.<BR>By day she wooes me to the outer air,<BR> Ripe fruits, sweet flowers, and full satiety:<BR> But through the night, a beast she grins at me,<BR>A very monster void of love and prayer.<BR>By day she stands a lie: by night she stands,<BR> In all the naked horror of the truth,<BR>With pushing horns and clawed and clutching hands.<BR>Is this a friend indeed; that I should sell<BR> My soul to her, give her my life and youth,<BR>Till my feet, cloven too, take hold on hell?</pre> +<pre><a name="p_97"><span class="pagenum">[97]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#97">A TESTIMONY.</a></h4> +<pre>I said of laughter, it is vain.<BR> Of mirth I said, what profits it?<BR> Therefore I found a book, and writ<BR>Therein how ease and also pain,<BR>How health and sickness, everyone<BR>Is vanity beneath the sun.<BR><BR>Man walks in a vain shadow; he<BR> Disquieteth himself in vain.<BR> The things that were shall be again.<BR>The rivers do not fill the sea,<BR>But turn back to their secret source;<BR>The winds too turn upon their course.<BR><BR>Our treasures moth and rust corrupt,<BR> Or thieves break through and steal, or they<BR> Make themselves wings and fly away.<BR>One man made merry as he supped,<BR>Nor guessed how when that night grew dim<BR>His soul would be required of him.<BR><BR>We build our houses on the sand,<BR> Comely withoutside and within;<BR> But when the winds and rains begin<BR>To beat on them, they cannot stand;<BR>They perish, quickly overthrown,<BR>Loose from the very basement stone.<BR></pre> +<pre><a name="p_98"><span class="pagenum">[98]</span></a>All things are vanity, I said,-- + Yea, vanity of vanities. + The rich man dies; and the poor dies; +The worm feeds sweetly on the dead. +Whate'er thou lackest, keep this trust: +All in the end shall have but dust: + +The one inheritance, which best + And worst alike shall find and share: + The wicked cease from troubling there, +And there the weary be at rest; +There all the wisdom of the wise +Is vanity of vanities. + +Man flourishes as a green leaf, + And as a leaf doth pass away; + Or, as a shade that cannot stay +And leaves no track, his course is brief: +Yet man doth hope and fear and plan +Till he is dead:--O foolish man! + +Our eyes cannot be satisfied + With seeing, nor our ears be filled + With hearing: yet we plant and build +And buy and make our borders wide; +We gather wealth, we gather care, +But know not who shall be our heir. + +Why should we hasten to arise + So early, and so late take rest? + Our labor is not good; our best +Hopes fade; our heart is stayed on lies: +<a name="p_99"><span class="pagenum">[99]</span></a>Verily, we sow wind; and we +Shall reap the whirlwind, verily. + +He who hath little shall not lack; + He who hath plenty shall decay: + Our fathers went; we pass away; +Our children follow on our track: +So generations fail, and so +They are renewed and come and go. + +The earth is fattened with our dead; + She swallows more and doth not cease: + Therefore her wine and oil increase +And her sheaves are not numberèd; +Therefore her plants are green, and all +Her pleasant trees lusty and tall. + +Therefore the maidens cease to sing, + And the young men are very sad; + Therefore the sowing is not glad, +And mournful is the harvesting. +Of high and low, of great and small, +Vanity is the lot of all. + +A King dwelt in Jerusalem; + He was the wisest man on earth; + He had all riches from his birth, +And pleasures till he tired of them; +Then, having tested all things, he +Witnessed that all are vanity.</pre><pre><a name="p_100"><span class="pagenum">[100]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#100">SLEEP AT SEA.</a></h4> +<pre>Sound the deep waters:-- + Who shall sound that deep?-- +Too short the plummet, + And the watchmen sleep. +Some dream of effort + Up a toilsome steep; +Some dream of pasture grounds + For harmless sheep. + +White shapes flit to and fro + From mast to mast; +They feel the distant tempest + That nears them fast: +Great rocks are straight ahead, + Great shoals not past; +They shout to one another + Upon the blast. + +O, soft the streams drop music + Between the hills, +And musical the birds' nests + Beside those rills: +The nests are types of home + Love-hidden from ills, +The nests are types of spirits + Love-music fills. + +<a name="p_101"><span class="pagenum">[101]</span></a>So dream the sleepers, + Each man in his place; +The lightning shows the smile + Upon each face: +The ship is driving, driving, + It drives apace: +And sleepers smile, and spirits + Bewail their case. + +The lightning glares and reddens + Across the skies; +It seems but sunset + To those sleeping eyes. +When did the sun go down + On such a wise? +From such a sunset + When shall day arise? + +"Wake," call the spirits: + But to heedless ears; +They have forgotten sorrows + And hopes and fears; +They have forgotten perils + And smiles and tears; +Their dream has held them long, + Long years and years. + +"Wake," call the spirits again: + But it would take +A louder summons + To bid them awake. +<a name="p_102"><span class="pagenum">[102]</span></a>Some dream of pleasure + For another's sake; +Some dream, forgetful + Of a lifelong ache. + +One by one slowly, + Ah, how sad and slow! +Wailing and praying + The spirits rise and go: +Clear stainless spirits, + White,--as white as snow; +Pale spirits, wailing + For an overthrow. + +One by one flitting, + Like a mournful bird +Whose song is tired at last + For no mate heard. +The loving voice is silent, + The useless word; +One by one flitting, + Sick with hope deferred. + +Driving and driving, + The ship drives amain: +While swift from mast to mast + Shapes flit again, +Flit silent as the silence + Where men lie slain; +Their shadow cast upon the sails + Is like a stain. + +<a name="p_103"><span class="pagenum">[103]</span></a>No voice to call the sleepers, + No hand to raise: +They sleep to death in dreaming + Of length of days. +Vanity of vanities, + The Preacher says: +Vanity is the end + Of all their ways.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_103A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#103">FROM HOUSE TO HOME.</a></h4> +<pre>The first was like a dream through summer heat, + The second like a tedious numbing swoon, +While the half-frozen pulses lagged to beat + Beneath a winter moon. + +"But," says my friend, "what was this thing and where?" + It was a pleasure-place within my soul; +An earthly paradise supremely fair + That lured me from the goal. + +The first part was a tissue of hugged lies; + The second was its ruin fraught with pain: +Why raise the fair delusion to the skies + But to be dashed again? + +My castle stood of white transparent glass + Glittering and frail with many a fretted spire, +But when the summer sunset came to pass + It kindled into fire. + +<a name="p_104"><span class="pagenum">[104]</span></a>My pleasaunce was an undulating green, + Stately with trees whose shadows slept below, +With glimpses of smooth garden-beds between, + Like flame or sky or snow. + +Swift squirrels on the pastures took their ease, + With leaping lambs safe from the unfeared knife; +All singing-birds rejoicing in those trees + Fulfilled their careless life. + +Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nestled there; + My trees were full of songs and flowers and fruit, +Their branches spread a city to the air, + And mice lodged in their root. + +My heath lay farther off, where lizards lived + In strange metallic mail, just spied and gone; +Like darted lightnings here and there perceived + But nowhere dwelt upon. + +Frogs and fat toads were there to hop or plod + And propagate in peace, an uncouth crew, +Where velvet-headed rushes rustling nod + And spill the morning dew. + +All caterpillars throve beneath my rule, + With snails and slugs in corners out of sight; +I never marred the curious sudden stool + That perfects in a night. + +<a name="p_105"><span class="pagenum">[105]</span></a>Safe in his excavated gallery + The burrowing mole groped on from year to year; +No harmless hedgehog curled because of me + His prickly back for fear. + +Ofttimes one like an angel walked with me, + With spirit-discerning eyes like flames of fire, +But deep as the unfathomed endless sea + Fulfilling my desire: + +And sometimes like a snowdrift he was fair, + And sometimes like a sunset glorious red, +And sometimes he had wings to scale the air + With aureole round his head. + +We sang our songs together by the way, + Calls and recalls and echoes of delight; +So communed we together all the day, + And so in dreams by night. + +I have no words to tell what way we walked, + What unforgotten path now closed and sealed; +I have no words to tell all things we talked, + All things that he revealed: + +This only can I tell: that hour by hour + I waxed more feastful, lifted up and glad; +I felt no thorn-prick when I plucked a flower, + Felt not my friend was sad. + +<a name="p_106"><span class="pagenum">[106]</span></a>"To-morrow," once I said to him with smiles: + "To-night," he answered gravely and was dumb, +But pointed out the stones that numbered miles + And miles and miles to come. + +"Not so," I said: "to-morrow shall be sweet; + To-night is not so sweet as coming days." +Then first I saw that he had turned his feet, + Had turned from me his face: + +Running and flying miles and miles he went, + But once looked back to beckon with his hand +And cry: "Come home, O love, from banishment: + Come to the distant land." + +That night destroyed me like an avalanche; + One night turned all my summer back to snow: +Next morning not a bird upon my branch, + Not a lamb woke below,-- + +No bird, no lamb, no living breathing thing; + No squirrel scampered on my breezy lawn, +No mouse lodged by his hoard: all joys took wing + And fled before that dawn. + +Azure and sun were starved from heaven above, + No dew had fallen, but biting frost lay hoar: +O love, I knew that I should meet my love, + Should find my love no more. + +<a name="p_107"><span class="pagenum">[107]</span></a>"My love no more," I muttered, stunned with pain: + I shed no tear, I wrung no passionate hand, +Till something whispered: "You shall meet again, + Meet in a distant land." + +Then with a cry like famine I arose, + I lit my candle, searched from room to room, +Searched up and down; a war of winds that froze + Swept through the blank of gloom. + +I searched day after day, night after night; + Scant change there came to me of night or day: +"No more," I wailed, "no more"; and trimmed my light, + And gnashed, but did not pray, + +Until my heart broke and my spirit broke: + Upon the frost-bound floor I stumbled, fell, +And moaned: "It is enough: withhold the stroke. + Farewell, O love, farewell." + +Then life swooned from me. And I heard the song + Of spheres and spirits rejoicing over me: +One cried: "Our sister, she hath suffered long."-- + One answered: "Make her see."-- + +One cried: "O blessed she who no more pain, + Who no more disappointment shall receive."-- +One answered: "Not so: she must live again; + Strengthen thou her to live." + +<a name="p_108"><span class="pagenum">[108]</span></a>So, while I lay entranced, a curtain seemed + To shrivel with crackling from before my face, +Across mine eyes a waxing radiance beamed + And showed a certain place. + +I saw a vision of a woman, where + Night and new morning strive for domination; +Incomparably pale, and almost fair, + And sad beyond expression. + +Her eyes were like some fire-enshrining gem, + Were stately like the stars, and yet were tender, +Her figure charmed me like a windy stem + Quivering and drooped and slender. + +I stood upon the outer barren ground, + She stood on inner ground that budded flowers; +While circling in their never-slackening round + Danced by the mystic hours. + +But every flower was lifted on a thorn, + And every thorn shot upright from its sands +To gall her feet; hoarse laughter pealed in scorn + With cruel clapping hands. + +She bled and wept, yet did not shrink; her strength + Was strung up until daybreak of delight: +She measured measureless sorrow toward its length, + And breadth, and depth, and height. + +<a name="p_109"><span class="pagenum">[109]</span></a>Then marked I how a chain sustained her form, + A chain of living links not made nor riven: +It stretched sheer up through lightning, wind, and storm, + And anchored fast in heaven. + +One cried: "How long? yet founded on the Rock + She shall do battle, suffer, and attain."-- +One answered: "Faith quakes in the tempest shock: + Strengthen her soul again." + +I saw a cup sent down and come to her + Brimful of loathing and of bitterness: +She drank with livid lips that seemed to stir + The depth, not make it less. + +But as she drank I spied a hand distil + New wine and virgin honey; making it +First bitter-sweet, then sweet indeed, until + She tasted only sweet. + +Her lips and cheeks waxed rosy-fresh and young; + Drinking she sang: "My soul shall nothing want"; +And drank anew: while soft a song was sung, + A mystical slow chant. + +One cried: "The wounds are faithful of a friend: + The wilderness shall blossom as a rose."-- +One answered: "Rend the veil, declare the end, + Strengthen her ere she goes." + +<a name="p_110"><span class="pagenum">[110]</span></a>Then earth and heaven were rolled up like a scroll; + Time and space, change and death, had passed away; +Weight, number, measure, each had reached its whole: + The day had come, that day. + +Multitudes--multitudes--stood up in bliss, + Made equal to the angels, glorious, fair; +With harps, palms, wedding-garments, kiss of peace, + And crowned and haloed hair. + +They sang a song, a new song in the height, + Harping with harps to Him Who is Strong and True: +They drank new wine, their eyes saw with new light, + Lo, all things were made new. + +Tier beyond tier they rose and rose and rose + So high that it was dreadful, flames with flames: +No man could number them, no tongue disclose + Their secret sacred names. + +As though one pulse stirred all, one rush of blood + Fed all, one breath swept through them myriad voiced, +They struck their harps, cast down their crowns, they stood + And worshipped and rejoiced. + +Each face looked one way like a moon new-lit, + Each face looked one way towards its Sun of Love; +Drank love and bathed in love and mirrored it + And knew no end thereof. + +<a name="p_111"><span class="pagenum">[111]</span></a>Glory touched glory on each blessed head, + Hands locked dear hands never to sunder more: +These were the new-begotten from the dead + Whom the great birthday bore. + +Heart answered heart, soul answered soul at rest, + Double against each other, filled, sufficed: +All loving, loved of all; but loving best + And best beloved of Christ. + +I saw that one who lost her love in pain, + Who trod on thorns, who drank the loathsome cup; +The lost in night, in day was found again; + The fallen was lifted up. + +They stood together in the blessed noon, + They sang together through the length of days; +Each loving face bent Sunwards like a moon + New-lit with love and praise. + +Therefore, O friend, I would not if I might + Rebuild my house of lies, wherein I joyed +One time to dwell: my soul shall walk in white, + Cast down but not destroyed. + +Therefore in patience I possess my soul; + Yea, therefore as a flint I set my face, +To pluck down, to build up again the whole-- + But in a distant place. + +<a name="p_112"><span class="pagenum">[112]</span></a>These thorns are sharp, yet I can tread on them; + This cup is loathsome, yet He makes it sweet; +My face is steadfast toward Jerusalem, + My heart remembers it. + +I lift the hanging hands, the feeble knees-- + I, precious more than seven times molten gold-- +Until the day when from His storehouses + God shall bring new and old; + +Beauty for ashes, oil of joy for grief, + Garment of praise for spirit of heaviness: +Although to-day I fade as doth a leaf, + I languish and grow less. + +Although to-day He prunes my twigs with pain, + Yet doth His blood nourish and warm my root: +To-morrow I shall put forth buds again, + And clothe myself with fruit. + +Although to-day I walk in tedious ways, + To-day His staff is turned into a rod, +Yet will I wait for Him the appointed days + And stay upon my God.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_113"><span class="pagenum">[113]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#113">OLD AND NEW YEAR DITTIES.</a></h4> +<h5>1.</h5> +<pre>New Year met me somewhat sad: + Old Year leaves me tired, +Stripped of favorite things I had, + Balked of much desired: +Yet farther on my road to-day, +God willing, farther on my way. + +New Year coming on apace + What have you to give me? +Bring you scathe, or bring you grace, +Face me with an honest face; + You shall not deceive me: +Be it good or ill, be it what you will, +It needs shall help me on my road, +My rugged way to heaven, please God.</pre> +<h5>2.</h5> +<pre>Watch with me, men, women, and children dear, +You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear, +Watch with me this last vigil of the year. +Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme; +Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream; +Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart. + +<a name="p_114"><span class="pagenum">[114]</span></a>Watch with me, blessed spirits, who delight +All through the holy night to walk in white, +Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight. +I know not if they watch with me: I know +They count this eve of resurrection slow, +And cry, "How long?" with urgent utterance strong. + +Watch with me, Jesus, in my loneliness: +Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes; +Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless. +Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night; +To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight: +I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord, my God, art mine.</pre> +<h5>3.</h5> +<pre>Passing away, saith the World, passing away: +Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day: +Thy life never continueth in one stay. +Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to gray +That hath won neither laurel nor bay? +I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May: +Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay +On my bosom for aye. +Then I answered: Yea. + +Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away: +With its burden of fear and hope, of labor and play; +Hearken what the past doth witness and say: +Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array, +A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay. +<a name="p_115"><span class="pagenum">[115]</span></a>At midnight, at cock-crow, at morning, one certain day +Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay: +Watch thou and pray. +Then I answered: Yea. + +Passing away, saith my God, passing away: +Winter passeth after the long delay: +New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray, +Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May. +Though I tarry, wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray. +Arise, come away, night is past, and lo it is day, +My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say. +Then I answered: Yea.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_115A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#115">AMEN.</a></h4> +<pre>It is over. What is over? + Nay, how much is over truly!-- +Harvest days we toiled to sow for; + Now the sheaves are gathered newly, + Now the wheat is garnered duly. + +It is finished. What is finished? + Much is finished known or unknown: +Lives are finished; time diminished; + Was the fallow field left unsown? + Will these buds be always unblown? + +<a name="p_116"><span class="pagenum">[116]</span></a>It suffices. What suffices? + All suffices reckoned rightly: +Spring shall bloom where now the ice is, + Roses make the bramble sightly, + And the quickening sun shine brightly, + And the latter wind blow lightly, +And my garden teem with spices.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_116A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#116">MOTHER COUNTRY.</a></h4> +<pre>Oh what is that country + And where can it be, +Not mine own country, + But dearer far to me? +Yet mine own country, + If I one day may see +Its spices and cedars, + Its gold and ivory. + +As I lie dreaming + It rises, that land; +There rises before me + Its green golden strand, +With the bowing cedars + And the shining sand; +It sparkles and flashes + Like a shaken brand. + +<a name="p_117"><span class="pagenum">[117]</span></a>Do angels lean nearer + While I lie and long? +I see their soft plumage + And catch their windy song, +Like the rise of a high tide + Sweeping full and strong; +I mark the outskirts + Of their reverend throng. + +Oh what is a king here, + Or what is a boor? +Here all starve together, + All dwarfed and poor; +Here Death's hand knocketh + At door after door, +He thins the dancers + From the festal floor. + +Oh what is a handmaid, + Or what is a queen? +All must lie down together + Where the turf is green, +The foulest face hidden, + The fairest not seen; +Gone as if never + They had breathed or been. + +Gone from sweet sunshine + Underneath the sod, +Turned from warm flesh and blood + To senseless clod; +<a name="p_118"><span class="pagenum">[118]</span></a>Gone as if never + They had toiled or trod, +Gone out of sight of all + Except our God. + +Shut into silence + From the accustomed song +Shut into solitude + From all earth's throng, +Run down though swift of foot, + Thrust down though strong; +Life made an end of, + Seemed it short or long. + +Life made an end of, + Life but just begun; +Life finished yesterday, + Its last sand run; +Life new-born with the morrow + Fresh as the sun: +While done is done for ever; + Undone, undone. + +And if that life is life, + This is but a breath, +The passage of a dream + And the shadow of death; +But a vain shadow + If one considereth; +Vanity of vanities, + As the Preacher saith.</pre> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/126a.png" width="500" height="469" border="0" alt=""></div> +<pre> </pre> +<pre><a name="p_119"><span class="pagenum">[119]</span></a></pre> +<pre> + +</pre><h4> +<a href="#119">THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS.</a></h4> +<pre>Till all sweet gums and juices flow, +Till the blossom of blossoms blow, +The long hours go and come and go, + The bride she sleepeth, waketh, sleepeth, +Waiting for one whose coming is slow:-- + Hark! the bride weepeth. + +"How long shall I wait, come heat come rime?"-- +"Till the strong Prince comes, who must come in time," +Her women say. "There's a mountain to climb, + A river to ford. Sleep, dream and sleep: +Sleep," they say: "we've muffled the chime, + Better dream than weep." + +In his world-end palace the strong Prince sat, +Taking his ease on cushion and mat, +Close at hand lay his staff and his hat + "When wilt thou start? the bride waits, O youth."-- +"Now the moon's at full; I tarried for that, + Now I start in truth. + +<a name="p_120"><span class="pagenum">[120]</span></a>"But tell me first, true voice of my doom, +Of my veiled bride in her maiden bloom; +Keeps she watch through glare and through gloom, + Watch for me asleep and awake?"-- +"Spell-bound she watches in one white room, + And is patient for thy sake. + +"By her head lilies and rosebuds grow; +The lilies droop,--will the rosebuds blow? +The silver slim lilies hang the head low; + Their stream is scanty, their sunshine rare; +Let the sun blaze out, and let the stream flow, + They will blossom and wax fair. + +"Red and white poppies grow at her feet, +The blood-red wait for sweet summer heat, +Wrapped in bud-coats hairy and neat; + But the white buds swell; one day they will burst, +Will open their death-cups drowsy and sweet,-- + Which will open the first?" + +Then a hundred sad voices lifted a wail, +And a hundred glad voices piped on the gale: +"Time is short, life is short," they took up the tale: + "Life is sweet, love is sweet, use to-day while you may; +Love is sweet, and to-morrow may fail; + Love is sweet, use to-day." + +While the song swept by, beseeching and meek, +Up rose the Prince with a flush on his cheek, +<a name="p_121"><span class="pagenum">[121]</span></a>Up he rose to stir and to seek, + Going forth in the joy of his strength; +Strong of limb, if of purpose weak, + Starting at length. + +Forth he set in the breezy morn, +Across green fields of nodding corn, +As goodly a Prince as ever was born, + Carolling with the carolling lark;-- +Sure his bride will be won and worn, + Ere fall of the dark. + +So light his step, so merry his smile, +A milkmaid loitered beside a stile, +Set down her pail and rested awhile, + A wave-haired milkmaid, rosy and white; +The Prince, who had journeyed at least a mile, + Grew athirst at the sight. + +"Will you give me a morning draught?"-- +"You're kindly welcome," she said, and laughed. +He lifted the pail, new milk he quaffed; + Then wiping his curly black beard like silk: +"Whitest cow that ever was calved + Surely gave you this milk." + +Was it milk now, or was it cream? +Was she a maid, or an evil dream? +Her eyes began to glitter and gleam; + He would have gone, but he stayed instead; +<a name="p_122"><span class="pagenum">[122]</span></a>Green they gleamed as he looked in them: + "Give me my fee," she said.-- + +"I will give you a jewel of gold."-- +"Not so; gold is heavy and cold."-- +"I will give you a velvet fold + Of foreign work your beauty to deck."-- +"Better I like my kerchief rolled + Light and white round my neck."-- + +"Nay," cried he, "but fix your own fee."-- +She laughed, "You may give the full moon to me; +Or else sit under this apple-tree + Here for one idle day by my side; +After that I'll let you go free, + And the world is wide." + +Loath to stay, but to leave her slack, +He half turned away, then he quite turned back: +For courtesy's sake he could not lack + To redeem his own royal pledge; +Ahead, too, the windy heaven lowered black + With a fire-cloven edge. + +So he stretched his length in the apple-tree shade, +Lay and laughed and talked to the maid, +Who twisted her hair in a cunning braid, + And writhed it in shining serpent-coils, +And held him a day and night fast laid + In her subtle toils. + +<a name="p_123"><span class="pagenum">[123]</span></a>At the death of night and the birth of day, +When the owl left off his sober play, +And the bat hung himself out of the way, + Woke the song of mavis and merle, +And heaven put off its hodden gray + For mother-o'-pearl. + +Peeped up daisies here and there, +Here, there, and everywhere; +Rose a hopeful lark in the air, + Spreading out towards the sun his breast; +While the moon set solemn and fair + Away in the west. + +"Up, up, up," called the watchman lark, +In his clear réveillée: "Hearken, O hark! +Press to the high goal, fly to the mark. + Up, O sluggard, new morn is born; +If still asleep when the night falls dark, + Thou must wait a second morn." + +"Up, up, up," sad glad voices swelled: +"So the tree falls and lies as it's felled. +Be thy bands loosed, O sleeper, long held + In sweet sleep whose end is not sweet. +Be the slackness girt and the softness quelled + And the slowness fleet." + +Off he set. The grass grew rare, +A blight lurked in the darkening air, +<a name="p_124"><span class="pagenum">[124]</span></a>The very moss grew hueless and spare, + The last daisy stood all astunt; +Behind his back the soil lay bare, + But barer in front. + +A land of chasm and rent, a land +Of rugged blackness on either hand: +If water trickled, its track was tanned + With an edge of rust to the chink; +If one stamped on stone or on sand + It returned a clink. + +A lifeless land, a loveless land, +Without lair or nest on either hand: +Only scorpions jerked in the sand, + Black as black iron, or dusty pale; +From point to point sheer rock was manned + By scorpions in mail. + +A land of neither life nor death, +Where no man buildeth or fashioneth, +Where none draws living or dying breath; + No man cometh or goeth there, +No man doeth, seeketh, saith, + In the stagnant air. + +Some old volcanic upset must +Have rent the crust and blackened the crust; +Wrenched and ribbed it beneath its dust + Above earth's molten centre at seethe, +<a name="p_125"><span class="pagenum">[125]</span></a>Heaved and heaped it by huge upthrust + Of fire beneath. + +Untrodden before, untrodden since: +Tedious land for a social Prince; +Halting, he scanned the outs and ins, + Endless, labyrinthine, grim, +Of the solitude that made him wince, + Laying wait for him. + +By bulging rock and gaping cleft, +Even of half mere daylight reft, +Rueful he peered to right and left, + Muttering in his altered mood: +"The fate is hard that weaves my weft, + Though my lot be good." + +Dim the changes of day to night, +Of night scarce dark to day not bright. +Still his road wound towards the right, + Still he went, and still he went, +Till one night he spied a light, + In his discontent. + +Out it flashed from a yawn-mouthed cave, +Like a red-hot eye from a grave. +No man stood there of whom to crave + Rest for wayfarer plodding by: +Though the tenant were churl or knave + The Prince might try. + +<a name="p_126"><span class="pagenum">[126]</span></a>In he passed and tarried not, +Groping his way from spot to spot, +Towards where the cavern flare glowed hot:-- + An old, old mortal, cramped and double, +Was peering into a seething-pot, + In a world of trouble. + +The veriest atomy he looked, +With grimy fingers clutching and crooked, +Tight skin, a nose all bony and hooked, + And a shaking, sharp, suspicious way; +Blinking, his eyes had scarcely brooked + The light of day. + +Stared the Prince, for the sight was new; +Stared, but asked without more ado: +"May a weary traveller lodge with you, + Old father, here in your lair? +In your country the inns seem few, + And scanty the fare." + +The head turned not to hear him speak; +The old voice whistled as through a leak +(Out it came in a quavering squeak): + "Work for wage is a bargain fit: +If there's aught of mine that you seek + You must work for it. + +"Buried alive from light and air +This year is the hundredth year, +<a name="p_127"><span class="pagenum">[127]</span></a>I feed my fire with a sleepless care, + Watching my potion wane or wax: +Elixir of Life is simmering there, + And but one thing lacks. + +"If you're fain to lodge here with me, +Take that pair of bellows you see,-- +Too heavy for my old hands they be,-- + Take the bellows and puff and puff: +When the steam curls rosy and free + The broth's boiled enough. + +"Then take your choice of all I have; +I will give you life if you crave. +Already I'm mildewed for the grave, + So first myself I must drink my fill: +But all the rest may be yours, to save + Whomever you will." + +"Done," quoth the Prince, and the bargain stood. +First he piled on resinous wood, +Next plied the bellows in hopeful mood; + Thinking, "My love and I will live. +If I tarry, why life is good, + And she may forgive." + +The pot began to bubble and boil; +The old man cast in essence and oil, +He stirred all up with a triple coil + Of gold and silver and iron wire, +<a name="p_128">[128]</a>Dredged in a pinch of virgin soil, + And fed the fire. + +But still the steam curled watery white; +Night turned to day and day to night; +One thing lacked, by his feeble sight + Unseen, unguessed by his feeble mind: +Life might miss him, but Death the blight + Was sure to find. + +So when the hundredth year was full +The thread was cut and finished the school. +Death snapped the old worn-out tool, + Snapped him short while he stood and stirred +(Though stiff he stood as a stiff-necked mule) + With never a word. + +Thus at length the old crab was nipped. +The dead hand slipped, the dead finger dipped +In the broth as the dead man slipped,-- + That same instant, a rosy red +Flushed the steam, and quivered and clipped + Round the dead old head. + +The last ingredient was supplied +(Unless the dead man mistook or lied). +Up started the Prince, he cast aside + The bellows plied through the tedious trial, +Made sure that his host had died, + And filled a phial. + +<a name="p_129"><span class="pagenum">[129]</span></a>"One night's rest," thought the Prince. "This done, +Forth I speed with the rising sun: +With the morrow I rise and run, + Come what will of wind or of weather. +This draught of Life when my Bride is won + We'll drink together." + +Thus the dead man stayed in his grave, +Self-chosen, the dead man in his cave; +There he stayed, were he fool or knave, + Or honest seeker who had not found; +While the Prince outside was prompt to crave + Sleep on the ground. + +"If she watches, go bid her sleep; +Bid her sleep, for the road is steep: +He can sleep who holdeth her cheap, + Sleep and wake and sleep again. +Let him sow, one day he shall reap, + Let him sow the grain. + +"When there blows a sweet garden rose, +Let it bloom and wither if no man knows: +But if one knows when the sweet thing blows, + Knows, and lets it open and drop, +If but a nettle his garden grows + He hath earned the crop." + +Through his sleep the summons rang, +Into his ears it sobbed and it sang. +<a name="p_130"><span class="pagenum">[130]</span></a>Slow he woke with a drowsy pang, + Shook himself without much debate, +Turned where he saw green branches hang, + Started though late. + +For the black land was travelled o'er, +He should see the grim land no more. +A flowering country stretched before + His face when the lovely day came back: +He hugged the phial of Life he bore, + And resumed his track. + +By willow courses he took his path, +Spied what a nest the kingfisher hath, +Marked the fields green to aftermath, + Marked where the red-brown field-mouse ran, +Loitered awhile for a deep-stream bath, + Yawned for a fellow-man. + +Up on the hills not a soul in view, +In the vale not many nor few; +Leaves, still leaves, and nothing new. + It's O for a second maiden, at least, +To bear the flagon, and taste it too, + And flavor the feast. + +Lagging he moved, and apt to swerve; +Lazy of limb, but quick of nerve. +At length the water-bed took a curve, + The deep river swept its bank-side bare; +<a name="p_131"><span class="pagenum">[131]</span></a>Waters streamed from the hill-reserve,-- + Waters here, waters there. + +High above, and deep below, +Bursting, bubbling, swelling the flow, +Like hill-torrents after the snow,-- + Bubbling, gurgling, in whirling strife, +Swaying, sweeping, to and fro,-- + He must swim for his life. + +Which way?--which way?--his eyes grew dim +With the dizzying whirl,--which way to swim? +The thunderous downshoot deafened him; + Half he choked in the lashing spray: +Life is sweet, and the grave is grim,-- + Which way?--which way? + +A flash of light, a shout from the strand: +"This way,--this way; here lies the land!" +His phial clutched in one drowning hand; + He catches,--misses,--catches a rope; +His feet slip on the slipping sand: + Is there life?--is there hope? + +Just saved, without pulse or breath,-- +Scarcely saved from the gulp of death; +Laid where a willow shadoweth,-- + Laid where a swelling turf is smooth. +(O Bride! but the Bridegroom lingereth + For all thy sweet youth.) + +<a name="p_132"><span class="pagenum">[132]</span></a>Kind hands do and undo, +Kind voices whisper and coo: +"I will chafe his hands,"--"and I,"--"and you + Raise his head, put his hair aside." +(If many laugh, one well may rue: + Sleep on, thou Bride.) + +So the Prince was tended with care: +One wrung foul ooze from his clustered hair; +Two chafed his hands, and did not spare; + But one propped his head that drooped awry +Till his eyes oped, and at unaware + They met eye to eye. + +O, a moon face in a shadowy place, +And a light touch and a winsome grace, +And a thrilling tender voice which says: + "Safe from waters that seek the sea,-- +Cold waters by rugged ways,-- + Safe with me." + +While overhead bird whistles to bird, +And round about plays a gamesome herd: +"Safe with us,"--some take up the word,-- + "Safe with us, dear lord and friend: +All the sweeter if long deferred + Is rest in the end." + +Had he stayed to weigh and to scan, +He had been more or less than a man: +<a name="p_133"><span class="pagenum">[133]</span></a>He did what a young man can, +Spoke of toil and an arduous way,-- +Toil to-morrow, while golden ran + The sands of to-day. + +Slip past, slip fast, +Uncounted hours from first to last, +Many hours till the last is past, + Many hours dwindling to one,-- +One hour whose die is cast, + One last hour gone. + +Come, gone,--gone forever,-- +Gone as an unreturning river,-- +Gone as to death the merriest liver,-- + Gone as the year at the dying fall,-- +To-morrow, to-day, yesterday, never,-- + Gone once for all. + +Came at length the starting-day, +With last words, and last, last words to say, +With bodiless cries from far away,-- + Chiding wailing voices that rang +Like a trumpet-call to the tug and fray; + And thus they sang: + +"Is there life?--the lamp burns low; +Is there hope?--the coming is slow: +The promise promised so long ago, + The long promise, has not been kept. +<a name="p_134"><span class="pagenum">[134]</span></a>Does she live?--does she die?--she slumbers so + Who so oft has wept. + +"Does she live?--does she die?--she languisheth +As a lily drooping to death, +As a drought-worn bird with failing breath, + As a lovely vine without a stay, +As a tree whereof the owner saith, + 'Hew it down to-day.'" + +Stung by that word the Prince was fain +To start on his tedious road again. +He crossed the stream where a ford was plain, + He clomb the opposite bank though steep, +And swore to himself to strain and attain + Ere he tasted sleep. + +Huge before him a mountain frowned +With foot of rock on the valley ground, +And head with snows incessant crowned, + And a cloud mantle about its strength, +And a path which the wild goat hath not found + In its breadth and length. + +But he was strong to do and dare: +If a host had withstood him there, +He had braved a host with little care + In his lusty youth and his pride, +Tough to grapple though weak to snare. + He comes, O Bride. + +<a name="p_135"><span class="pagenum">[135]</span></a>Up he went where the goat scarce clings, +Up where the eagle folds her wings, +Past the green line of living things, + Where the sun cannot warm the cold,-- +Up he went as a flame enrings + Where there seems no hold. + +Up a fissure barren and black, +Till the eagles tired upon his track, +And the clouds were left behind his back,-- + Up till the utmost peak was past. +Then he gasped for breath and his strength fell slack; + He paused at last. + +Before his face a valley spread +Where fatness laughed, wine, oil, and bread, +Where all fruit-trees their sweetness shed, + Where all birds made love to their kind, +Where jewels twinkled, and gold lay red + And not hard to find. + +Midway down the mountain side +(On its green slope the path was wide) +Stood a house for a royal bride, + Built all of changing opal stone, +The royal palace, till now descried + In his dreams alone. + +Less bold than in days of yore, +Doubting now though never before, +<a name="p_136"><span class="pagenum">[136]</span></a>Doubting he goes and lags the more: + Is the time late? does the day grow dim? +Rose, will she open the crimson core + Of her heart to him? + +Above his head a tangle glows +Of wine-red roses, blushes, snows, +Closed buds and buds that unclose, + Leaves, and moss, and prickles too; +His hand shook as he plucked a rose, + And the rose dropped dew. + +Take heart of grace! the portion of Life +May go far to woo him a wife: +If she frown, yet a lover's strife + Lightly raised can be laid again: +A hasty word is never the knife + To cut love in twain. + +Far away stretched the royal land, +Fed by dew, by a spice-wind fanned: +Light labor more, and his foot would stand + On the threshold, all labor done; +Easy pleasure laid at his hand, + And the dear Bride won. + +His slackening steps pause at the gate,-- +Does she wake or sleep?--the time is late,-- +Does she sleep now, or watch and wait? + She has watched, she has waited long, +Watching athwart the golden grate + With a patient song. + +<a name="137"><span class="pagenum">[137]</span></a><span class="pagenum"></span>Fling the golden portals wide, +The Bridegroom comes to his promised Bride; +Draw the gold-stiff curtains aside, + Let them look on each other's face, +She in her meekness, he in his pride,-- + Day wears apace. + +Day is over, the day that wore. +What is this that comes through the door, +The face covered, the feet before? + This that coming takes his breath; +This Bride not seen, to be seen no more + Save of Bridegroom Death? + +Veiled figures carrying her +Sweep by yet make no stir; +There is a smell of spice and myrrh, + A bride-chant burdened with one name; +The bride-song rises steadier + Than the torches' flame: + +"Too late for love, too late for joy, + Too late, too late! +You loitered on the road too long, + You trifled at the gate: +The enchanted dove upon her branch + Died without a mate; +The enchanted princess in her tower + Slept, died, behind the grate; +<a name="p_138"><span class="pagenum">[138]</span></a>Her heart was starving all this while + You made it wait. + +"Ten years ago, five years ago, + One year ago, +Even then you had arrived in time, + Though somewhat slow; +Then you had known her living face + Which now you cannot know: +The frozen fountain would have leaped, + The buds gone on to blow, +The warm south wind would have awaked + To melt the snow. + +"Is she fair now as she lies? + Once she was fair; +Meet queen for any kingly king, + With gold-dust on her hair. +Now these are poppies in her locks, + White poppies she must wear; +Must wear a veil to shroud her face + And the want graven there: +Or is the hunger fed at length, + Cast off the care? + +"We never saw her with a smile + Or with a frown; +Her bed seemed never soft to her, + Though tossed of down; +She little heeded what she wore, + Kirtle, or wreath, or gown;<br>We think her white brows often ached + Beneath her crown, +Till silvery hairs showed in her locks + That used to be so brown. + +</pre> +<pre>"We never heard her speak in haste: + Her tones were sweet, +And modulated just so much + As it was meet: +Her heart sat silent through the noise + And concourse of the street. +There was no hurry in her hands, + No hurry in her feet; +There was no bliss drew nigh to her, + That she might run to greet. + +"You should have wept her yesterday, + Wasting upon her bed: +But wherefore should you weep to-day + That she is dead? +Lo, we who love weep not to-day, + But crown her royal head. +Let be these poppies that we strew, + Your roses are too red: +Let be these poppies, not for you + Cut down and spread."</pre> +<pre> </pre> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/147a.png" width="323" height="500" border="0" alt=""></div> +<pre> </pre> +<pre><a name="p_140"><span class="pagenum">[140]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#140">MAIDEN-SONG.</a></h4> +<pre>Long ago and long ago, + And long ago still, +There dwelt three merry maidens + Upon a distant hill. +One was tall Meggan, + And one was dainty May, +But one was fair Margaret, + More fair than I can say, +Long ago and long ago. + +When Meggan plucked the thorny rose, + And when May pulled the brier, +Half the birds would swoop to see, + Half the beasts draw nigher; +Half the fishes of the streams + Would dart up to admire: +But when Margaret plucked a flag-flower, + Or poppy hot aflame, +All the beasts and all the birds + And all the fishes came +To her hand more soft than snow. + +Strawberry leaves and May-dew + In brisk morning air, +Strawberry leaves and May-dew + Make maidens fair. +<a name="p_141"><span class="pagenum">[141]</span></a>"I go for strawberry-leaves," + Meggan said one day: +"Fair Margaret can bide at home, + But you come with me, May; +Up the hill and down the hill, + Along the winding way, +You and I are used to go." + +So these two fair sisters + Went with innocent will +Up the hill and down again, + And round the homestead hill: +While the fairest sat at home, + Margaret like a queen, +Like a blush-rose, like the moon + In her heavenly sheen, +Fragrant-breathed as milky cow + Or field of blossoming bean, +Graceful as an ivy bough + Born to cling and lean; +Thus she sat to sing and sew. + +When she raised her lustrous eyes + A beast peeped at the door; +When she downward cast her eyes + A fish gasped on the floor; +When she turned away her eyes + A bird perched on the sill, +Warbling out its heart of love, + Warbling, warbling still, +With pathetic pleadings low. + +<a name="p_142"><span class="pagenum">[142]</span></a>Light-foot May with Meggan + Sought the choicest spot, +Clothed with thyme-alternate grass: + Then, while day waxed hot, +Sat at ease to play and rest, + A gracious rest and play; +The loveliest maidens near or far, + When Margaret was away, +Who sat at home to sing and sew. + +Sun-glow flushed their comely cheeks, + Wind-play tossed their hair, +Creeping things among the grass + Stroked them here and there; +Meggan piped a merry note, + A fitful, wayward lay, +While shrill as bird on topmost twig + Piped merry May; +Honey-smooth the double flow. + +Sped a herdsman from the vale, + Mounting like a flame, +All on fire to hear and see + With floating locks he came. +Looked neither north nor south, + Neither east nor west, +But sat him down at Meggan's feet + As love-bird on his nest, +And wooed her with a silent awe, +<a name="p_143"><span class="pagenum">[143]</span></a> With trouble not expressed; +She sang the tears into his eyes, + The heart out of his breast: +So he loved her, listening so. + +She sang the heart out of his breast, + The words out of his tongue; +Hand and foot and pulse he paused + Till her song was sung. +Then he spoke up from his place + Simple words and true: +"Scanty goods have I to give, + Scanty skill to woo; +But I have a will to work, + And a heart for you: +Bid me stay or bid me go." + +Then Meggan mused within herself: + "Better be first with him, +Than dwell where fairer Margaret sits, + Who shines my brightness dim, +Forever second where she sits, + However fair I be: +I will be lady of his love, + And he shall worship me; +I will be lady of his herds + And stoop to his degree, +At home where kids and fatlings grow." + +Sped a shepherd from the height + Headlong down to look, +<a name="p_144"><span class="pagenum">[144]</span></a>(White lambs followed, lured by love + Of their shepherd's crook): +He turned neither east nor west, + Neither north nor south, +But knelt right down to May, for love + Of her sweet-singing mouth; +Forgot his flocks, his panting flocks + In parching hillside drouth; +Forgot himself for weal or woe. + +Trilled her song and swelled her song + With maiden coy caprice +In a labyrinth of throbs, + Pauses, cadences; +Clear-noted as a dropping brook, + Soft-noted like the bees, +Wild-noted as the shivering wind + Forlorn through forest trees: +Love-noted like the wood-pigeon + Who hides herself for love, +Yet cannot keep her secret safe, + But cooes and cooes thereof: +Thus the notes rang loud or low. + +He hung breathless on her breath; + Speechless, who listened well; +Could not speak or think or wish + Till silence broke the spell. +Then he spoke, and spread his hands + Pointing here and there: +<a name="p_145"><span class="pagenum">[145]</span></a>"See my sheep and see the lambs, + Twin lambs which they bare. +All myself I offer you, + All my flocks and care, +Your sweet song hath moved me so." + +In her fluttered heart young May + Mused a dubious while: +"If he loves me as he says"-- + Her lips curved with a smile: +"Where Margaret shines like the sun, + I shine but like a moon; +If sister Meggan makes her choice + I can make mine as soon; +At cockcrow we were sister-maids, + We may be brides at noon." +Said Meggan, "Yes"; May said not "No." + +Fair Margaret stayed alone at home, + Awhile she sang her song, +Awhile sat silent, then she thought: + "My sisters loiter long." +That sultry noon had waned away, + Shadows had waxen great: +"Surely," she thought within herself, + "My sisters loiter late." +She rose, and peered out at the door, + With patient heart to wait, +And heard a distant nightingale + Complaining of its mate; +<a name="p_146"><span class="pagenum">[146]</span></a>Then down the garden slope she walked, + Down to the garden gate, +Leaned on the rail and waited so. + +The slope was lightened by her eyes + Like summer lightning fair, +Like rising of the haloed moon + Lightened her glimmering hair, +While her face lightened like the sun + Whose dawn is rosy white. +Thus crowned with maiden majesty + She peered into the night, +Looked up the hill and down the hill, + To left hand and to right, +Flashing like fire-flies to and fro. + +Waiting thus in weariness + She marked the nightingale +Telling, if any one would heed, + Its old complaining tale. +Then lifted she her voice and sang, + Answering the bird: +Then lifted she her voice and sang, + Such notes were never heard +From any bird when Spring's in blow. + +The king of all that country + Coursing far, coursing near, +Curbed his amber-bitted steed, + Coursed amain to hear; +<a name="p_147"><span class="pagenum">[147]</span></a>All his princes in his train, + Squire, and knight, and peer, +With his crown upon his head, + His sceptre in his hand, +Down he fell at Margaret's knees + Lord king of all that land, +To her highness bending low. + +Every beast and bird and fish + Came mustering to the sound, +Every man and every maid + From miles of country round: +Meggan on her herdsman's arm, + With her shepherd, May, +Flocks and herds trooped at their heels + Along the hillside way; +No foot too feeble for the ascent, + Not any head too gray; +Some were swift and none were slow. + +So Margaret sang her sisters home + In their marriage mirth; +Sang free birds out of the sky, + Beasts along the earth, +Sang up fishes of the deep,-- + All breathing things that move +Sang from far and sang from near + To her lovely love; +Sang together friend and foe; + +<a name="p_148"><span class="pagenum">[148]</span></a>Sang a golden-bearded king + Straightway to her feet, +Sang him silent where he knelt + In eager anguish sweet. +But when the clear voice died away, + When longest echoes died, +He stood up like a royal man + And claimed her for his bride. +So three maids were wooed and won + In a brief May-tide, +Long ago and long ago.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_148A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#148">JESSIE CAMERON.</a></h4> +<pre>"Jessie, Jessie Cameron, + Hear me but this once," quoth he. +"Good luck go with you, neighbor's son, + But I'm no mate for you," quoth she. +Day was verging toward the night + There beside the moaning sea, +Dimness overtook the light + There where the breakers be. +"O Jessie, Jessie Cameron, + I have loved you long and true."-- +"Good luck go with you, neighbor's son, + But I'm no mate for you." + +<a name="p_149"><span class="pagenum">[149]</span></a>She was a careless, fearless girl, + And made her answer plain; +Outspoken she to earl or churl, + Kind-hearted in the main, +But somewhat heedless with her tongue, + And apt at causing pain; +A mirthful maiden she and young, + Most fair for bliss or bane. +"O, long ago I told you so, + I tell you so to-day: +Go you your way, and let me go + Just my own free way." + +The sea swept in with moan and foam + Quickening the stretch of sand; +They stood almost in sight of home; + He strove to take her hand. +"O, can't you take your answer then, + And won't you understand? +For me you're not the man of men, + I've other plans are planned. +You're good for Madge, or good for Cis, + Or good for Kate, may be: +But what's to me the good of this + While you're not good for me?" + +They stood together on the beach, + They two alone, +And louder waxed his urgent speech, + His patience almost gone: +<a name="p_150"><span class="pagenum">[150]</span></a>"O, say but one kind word to me, + Jessie, Jessie Cameron."-- +"I'd be too proud to beg," quoth she, + And pride was in her tone. +And pride was in her lifted head, + And in her angry eye, +And in her foot, which might have fled, + But would not fly. + +Some say that he had gypsy blood, + That in his heart was guile: +Yet he had gone through fire and flood + Only to win her smile. +Some say his grandam was a witch, + A black witch from beyond the Nile, +Who kept an image in a niche + And talked with it the while. +And by her hut far down the lane + Some say they would not pass at night, +Lest they should hear an unked strain + Or see an unked sight. + +Alas, for Jessie Cameron!-- + The sea crept moaning, moaning nigher: +She should have hastened to be gone,-- + The sea swept higher, breaking by her: +She should have hastened to her home + While yet the west was flushed with fire, +But now her feet are in the foam, + The sea-foam, sweeping higher. +<a name="p_151"><span class="pagenum">[151]</span></a>O mother, linger at your door, + And light your lamp to make it plain; +But Jessie she comes home no more, + No more again. + +They stood together on the strand, + They only, each by each; +Home, her home, was close at hand, + Utterly out of reach. +Her mother in the chimney nook + Heard a startled sea-gull screech, +But never turned her head to look + Towards the darkening beach: +Neighbors here and neighbors there + Heard one scream, as if a bird +Shrilly screaming cleft the air:-- + That was all they heard. + +Jessie she comes home no more, + Comes home never; +Her lover's step sounds at his door + No more forever. +And boats may search upon the sea + And search along the river, +But none know where the bodies be: + Sea-winds that shiver, +Sea-birds that breast the blast, + Sea-waves swelling, +Keep the secret first and last + Of their dwelling. + +<a name="p_152"><span class="pagenum">[152]</span></a>Whether the tide so hemmed them round + With its pitiless flow, +That when they would have gone they found + No way to go; +Whether she scorned him to the last + With words flung to and fro, +Or clung to him when hope was past, + None will ever know: +Whether he helped or hindered her, + Threw up his life or lost it well, +The troubled sea, for all its stir, + Finds no voice to tell. + +Only watchers by the dying + Have thought they heard one pray, +Wordless, urgent; and replying, + One seem to say him nay: +And watchers by the dead have heard + A windy swell from miles away, +With sobs and screams, but not a word + Distinct for them to say: +And watchers out at sea have caught + Glimpse of a pale gleam here or there, +Come and gone as quick as thought, + Which might be hand or hair.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_153"><span class="pagenum">[153]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#153">SPRING QUIET.</a></h4> +<pre>Gone were but the Winter, + Come were but the Spring, +I would go to a covert + Where the birds sing; + +Where in the white-thorn + Singeth a thrush, +And a robin sings + In the holly-bush. + +Full of fresh scents + Are the budding boughs, +Arching high over + A cool green house: + +Full of sweet scents, + And whispering air +Which sayeth softly: + "We spread no snare; + +"Here dwell in safety, + Here dwell alone, +With a clear stream + And a mossy stone. + +<a name="p_154"><span class="pagenum">[154]</span></a>"Here the sun shineth + Most shadily; +Here is heard an echo + Of the far sea, + Though far off it be."</pre> +<pre><a name="p_154A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#154">THE POOR GHOST.</a></h4> +<pre>"O whence do you come, my dear friend, to me, +With your golden hair all fallen below your knee, +And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea, +And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?" + +"From the other world I come back to you, +My locks are uncurled with dripping, drenching dew. +You know the old, whilst I know the new: +But to-morrow you shall know this too." + +"O, not to-morrow into the dark, I pray; +O, not to-morrow, too soon to go away: +Here I feel warm and well-content and gay: +Give me another year, another day." + +"Am I so changed in a day and a night +That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright, +Is fain to turn away to left or right, +And cover up his eyes from the sight?" + +<a name="p_155"><span class="pagenum">[155]</span></a>"Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend, +I loved you for life, but life has an end; +Through sickness I was ready to tend; +But death mars all, which we cannot mend. + +"Indeed I loved you; I love you yet +If you will stay where your bed is set, +Where I have planted a violet +Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet." + +"Life is gone, then love too is gone, +It was a reed that I leant upon: +Never doubt I will leave you alone +And not wake you rattling bone with bone. + +"I go home alone to my bed, +Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head, +Roofed in with a load of lead, +Warm enough for the forgotten dead. + +"But why did your tears soak through the clay, +And why did your sobs wake me where I lay? +I was away, far enough away: +Let me sleep now till the Judgment Day."</pre> +<pre><a name="p_156"><span class="pagenum">[156]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#156">A PORTRAIT.</a></h4> +<h5>I.</h5> +<pre>She gave up beauty in her tender youth, + Gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways; + She covered up her eyes lest they should gaze +On vanity, and chose the bitter truth. +Harsh towards herself, towards others full of ruth, + Servant of servants, little known to praise, + Long prayers and fasts trenched on her nights and days: +She schooled herself to sights and sounds uncouth, +That with the poor and stricken she might make + A home, until the least of all sufficed +Her wants; her own self learned she to forsake, +Counting all earthly gain but hurt and loss. +So with calm will she chose and bore the cross, + And hated all for love of Jesus Christ.</pre> +<h5>II.</h5> +<pre>They knelt in silent anguish by her bed, + And could not weep; but calmly there she lay. + All pain had left her; and the sun's last ray +Shone through upon her, warming into red +The shady curtains. In her heart she said: + "Heaven opens; I leave these and go away: + The Bridegroom calls,--shall the Bride seek to stay?" +<a name="p_157"><span class="pagenum">[157]</span></a>Then low upon her breast she bowed her head. +O lily-flower, O gem of priceless worth, + O dove with patient voice and patient eyes, +O fruitful vine amid a land of dearth, + O maid replete with loving purities, +Thou bowedst down thy head with friends on earth + To raise it with the saints in Paradise.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_157A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#157">DREAM-LOVE.</a></h4> +<pre>Young Love lies sleeping + In May-time of the year, +Among the lilies, + Lapped in the tender light: +White lambs come grazing, + White doves come building there; +And round about him + The May-bushes are white. + +Soft moss the pillow + For O, a softer cheek; +Broad leaves cast shadow + Upon the heavy eyes: +There winds and waters + Grow lulled and scarcely speak; +There twilight lingers + The longest in the skies. + +<a name="p_158"><span class="pagenum">[158]</span></a>Young Love lies dreaming; + But who shall tell the dream? +A perfect sunlight + On rustling forest tips; +Or perfect moonlight + Upon a rippling stream; +Or perfect silence, + Or song of cherished lips. + +Burn odors round him + To fill the drowsy air; +Weave silent dances + Around him to and fro; +For O, in waking, + The sights are not so fair, +And song and silence + Are not like these below. + +Young Love lies dreaming + Till summer days are gone, +Dreaming and drowsing + Away to perfect sleep: +He sees the beauty + Sun hath not looked upon, +And tastes the fountain + Unutterably deep. + +Him perfect music + Doth hush unto his rest, +And through the pauses + The perfect silence calms: +<a name="p_159"><span class="pagenum">[159]</span></a>O, poor the voices + Of earth from east to west, +And poor earth's stillness + Between her stately palms. + +Young Love lies drowsing + Away to poppied death; +Cool shadows deepen + Across the sleeping face: +So fails the summer + With warm, delicious breath; +And what hath autumn + To give us in its place? + +Draw close the curtains + Of branched evergreen; +Change cannot touch them + With fading fingers sere: +Here the first violets + Perhaps will bud unseen, +And a dove, maybe, + Return to nestle here.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_160"><span class="pagenum">[160]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#160">TWICE.</a></h4> +<pre>I took my heart in my hand + (O my love, O my love), +I said: Let me fall or stand, + Let me live or die, +But this once hear me speak + (O my love, O my love); +Yet a woman's words are weak: + You should speak, not I. + +You took my heart in your hand + With a friendly smile, +With a critical eye you scanned, + Then set it down, +And said: It is still unripe, + Better wait awhile; +Wait while the skylarks pipe, + Till the corn grows brown. + +As you set it down it broke,-- + Broke, but I did not wince; +I smiled at the speech you spoke, + At your judgment that I heard: +But I have not often smiled + Since then, nor questioned since, +Nor cared for corn-flowers wild, + Nor sung with the singing bird. + +<a name="p_161"><span class="pagenum">[161]</span></a>I take my heart in my hand, + O my God, O my God, +My broken heart in my hand: + Thou hast seen, judge Thou. +My hope was written on sand, + O my God, O my God; +Now let Thy judgment stand,-- + Yea, judge me now. + +This contemned of a man, + This marred one heedless day, +This heart take Thou to scan + Both within and without: +Refine with fire its gold, + Purge Thou its dross away,-- +Yea, hold it in Thy hold, + Whence none can pluck it out. + +I take my heart in my hand,-- + I shall not die, but live,-- +Before Thy face I stand; + I, for Thou callest such: +All that I have I bring, + All that I am I give, +Smile Thou and I shall sing, + But shall not question much.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_162"><span class="pagenum">[162]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#162">SONGS IN A CORNFIELD.</a></h4> +<pre>A song in a cornfield + Where corn begins to fall, +Where reapers are reaping, + Reaping one, reaping all. +Sing pretty Lettice, + Sing Rachel, sing May; +Only Marian cannot sing + While her sweetheart's away. + +Where is he gone to + And why does he stay? +He came across the green sea + But for a day, +Across the deep green sea + To help with the hay. +His hair was curly yellow + And his eyes were gray, +He laughed a merry laugh + And said a sweet say. +Where is he gone to + That he comes not home? +To-day or to-morrow + He surely will come. +Let him haste to joy + Lest he lag for sorrow, +For one weeps to-day + Who'll not weep to-morrow: + +<a name="p_163"><span class="pagenum">[163]</span></a>To-day she must weep + For gnawing sorrow, +To-night she may sleep + And not wake to-morrow. + +May sang with Rachel + In the waxing warm weather, +Lettice sang with them, + They sang all together:-- + +"Take the wheat in your arm + Whilst day is broad above, +Take the wheat to your bosom, + But not a false false love. + Out in the fields + Summer heat gloweth, + Out in the fields + Summer wind bloweth, + Out in the fields + Summer friend showeth, + Out in the fields + Summer wheat groweth: +But in the winter + When summer heat is dead +And summer wind has veered + And summer friend has fled, +Only summer wheat remaineth, + White cakes and bread. +Take the wheat, clasp the wheat + That's food for maid and dove; +<a name="p_164"><span class="pagenum">[164]</span></a> Take the wheat to your bosom, + But not a false false love." + +A silence of full noontide heat + Grew on them at their toil: +The farmer's dog woke up from sleep, + The green snake hid her coil +Where grass stood thickest; bird and beast + Sought shadows as they could, +The reaping men and women paused + And sat down where they stood; +They ate and drank and were refreshed, + For rest from toil is good. + +While the reapers took their ease, + Their sickles lying by, +Rachel sang a second strain, + And singing seemed to sigh:-- + + "There goes the swallow,-- + Could we but follow! + Hasty swallow stay, + Point us out the way; +Look back swallow, turn back swallow, stop swallow. + + "There went the swallow,-- + Too late to follow: + Lost our note of way, + Lost our chance to-day; +Good by swallow, sunny swallow, wise swallow. + + <a name="p_165"><span class="pagenum">[165]</span></a>"After the swallow + All sweet things follow: + All things go their way, + Only we must stay, +Must not follow: good by swallow, good swallow." + +Then listless Marian raised her head + Among the nodding sheaves; +Her voice was sweeter than that voice; + She sang like one who grieves: +Her voice was sweeter than its wont + Among the nodding sheaves; +All wondered while they heard her sing + Like one who hopes and grieves:-- + + "Deeper than the hail can smite, + Deeper than the frost can bite, + Deep asleep through day and night, + Our delight. + + "Now thy sleep no pang can break, + No to-morrow bid thee wake, + Not our sobs who sit and ache + For thy sake. + + "Is it dark or light below? + O, but is it cold like snow? + Dost thou feel the green things grow + Fast or slow? + +<a name="p_166"><span class="pagenum">[166]</span></a> "Is it warm or cold beneath, + O, but is it cold like death? + Cold like death, without a breath, + Cold like death?" + + If he comes to-day + He will find her weeping; + If he comes to-morrow + He will find her sleeping; + If he comes the next day + He'll not find her at all, + He may tear his curling hair, + Beat his breast and call.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_166A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#166">A YEAR'S WINDFALLS.</a></h4> +<pre>On the wind of January + Down flits the snow, +Travelling from the frozen North + As cold as it can blow. +Poor robin redbreast, + Look where he comes; +Let him in to feel your fire, + And toss him of your crumbs. + +On the wind in February + Snow-flakes float still, +<a name="p_167"><span class="pagenum">[167]</span></a>Half inclined to turn to rain, + Nipping, dripping, chill. +Then the thaws swell the streams, + And swollen rivers swell the sea:-- +If the winter ever ends + How pleasant it will be. + +In the wind of windy March + The catkins drop down, +Curly, caterpillar-like, + Curious green and brown. +With concourse of nest-building birds + And leaf-buds by the way, +We begin to think of flowers + And life and nuts some day. + +With the gusts of April + Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall, +On the hedged-in orchard-green, + From the southern wall. +Apple-trees and pear-trees + Shed petals white or pink, +Plum-trees and peach-trees; + While sharp showers sink and sink. + +Little brings the May breeze + Beside pure scent of flowers, +While all things wax and nothing wanes + In lengthening daylight hours. +<a name="p_168"><span class="pagenum">[168]</span></a>Across the hyacinth beds + The wind lags warm and sweet, +Across the hawthorn tops, + Across the blades of wheat. + +In the wind of sunny June + Thrives the red rose crop, +Every day fresh blossoms blow + While the first leaves drop; +White rose and yellow rose + And moss-rose choice to find, +And the cottage cabbage-rose + Not one whit behind. + +On the blast of scorched July + Drives the pelting hail, +From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot + Blue heaven grown lurid-pale. +Weedy waves are tossed ashore, + Sea-things strange to sight +Gasp upon the barren shore + And fade away in light. + +In the parching August wind, + Cornfields bow the head, +Sheltered in round valley depths, + On low hills outspread. +Early leaves drop loitering down + Weightless on the breeze, +First-fruits of the year's decay + From the withering trees. + +<a name="p_169"><span class="pagenum">[169]</span></a>In brisk wind of September + The heavy-headed fruits +Shake upon their bending boughs + And drop from the shoots; +Some glow golden in the sun, + Some show green and streaked +Some set forth a purple bloom, + Some blush rosy-cheeked. + +In strong blast of October + At the equinox, +Stirred up in his hollow bed + Broad ocean rocks; +Plunge the ships on his bosom, + Leaps and plunges the foam,-- +It's O for mothers' sons at sea, + That they were safe at home! + +In slack wind of November + The fog forms and shifts; +All the world comes out again + When the fog lifts. +Loosened from their sapless twigs + Leaves drop with every gust; +Drifting, rustling, out of sight + In the damp or dust. + +Last of all, December, + The year's sands nearly run, +<a name="p_170"><span class="pagenum">[170]</span></a>Speeds on the shortest day, + Curtails the sun; +With its bleak raw wind + Lays the last leaves low, +Brings back the nightly frosts, + Brings back the snow.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_170A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#170">THE QUEEN OF HEARTS.</a></h4> +<pre>How comes it, Flora, that, whenever we +Play cards together, you invariably, + However the pack parts, + Still hold the Queen of Hearts? + +I've scanned you with a scrutinizing gaze, +Resolved to fathom these your secret ways: + But, sift them as I will, + Your ways are secret still. + +I cut and shuffle; shuffle, cut, again; +But all my cutting, shuffling, proves in vain: + Vain hope, vain forethought, too; + That Queen still falls to you. + +I dropped her once, prepense; but, ere the deal +Was dealt, your instinct seemed her loss to feel: + "There should be one card more," + You said, and searched the floor. + +<a name="p_171"><span class="pagenum">[171]</span></a>I cheated once: I made a private notch +In Heart-Queen's back, and kept a lynx-eyed watch; + Yet such another back + Deceived me in the pack: + +The Queen of Clubs assumed by arts unknown +An imitative dint that seemed my own; + This notch, not of my doing, + Misled me to my ruin. + +It baffles me to puzzle out the clew, +Which must be skill, or craft, or luck in you: + Unless, indeed, it be + Natural affinity.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_171A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#171">ONE DAY.</a></h4> +<pre>I will tell you when they met: +In the limpid days of Spring; +Elder boughs were budding yet, +Oaken boughs looked wintry still, +But primrose and veined violet +In the mossful turf were set, +While meeting birds made haste to sing +And build with right good will. + +I will tell you when they parted: +When plenteous Autumn sheaves were brown, +<a name="p_172"><span class="pagenum">[172]</span></a>Then they parted heavy-hearted; +The full rejoicing sun looked down +As grand as in the days before; +Only they had lost a crown; +Only to them those days of yore +Could come back nevermore. + +When shall they meet? I cannot tell, +Indeed, when they shall meet again, +Except some day in Paradise: +For this they wait, one waits in pain. +Beyond the sea of death love lies +Forever, yesterday, to-day; +Angels shall ask them, "Is it well?" +And they shall answer, "Yea."</pre> +<pre><a name="p_172A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#172">A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW.</a></h4> +<pre>"Croak, croak, croak," +Thus the Raven spoke, +Perched on his crooked tree +As hoarse as hoarse could be. +Shun him and fear him, +Lest the Bridegroom hear him; +Scout him and rout him +With his ominous eye about him. + +Yet, "Croak, croak, croak," +Still tolled from the oak; +<a name="p_173"><span class="pagenum">[173]</span></a>From that fatal black bird, +Whether heard or unheard: +"O ship upon the high seas, +Freighted with lives and spices, +Sink, O ship," croaked the Raven: +"Let the Bride mount to heaven." + +In a far foreign land +Upon the wave-edged sand, +Some friends gaze wistfully +Across the glittering sea. +"If we could clasp our sister," +Three say, "now we have missed her!" +"If we could kiss our daughter!" +Two sigh across the water. + +O, the ship sails fast, +With silken flags at the mast, +And the home-wind blows soft; +But a Raven sits aloft, +Chuckling and choking, +Croaking, croaking, croaking:-- +Let the beacon-fire blaze higher; +Bridegroom, watch; the Bride draws nigher. + +On a sloped sandy beach, +Which the spring-tide billows reach, +Stand a watchful throng +Who have hoped and waited long: +<a name="p_174"><span class="pagenum">[174]</span></a>"Fie on this ship, that tarries +With the priceless freight it carries. +The time seems long and longer: +O languid wind, wax stronger";-- + +Whilst the Raven perched at ease +Still croaks and does not cease, +One monotonous note +Tolled from his iron throat: +"No father, no mother, +But I have a sable brother: +He sees where ocean flows to, +And he knows what he knows, too." + +A day and a night +They kept watch worn and white; +A night and a day +For the swift ship on its way: +For the Bride and her maidens,-- +Clear chimes the bridal cadence,-- +For the tall ship that never +Hove in sight forever. + +On either shore, some +Stand in grief loud or dumb +As the dreadful dread +Grows certain though unsaid. +For laughter there is weeping, +And waking instead of sleeping, +And a desperate sorrow +Morrow after morrow. + +<a name="p_175"><span class="pagenum">[175]</span></a>O, who knows the truth, +How she perished in her youth, +And like a queen went down +Pale in her royal crown? +How she went up to glory +From the sea-foam chill and hoary, +From the sea-depth black and riven +To the calm that is in Heaven? + +They went down, all the crew, +The silks and spices too, +The great ones and the small, +One and all, one and all. +Was it through stress of weather, +Quicksands, rocks, or all together? +Only the Raven knows this, +And he will not disclose this.-- + +After a day and a year +The bridal bells chime clear; +After a year and a day +The Bridegroom is brave and gay: +Love is sound, faith is rotten; +The old Bride is forgotten:-- +Two ominous Ravens only +Remember, black and lonely.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_176"><span class="pagenum">[176]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4>THE GERMAN-FRENCH CAMPAIGN.</h4> +<h5>1870-1871.</h5> +<pre>These two pieces, written during the suspense of a great +nation's agony, aim at expressing human sympathy, not political +bias.</pre> +<h5>I.</h5> +<h5><a href="#176">"THY BROTHER'S BLOOD CRIETH."</a></h5> +<pre>All her corn-fields rippled in the sunshine, + All her lovely vines, sweets-laden, bowed; +Yet some weeks to harvest and to vintage: + When, as one man's hand, a cloud +Rose and spread, and, blackening, burst asunder + In rain and fire and thunder. + +Is there nought to reap in the day of harvest? + Hath the vine in her day no fruit to yield? +Yea, men tread the press, but not for sweetness, + And they reap a red crop from the field. +Build barns, ye reapers, garner all aright, + Though your souls be called to-night. + +A cry of tears goes up from blackened homesteads, + A cry of blood goes up from reeking earth: +Tears and blood have a cry that pierces Heaven + Through all its Hallelujah swells of mirth; +God hears their cry, and though He tarry, yet + He doth not forget. + +<a name="p_177"><span class="pagenum">[177]</span></a>Mournful Mother, prone in dust weeping, + Who shall comfort thee for those who are not? +As thou didst, men do to thee; and heap the measure, + And heat the furnace sevenfold hot: +As thou once, now these to thee--who pitieth thee + From sea to sea? + +O thou King, terrible in strength, and building + Thy strong future on thy past! +Though he drink the last, the King of Sheshach, + Yet he shall drink at the last. +Art thou greater than great Babylon, + Which lies overthrown? + +Take heed, ye unwise among the people; + O ye fools, when will ye understand?-- +He that planted the ear shall He not hear, + Nor He smite who formed the hand? +"Vengeance is Mine, is Mine," thus saith the Lord:-- + O Man, put up thy sword.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_177A"></a></pre> +<h5>II.</h5> +<h5><a href="#177">"TO-DAY FOR ME."</a></h5> +<pre> She sitteth still who used to dance, +She weepeth sore and more and more-- +Let us sit with thee weeping sore, + O fair France! + + She trembleth as the days advance +Who used to be so light of heart:-- +We in thy trembling bear a part, + Sister France! + +<a name="p_178"><span class="pagenum">[178]</span></a> Her eyes shine tearful as they glance: +"Who shall give back my slaughtered sons? +"Bind up," she saith, "my wounded ones."-- + Alas, France! + + She struggles in a deathly trance, +As in a dream her pulses stir, +She hears the nations calling her, + "France, France, France!" + + Thou people of the lifted lance, +Forbear her tears, forbear her blood: +Roll back, roll back, thy whelming flood, + Back from France. + + Eye not her loveliness askance, +Forge not for her a galling chain; +Leave her at peace to bloom again, + Vine-clad France. + + A time there is for change and chance, +A time for passing of the cup: +And One abides can yet bind up + Broken France. + + A time there is for change and chance: +Who next shall drink the trembling cup, +Wring out its dregs and suck them up + After France?</pre> +<pre><a name="p_179"><span class="pagenum">[179]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#179">ON THE WING.</a></h4> +<h5>SONNET.</h5> +<pre>Once in a dream (for once I dreamed of you) + We stood together in an open field; + Above our heads two swift-winged pigeons wheeled, +Sporting at ease and courting full in view. +When loftier still a broadening darkness flew, + Down-swooping, and a ravenous hawk revealed; + Too weak to fight, too fond to fly, they yield; +So farewell life and love and pleasures new. +Then, as their plumes fell fluttering to the ground, + Their snow-white plumage flecked with crimson drops, + I wept, and thought I turned towards you to weep: + But you were gone; while rustling hedgerow tops +Bent in a wind which bore to me a sound + Of far-off piteous bleat of lambs and sheep.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_180"><span class="pagenum">[180]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#180">CONSIDER.</a></h4> +<pre> Consider +The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- + We are as they; + Like them we fade away, +As doth a leaf. + + Consider +The sparrows of the air of small account: + Our God doth view +Whether they fall or mount,-- + He guards us too. + + Consider +The lilies that do neither spin nor toil, + Yet are most fair:-- + What profits all this care +And all this coil? + + Consider +The birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks; + God gives them food:-- +Much more our Father seeks + To do us good.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_181"><span class="pagenum">[181]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#181">BEAUTY IS VAIN.</a></h4> +<pre>While roses are so red, + While lilies are so white, +Shall a woman exalt her face + Because it gives delight? +She's not so sweet as a rose, + A lily's straighter than she, +And if she were as red or white + She'd be but one of three. + +Whether she flush in love's summer + Or in its winter grow pale, +Whether she flaunt her beauty + Or hide it away in a veil, +Be she red or white, + And stand she erect or bowed, +Time will win the race he runs with her + And hide her away in a shroud.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_182"><span class="pagenum">[182]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#182">MAGGIE A LADY.</a></h4> +<pre>You must not call me Maggie, you must not call me Dear, + For I'm Lady of the Manor now stately to see; +And if there comes a babe, as there may some happy year, + 'T will be little lord or lady at my knee. + +O, but what ails you, my sailor cousin Phil, + That you shake and turn white like a cockcrow ghost? +You're as white as I turned once down by the mill, + When one told me you and ship and crew were lost: + +Philip my playfellow, when we were boy and girl + (It was the Miller's Nancy told it to me), +Philip with the merry life in lip and curl, + Philip my playfellow drowned in the sea! + +I thought I should have fainted, but I did not faint; + I stood stunned at the moment, scarcely sad, +Till I raised my wail of desolate complaint + For you, my cousin, brother, all I had. + +They said I looked so pale,--some say so fair,-- + My lord stopped in passing to soothe me back to life: +I know I missed a ringlet from my hair + Next morning; and now I am his wife. + +<a name="p_183"><span class="pagenum">[183]</span></a>Look at my gown, Philip, and look at my ring, + I'm all crimson and gold from top to toe: +All day long I sit in the sun and sing, + Where in the sun red roses blush and blow. + +And I'm the rose of roses says my lord; + And to him I'm more than the sun in the sky, +While I hold him fast with the golden cord + Of a curl, with the eyelash of an eye. + +His mother said "fie," and his sisters cried "shame," + His high-born ladies cried "shame" from their place: +They said "fie" when they only heard my name, + But fell silent when they saw my face. + +Am I so fair, Philip? Philip, did you think + I was so fair when we played boy and girl, +Where blue forget-me-nots bloomed on the brink + Of our stream which the mill-wheel sent awhirl? + +If I was fair then sure I'm fairer now, + Sitting where a score of servants stand, +With a coronet on high days for my brow + And almost a sceptre for my hand. + +You're but a sailor, Philip, weatherbeaten brown, + A stranger on land and at home on the sea, +Coasting as best you may from town to town: + Coasting along do you often think of me? + +<a name="p_184"><span class="pagenum">[184]</span></a>I'm a great lady in a sheltered bower, + With hands grown white through having naught to do: +Yet sometimes I think of you hour after hour + Till I nigh wish myself a child with you.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_184A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#184">WHAT WOULD I GIVE?</a></h4> +<pre>What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through, +Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do; +Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all. + +What would I give for words, if only words would come; +But now in its misery my spirit has fallen dumb: +O, merry friends, go your way, I have never a word to say. + +What would I give for tears, not smiles but scalding tears, +To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of years, +To wash the stain ingrain and to make me clean again.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_185"><span class="pagenum">[185]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#185">THE BOURNE.</a></h4> +<pre>Underneath the growing grass, + Underneath the living flowers, + Deeper than the sound of showers: + There we shall not count the hours +By the shadows as they pass. + +Youth and health will be but vain, + Beauty reckoned of no worth: + There a very little girth + Can hold round what once the earth +Seemed too narrow to contain.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_185A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#p_185B">SUMMER.</a></h4> +<pre>Winter is cold-hearted, + Spring is yea and nay, +Autumn is a weathercock + Blown every way: +Summer days for me + When every leaf is on its tree; + +When Robin's not a beggar, + And Jenny Wren's a bride, +<a name="p_186"><span class="pagenum">[186]</span></a>And larks hang singing, singing, singing, + Over the wheat-fields wide, + And anchored lilies ride, +And the pendulum spider + Swings from side to side, + +And blue-black beetles transact business, + And gnats fly in a host, +And furry caterpillars hasten + That no time be lost, +And moths grow fat and thrive, +And ladybirds arrive. + +Before green apples blush, + Before green nuts embrown, +Why, one day in the country + Is worth a month in town; + Is worth a day and a year +Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion + That days drone elsewhere.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_187"><span class="pagenum">[187]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#187">AUTUMN.</a></h4> +<pre>I dwell alone,--I dwell alone, alone, +Whilst full my river flows down to the sea, + Gilded with flashing boats + That bring no friend to me: +O love-songs, gurgling from a hundred throats, + O love-pangs, let me be. + +Fair fall the freighted boats which gold and stone + And spices bear to sea: +Slim, gleaming maidens swell their mellow notes, + Love-promising, entreating,-- + Ah! sweet, but fleeting,-- + Beneath the shivering, snow-white sails. + Hush! the wind flags and fails,-- +Hush! they will lie becalmed in sight of strand,-- + Sight of my strand, where I do dwell alone; +Their songs wake singing echoes in my land,-- + They cannot hear me moan. + + One latest, solitary swallow flies + Across the sea, rough autumn-tempest tost, + Poor bird, shall it be lost? + Dropped down into this uncongenial sea, + With no kind eyes + To watch it while it dies, + Unguessed, uncared for, free: +<a name="p_188"><span class="pagenum">[188]</span></a> Set free at last, + The short pang past, +In sleep, in death, in dreamless sleep locked fast. + +Mine avenue is all a growth of oaks, + Some rent by thunder-strokes, +Some rustling leaves and acorns in the breeze: + Fair fall my fertile trees, +That rear their goodly heads, and live at ease. + +A spider's web blocks all mine avenue; + He catches down and foolish painted flies, + That spider wary and wise. +Each morn it hangs a rainbow strung with dew + Betwixt boughs green with sap, + So fair, few creatures guess it is a trap: + I will not mar the web, +Though sad I am to see the small lives ebb. + +It shakes,--my trees shake; for a wind is roused + In cavern where it housed: + Each white and quivering sail, + Of boats among the water leaves +Hollows and strains in the full-throated gale: + Each maiden sings again,-- +Each languid maiden, whom the calm +Had lulled to sleep with rest and spice and balm, + Miles down my river to the sea + They float and wane, + Long miles away from me. +<a name="p_189"><span class="pagenum">[189]</span></a> Perhaps they say: "She grieves, + Uplifted, like a beacon, on her tower." + Perhaps they say: "One hour +More, and we dance among the golden sheaves." + Perhaps they say: "One hour + More, and we stand, + Face to face, hand in hand; +Make haste, O slack gale, to the looked-for land!" + + My trees are not in flower, + I have no bower, + And gusty creaks my tower, +And lonesome, very lonesome, is my strand.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_189A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#189">THE GHOST'S PETITION.</a></h4> +<pre>"There's a footstep coming: look out and see."-- + "The leaves are falling, the wind is calling; +No one cometh across the lea."-- + +"There's a footstep coming: O sister, look."-- + "The ripple flashes, the white foam dashes; +No one cometh across the brook."-- + +"But he promised that he would come: + To-night, to-morrow, in joy or sorrow, +He must keep his word, and must come home. + +<a name="p_190"><span class="pagenum">[190]</span></a>"For he promised that he would come: + His word was given; from earth or heaven, +He must keep his word, and must come home. + +"Go to sleep, my sweet sister Jane; + You can slumber, who need not number +Hour after hour, in doubt and pain. + +"I shall sit here awhile, and watch; + Listening, hoping, for one hand groping +In deep shadow to find the latch." + +After the dark, and before the light, + One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping, +Who had watched and wept the weary night. + +After the night, and before the day, + One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping,-- +Watching, weeping for one away. + +There came a footstep climbing the stair; + Some one standing out on the landing +Shook the door like a puff of air,-- + +Shook the door, and in he passed. + Did he enter? In the room centre +Stood her husband: the door shut fast. + +"O Robin, but you are cold,-- + Chilled with the night-dew: so lily-white you +Look like a stray lamb from our fold. + +<a name="p_191"><span class="pagenum">[191]</span></a>"O Robin, but you are late: + Come and sit near me,--sit here and cheer me."-- +(Blue the flame burnt in the grate.) + +"Lay not down your head on my breast: + I cannot hold you, kind wife, nor fold you +In the shelter that you love best. + +"Feel not after my clasping hand: + I am but a shadow, come from the meadow +Where many lie, but no tree can stand. + +"We are trees which have shed their leaves: + Our heads lie low there, but no tears flow there; +Only I grieve for my wife who grieves. + +"I could rest if you would not moan + Hour after hour; I have no power +To shut my ears where I lie alone. + +"I could rest if you would not cry; + But there's no sleeping while you sit weeping,-- +Watching, weeping so bitterly."-- + +"Woe's me! woe's me! for this I have heard. + O, night of sorrow!--O, black to-morrow! +Is it thus that you keep your word? + +"O you who used so to shelter me + Warm from the least wind,--why, now the east wind +Is warmer than you, whom I quake to see. + +<a name="p_192"><span class="pagenum">[192]</span></a>"O my husband of flesh and blood, + For whom my mother I left, and brother, +And all I had, accounting it good, + +"What do you do there, underground, + In the dark hollow? I'm fain to follow. +What do you do there?--what have you found?"-- + +"What I do there I must not tell; + But I have plenty. Kind wife, content ye: +It is well with us,--it is well. + +"Tender hand hath made our nest; + Our fear is ended, our hope is blended +With present pleasure, and we have rest."-- + +"O, but Robin, I'm fain to come, + If your present days are so pleasant; +For my days are so wearisome. + +"Yet I'll dry my tears for your sake: + Why should I tease you, who cannot please you +Any more with the pains I take?"</pre> +<pre> +<a name="p_193"><span class="pagenum">[193]</span></a> + </pre> +<h4><a href="#193">MEMORY.</a></h4> +<h5>I.</h5> +<pre>I nursed it in my bosom while it lived, + I hid it in my heart when it was dead; +In joy I sat alone, even so I grieved + Alone and nothing said. + +I shut the door to face the naked truth, + I stood alone,--I faced the truth alone, +Stripped bare of self-regard or forms or ruth + Till first and last were shown. + +I took the perfect balances and weighed; + No shaking of my hand disturbed the poise; +Weighed, found it wanting: not a word I said, + But silent made my choice. + +None know the choice I made; I make it still. + None know the choice I made and broke my heart, +Breaking mine idol: I have braced my will + Once, chosen for once my part. + +I broke it at a blow, I laid it cold, + Crushed in my deep heart where it used to live. +My heart dies inch by inch; the time grows old, + Grows old in which I grieve.</pre> +<h5>II.</h5> +<pre><a name="p_194"><span class="pagenum">[194]</span></a>I have a room whereinto no one enters + Save I myself alone: + There sits a blessed memory on a throne, +There my life centres. + +While winter comes and goes--O tedious comer!-- + And while its nip-wind blows; + While bloom the bloodless lily and warm rose +Of lavish summer. + +If any should force entrance he might see there + One buried yet not dead, + Before whose face I no more bow my head +Or bend my knee there; + +But often in my worn life's autumn weather + I watch there with clear eyes, + And think how it will be in Paradise +When we're together.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_195"><span class="pagenum">[195]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#195">A ROYAL PRINCESS.</a></h4> +<pre>I, a princess, king-descended, decked with jewels, gilded, drest, +Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast, +For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west. + +Two and two my guards behind, two and two before, +Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore; +Me, poor dove, that must not coo,--eagle, that must not soar. + +All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow +Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow +That are costly, out of season as the seasons go. + +All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace +Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place, +Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face. + +Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon, +Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne; +There I sit uplift and upright, there I sit alone. + +<a name="p_196"><span class="pagenum">[196]</span></a>Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end; +My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend-- +O my father! O my mother! have you ne'er a friend? + +As I am a lofty princess, so my father is +A lofty king, accomplished in all kingly subtilties, +Holding in his strong right hand world-kingdoms' balances. + +He has quarrelled with his neighbors, he has scourged his foes; +Vassal counts and princes follow where his pennon goes, +Long-descended valiant lords whom the vulture knows, + +On whose track the vulture swoops, when they ride in state +To break the strength of armies and topple down the great: +Each of these my courteous servant, none of these my mate. + +My father counting up his strength sets down with equal pen +So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men; +These for slaughter, these for labor, with the how and when. + +<a name="p_197"><span class="pagenum">[197]</span></a>Some to work on roads, canals; some to man his ships; +Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips; +Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips. + +Once it came into my heart and whelmed me like a flood, +That these too are men and women, human flesh and blood; +Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like mud. + +Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay; +On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of gray, +My father frowning at the fare seemed every dish to weigh. + +I sat beside them sole princess in my exalted place, +My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais: +A mirror showed me I look old and haggard in the face; + +It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon, +Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known, +They laugh by day, they sleep by night; ah me, what is a throne? + +<a name="p_198"><span class="pagenum">[198]</span></a>The singing men and women sang that night as usual, +The dancers danced in pairs and sets, but music had a fall, +A melancholy windy fall as at a funeral. + +Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept; +My ladies loosed my golden chain; meantime I could have wept +To think of some in galling chains whether they waked or slept. + +I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on, +They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon, +They lit my shaded silver lamp and left me there alone. + +A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said: +"Men are clamoring, women, children, clamoring to be fed; +Men like famished dogs are howling in the streets for bread." + +So two whispered by my door, not thinking I could hear, +Vulgar, naked truth, ungarnished for a royal ear; +Fit for cooping in the background, not to stalk so near. + +<a name="p_199"><span class="pagenum">[199]</span></a>But I strained my utmost sense to catch this truth, and mark: +"There are families out grazing like cattle in the park." +"A pair of peasants must be saved even if we build an ark." + +A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way; +One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day; +One was my youngest maid, as sweet and white as cream in May. + +Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp; +Voices said: "Picked soldiers have been summoned from the camp +To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and stamp." + +"Howl and stamp?" one answered: "They made free to hurl a stone +At the minister's state coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown." +"There's work, then, for the soldiers, for this rank crop must be mown." + +"One I saw, a poor old fool with ashes on his head, +Whimpering because a girl had snatched his crust of bread: +Then he dropped; when some one raised him, it turned out he was dead." + +<a name="p_200"><span class="pagenum">[200]</span></a>"After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh: +"If bread's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff." +"While I've a loaf they're welcome to my blessing and the chaff." + +These passed. The king: stand up. Said my father with a smile: +"Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile, +She's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?" + +He too left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait +(I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate), +Or shall I work the last gold stitch into my veil of state; + +Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene, +There's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between; +Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen? + +Again I caught my father's voice in sharp word of command: +<a name="p_201"><span class="pagenum">[201]</span></a>"Charge!" a clash of steel: "Charge again, the rebels stand. +Smite and spare not, hand to hand; smite and spare not, hand to hand." + +There swelled a tumult at the gate, high voices waxing higher; +A flash of red reflected light lit the cathedral spire; +I heard a cry for faggots, then I heard a yell for fire. + +"Sit and roast there with your meat, sit and bake there with your bread, +You who sat to see us starve," one shrieking woman said: +"Sit on your throne and roast with your crown upon your head." + +Nay, this thing will I do, while my mother tarrieth, +I will take my fine spun gold, but not to sew therewith, +I will take my gold and gems, and rainbow fan and wreath; + +With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my hand, +I will go down to this people, will stand face to face, will stand +Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land. + +They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give; +<a name="p_202"><span class="pagenum">[202]</span></a>I, if I perish, perish; they to-day shall eat and live; +I, if I perish, perish; that's the goal I half conceive: + +Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and show +The lesson I have learned, which is death, is life, to know. +I, if I perish, perish; in the name of God I go.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_202A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#202">SHALL I FORGET?</a></h4> +<pre>Shall I forget on this side of the grave? +I promise nothing: you must wait and see + Patient and brave. +(O my soul, watch with him and he with me.) + +Shall I forget in peace of Paradise? +I promise nothing: follow, friend, and see, + Faithful and wise. +(O my soul, lead the way he walks with me.)</pre> +<pre><a name="p_203"><span class="pagenum">[203]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#203">VANITY OF VANITIES.</a></h4> +<h5>SONNET.</h5> +<pre>Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain, + Ah, woe is me for glory that is past: + Pleasure that bringeth sorrow at the last, +Glory that at the last bringeth no gain! +So saith the sinking heart; and so again + It shall say till the mighty angel-blast + Is blown, making the sun and moon aghast, +And showering down the stars like sudden rain. +And evermore men shall go fearfully, + Bending beneath their weight of heaviness; +And ancient men shall lie down wearily, + And strong men shall rise up in weariness; +Yea, even the young shall answer sighingly, + Saying one to another: How vain it is!</pre> +<pre><a name="p_204"><span class="pagenum">[204]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#204">L. E. L.</a></h4> +<pre class="figcenter"><span class="center">"Whose heart was breaking for a little love."</span></pre> +<pre>Down-stairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all: + But in my solitary room above +I turn my face in silence to the wall; + My heart is breaking for a little love. + Though winter frosts are done, + And birds pair every one, +And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun. + +I feel no spring, while spring is wellnigh blown, + I find no nest, while nests are in the grove: +Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone, + My heart that breaketh for a little love. + While golden in the sun + Rivulets rise and run, +While lilies bud, for springtide is begun. + +All love, are loved, save only I; their hearts + Beat warm with love and joy, beat full thereof: +They cannot guess, who play the pleasant parts, + My heart is breaking for a little love. + While beehives wake and whirr, + And rabbit thins his fur, +In living spring that sets the world astir. + +<a name="p_205"><span class="pagenum">[205]</span></a>I deck myself with silks and jewelry, + I plume myself like any mated dove: +They praise my rustling show, and never see + My heart is breaking for a little love. + While sprouts green lavender + With rosemary and myrrh, +For in quick spring the sap is all astir. + +Perhaps some saints in glory guess the truth, + Perhaps some angels read it as they move, +And cry one to another full of ruth, + "Her heart is breaking for a little love." + Though other things have birth, + And leap and sing for mirth, +When spring-time wakes and clothes and feeds the earth. + +Yet saith a saint: "Take patience for thy scathe"; + Yet saith an angel: "Wait, for thou shalt prove +True best is last, true life is born of death, + O thou, heart-broken for a little love! + Then love shall fill thy girth, + And love make fat thy dearth, +When new spring builds new heaven and clean new earth."</pre> +<pre><a name="p_206"><span class="pagenum">[206]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#206">LIFE AND DEATH.</a></h4> +<pre>Life is not sweet. One day it will be sweet + To shut our eyes and die: +Nor feel the wild-flowers blow, nor birds dart by + With flitting butterfly, +Nor grass grow long above our heads and feet, +Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky high, +Nor sigh that spring is fleet and summer fleet, + Nor mark the waxing wheat, +Nor know who sits in our accustomed seat. + +Life is not good. One day it will be good + To die, then live again; +To sleep meanwhile: so not to feel the wane +Of shrunk leaves dropping in the wood, +Nor hear the foamy lashing of the main, +Nor mark the blackened bean-fields, nor where stood + Rich ranks of golden grain, +Only dead refuse stubble clothe the plain: +Asleep from risk, asleep from pain.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_207"><span class="pagenum">[207]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#207">BIRD OR BEAST?</a></h4> +<pre>Did any bird come flying + After Adam and Eve, +When the door was shut against them + And they sat down to grieve? + +I think not Eve's peacock + Splendid to see, +And I think not Adam's eagle; + But a dove may be. + +Did any beast come pushing + Through the thorny hedge +Into the thorny, thistly world + Out from Eden's edge? + +I think not a lion, + Though his strength is such; +But an innocent loving lamb + May have done as much. + +If the dove preached from her bough + And the lamb from his sod, +The lamb and the dove + Were preachers sent from God.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_208"><span class="pagenum">[208]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#208">EVE.</a></h4> +<pre>"While I sit at the door, +Sick to gaze within, +Mine eye weepeth sore +For sorrow and sin: +As a tree my sin stands +To darken all lands; +Death is the fruit it bore. + +"How have Eden bowers grown +Without Adam to bend them! +How have Eden flowers blown, +Squandering their sweet breath, +Without me to tend them! +The Tree of Life was ours, +Tree twelvefold-fruited, +Most lofty tree that flowers, +Most deeply rooted: +I chose the Tree of Death. + +"Hadst thou but said me nay, +Adam, my brother, +I might have pined away; +I, but none other: +God might have let thee stay +Safe in our garden, +<a name="p_209"><span class="pagenum">[209]</span></a>By putting me away +Beyond all pardon. + +"I, Eve, sad mother +Of all who must live, +I, not another, +Plucked bitterest fruit to give +My friend, husband, lover. +O wanton eyes run over! +Who but I should grieve?-- +Cain hath slain his brother: +Of all who must die mother, +Miserable Eve!" + +Thus she sat weeping, +Thus Eve, our mother, +Where one lay sleeping +Slain by his brother. +Greatest and least +Each piteous beast +To hear her voice +Forgot his joys +And set aside his feast. + +The mouse paused in his walk +And dropped his wheaten stalk; +Grave cattle wagged their heads +In rumination; +The eagle gave a cry +From his cloud station; + +<a name="p_210"><span class="pagenum">[210]</span></a>Larks on thyme beds +Forbore to mount or sing; +Bees drooped upon the wing; +The raven perched on high +Forgot his ration; +The conies in their rock, +A feeble nation, +Quaked sympathetical; +The mocking-bird left off to mock; +Huge camels knelt as if +In deprecation; +The kind hart's tears were falling; +Chattered the wistful stork; +Dove-voices with a dying fall +Cooed desolation, +Answering grief by grief. + +Only the serpent in the dust, +Wriggling and crawling, +Grinned an evil grin, and thrust +His tongue out with its fork.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_211"><span class="pagenum">[211]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#211">GROWN AND FLOWN.</a></h4> +<pre>I loved my love from green of Spring + Until sere Autumn's fall; +But now that leaves are withering + How should one love at all? + One heart's too small +For hunger, cold, love, everything. + +I loved my love on sunny days + Until late Summer's wane; +But now that frost begins to glaze + How should one love again? + Nay, love and pain +Walk wide apart in diverse ways. + +I loved my love,--alas to see + That this should be, alas! +I thought that this could scarcely be, + Yet has it come to pass: + Sweet sweet love was, +Now bitter bitter grown to me.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_212"><span class="pagenum">[212]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#212">A FARM WALK</a>.</h4> +<pre>The year stood at its equinox + And bluff the North was blowing, +A bleat of lambs came from the flocks, + Green hardy things were growing; +I met a maid with shining locks + Where milky kine were lowing. + +She wore a kerchief on her neck, + Her bare arm showed its dimple, +Her apron spread without a speck, + Her air was frank and simple. + +She milked into a wooden pail + And sang a country ditty, +An innocent fond lovers' tale, + That was not wise nor witty, +Pathetically rustical, + Too pointless for the city. + +She kept in time without a beat + As true as church-bell ringers, +Unless she tapped time with her feet, + Or squeezed it with her fingers; +Her clear unstudied notes were sweet + As many a practised singer's. + +<a name="p_213"><span class="pagenum">[213]</span></a>I stood a minute out of sight, + Stood silent for a minute +To eye the pail, and creamy white + The frothing milk within it; + +To eye the comely milking maid + Herself so fresh and creamy: +"Good day to you," at last I said; + She turned her head to see me: +"Good day," she said, with lifted head; + Her eyes looked soft and dreamy, + +And all the while she milked and milked + The grave cow heavy-laden: +I've seen grand ladies plumed and silked, + But not a sweeter maiden; + +But not a sweeter, fresher maid + Than this in homely cotton, +Whose pleasant face and silky braid + I have not yet forgotten. + +Seven springs have passed since then, as I + Count with a sober sorrow; +Seven springs have come and passed me by, + And spring sets in to-morrow. + +I've half a mind to shake myself + Free just for once from London, +To set my work upon the shelf + And leave it done or undone; + +<a name="p_214"><span class="pagenum">[214]</span></a>To run down by the early train, + Whirl down with shriek and whistle, +And feel the bluff North blow again, + And mark the sprouting thistle +Set up on waste patch of the lane + Its green and tender bristle, + +And spy the scarce-blown violet banks, + Crisp primrose leaves and others, +And watch the lambs leap at their pranks + And butt their patient mothers. + +Alas, one point in all my plan + My serious thoughts demur to: +Seven years have passed for maid and man, + Seven years have passed for her too; + +Perhaps my rose is overblown, + Not rosy or too rosy; +Perhaps in farm-house of her own + Some husband keeps her cosey, +Where I should show a face unknown. + Good by, my wayside posy.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_215"><span class="pagenum">[215]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#215">SOMEWHERE OR OTHER.</a></h4> +<pre>Somewhere or other there must surely be + The face not seen, the voice not heard, +The heart that not yet--never yet--ah me! + Made answer to my word. + +Somewhere or other, may be near or far; + Past land and sea, clean out of sight; +Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star + That tracks her night by night. + +Somewhere or other, may be far or near; + With just a wall, a hedge, between; +With just the last leaves of the dying year + Fallen on a turf grown green.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_216"><span class="pagenum">[216]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#216">A CHILL.</a></h4> +<pre> What can lambkins do + All the keen night through? +Nestle by their woolly mother, + The careful ewe. + + What can nestlings do + In the nightly dew? +Sleep beneath their mother's wing + Till day breaks anew. + + If in field or tree + There might only be +Such a warm soft sleeping-place + Found for me!</pre> +<pre><a name="p_217"><span class="pagenum">[217]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#217">CHILD'S TALK IN APRIL.</a></h4> +<pre>I WISH you were a pleasant wren, + And I your small accepted mate; +How we'd look down on toilsome men! + We'd rise and go to bed at eight + Or it may be not quite so late. + +Then you should see the nest I'd build, + The wondrous nest for you and me; +The outside rough, perhaps, but filled + With wool and down: ah, you should see + The cosey nest that it would be. + +We'd have our change of hope and fear, + Small quarrels, reconcilements sweet: +I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer, + Or hop about on active feet + And fetch you dainty bits to eat. + +We'd be so happy by the day, + So safe and happy through the night, +We both should feel, and I should say, + It's all one season of delight, +And we'll make merry whilst we may. + +<a name="p_218"><span class="pagenum">[218]</span></a>Perhaps some day there'd be an egg + When spring had blossomed from the snow: +I'd stand triumphant on one leg; + Like chanticleer I'd almost crow + To let our little neighbors know. + +Next you should sit and I would sing +Through lengthening days of sunny spring: + Till, if you wearied of the task, +I'd sit; and you should spread your wing + From bough to bough; I'd sit and bask. + +Fancy the breaking of the shell, + The chirp, the chickens wet and bare, +The untried proud paternal swell; + And you with housewife-matron air + Enacting choicer bills of fare. + +Fancy the embryo coats of down, + The gradual feathers soft and sleek; +Till clothed and strong from tail to crown, + With virgin warblings in their beak, + They too go forth to soar and seek. + +So would it last an April through +And early summer fresh with dew: + Then should we part and live as twain, +Love-time would bring me back to you + And build our happy nest again.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_219"><span class="pagenum">[219]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#219">GONE FOREVER.</a></h4> +<pre>O happy rose-bud blooming + Upon thy parent tree,-- +Nay, thou art too presuming; +For soon the earth entombing + Thy faded charms shall be, +And the chill damp consuming. + +O happy skylark springing + Up to the broad blue sky, +Too fearless in thy winging, +Too gladsome in thy singing, + Thou also soon shalt lie +Where no sweet notes are ringing. + +And through life's shine and shower + We shall have joy and pain; +But in the summer bower, +And at the morning hour, + We still shall look in vain +For the same bird and flower.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_220"><span class="pagenum">[220]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#220">UNDER THE ROSE.</a></h4> +<pre> "The iniquity of the fathers upon the children."</pre> +<pre> + </pre> +<pre> +O the rose of keenest thorn! +One hidden summer morn +Under the rose I was born. + +I do not guess his name +Who wrought my Mother's shame, +And gave me life forlorn, +But my Mother, Mother, Mother, +I know her from all other. +My Mother pale and mild, +Fair as ever was seen, +She was but scarce sixteen, +Little more than a child, +When I was born +To work her scorn. +With secret bitter throes, +In a passion of secret woes, +She bore me under the rose. + +One who my Mother nursed +Took me from the first:-- +"O nurse, let me look upon +This babe that cost so dear; +<a name="p_221"><span class="pagenum">[221]</span></a>To-morrow she will be gone: +Other mothers may keep +Their babes awake and asleep, +But I must not keep her here."-- +Whether I know or guess, +I know this not the less. + +So I was sent away +That none might spy the truth: +And my childhood waxed to youth +And I left off childish play. +I never cared to play +With the village boys and girls; +And I think they thought me proud, +I found so little to say +And kept so from the crowd: +But I had the longest curls, +And I had the largest eyes, +And my teeth were small like pearls; +The girls might flout and scout me, +But the boys would hang about me +In sheepish mooning wise. + +Our one-street village stood +A long mile from the town, +A mile of windy down +And bleak one-sided wood, +With not a single house. +Our town itself was small, +With just the common shops, +And throve in its small way. +<a name="p_222"><span class="pagenum">[222]</span></a>Our neighboring gentry reared +The good old-fashioned crops, +And made old-fashioned boasts +Of what John Bull would do +If Frenchman Frog appeared, +And drank old-fashioned toasts, +And made old-fashioned bows +To my Lady at the Hall. + +My Lady at the Hall +Is grander than they all: +Hers is the oldest name +In all the neighborhood; +But the race must die with her +Though she's a lofty dame, +For she's unmarried still. +Poor people say she's good +And has an open hand +As any in the land, +And she's the comforter +Of many sick and sad; +My nurse once said to me +That everything she had +Came of my Lady's bounty: +"Though she's greatest in the county +She's humble to the poor, +No beggar seeks her door +But finds help presently. +I pray both night and day +For her, and you must pray: +<a name="p_223"><span class="pagenum">[223]</span></a>But she'll never feel distress +If needy folk can bless." +I was a little maid +When here we came to live +From somewhere by the sea. +Men spoke a foreign tongue +There where we used to be +When I was merry and young, +Too young to feel afraid; +The fisher-folk would give +A kind strange word to me, +There by the foreign sea: +I don't know where it was, +But I remember still +Our cottage on a hill, +And fields of flowering grass +On that fair foreign shore. + +I liked my old home best, +But this was pleasant too: +So here we made our nest +And here I grew. +And now and then my Lady +In riding past our door +Would nod to nurse and speak, +Or stoop and pat my cheek; +And I was always ready +To hold the field-gate wide +For my Lady to go through; +My Lady in her veil +<a name="p_224"><span class="pagenum">[224]</span></a>So seldom put aside, +My Lady grave and pale. + +I often sat to wonder +Who might my parents be, +For I knew of something under +My simple-seeming state. +Nurse never talked to me +Of mother or of father, +But watched me early and late +With kind suspicious cares: +Or not suspicious, rather +Anxious, as if she knew +Some secret I might gather +And smart for unawares. +Thus I grew. + +But Nurse waxed old and gray, +Bent and weak with years. +There came a certain day +That she lay upon her bed +Shaking her palsied head, +With words she gasped to say +Which had to stay unsaid. +Then with a jerking hand +Held out so piteously +She gave a ring to me +Of gold wrought curiously, +A ring which she had worn +Since the day that I was born, +<a name="p_225"><span class="pagenum">[225]</span></a>She once had said to me: +I slipped it on my finger; +Her eyes were keen to linger +On my hand that slipped it on; +Then she sighed one rattling sigh +And stared on with sightless eye:-- +The one who loved me was gone. + +How long I stayed alone +With the corpse I never knew, +For I fainted dead as stone: +When I came to life once more +I was down upon the floor, +With neighbors making ado +To bring me back to life. +I heard the sexton's wife +Say: "Up, my lad, and run +To tell it at the Hall; +She was my Lady's nurse, +And done can't be undone. +I'll watch by this poor lamb. +I guess my Lady's purse +Is always open to such: +I'd run up on my crutch +A cripple as I am," +(For cramps had vexed her much,) +"Rather than this dear heart +Lack one to take her part." + +For days, day after day, +On my weary bed I lay, +<a name="p_226"><span class="pagenum">[226]</span></a>Wishing the time would pass; +O, so wishing that I was +Likely to pass away: +For the one friend whom I knew +Was dead, I knew no other, +Neither father nor mother; +And I, what should I do? + +One day the sexton's wife +Said: "Rouse yourself, my dear: +My Lady has driven down +From the Hall into the town, +And we think she's coming here. +Cheer up, for life is life." + +But I would not look or speak, +Would not cheer up at all. +My tears were like to fall, +So I turned round to the wall +And hid my hollow cheek, +Making as if I slept, +As silent as a stone, +And no one knew I wept. +What was my Lady to me, +The grand lady from the Hall? +She might come, or stay away, +I was sick at heart that day: +The whole world seemed to be +Nothing, just nothing to me, +For aught that I could see. + +<a name="p_227"><span class="pagenum">[227]</span></a>Yet I listened where I lay: +A bustle came below, +A clear voice said: "I know; +I will see her first alone, +It may be less of a shock +If she's so weak to-day":-- +A light hand turned the lock, +A light step crossed the floor, +One sat beside my bed: +But never a word she said. + +For me, my shyness grew +Each moment more and more: +So I said never a word +And neither looked nor stirred; +I think she must have heard +My heart go pit-a-pat: +Thus I lay, my Lady sat, +More than a mortal hour +(I counted one and two +By the house-clock while I lay): +I seemed to have no power +To think of a thing to say, +Or do what I ought to do, +Or rouse myself to a choice. + +At last she said: "Margaret, +Won't you even look at me?" +A something in her voice +Forced my tears to fall at last, +<a name="p_228"><span class="pagenum">[228]</span></a>Forced sobs from me thick and fast; +Something not of the past, +Yet stirring memory; +A something new, and yet +Not new, too sweet to last, +Which I never can forget. + +I turned and stared at her: +Her cheek showed hollow-pale; +Her hair like mine was fair, +A wonderful fall of hair +That screened her like a veil; +But her height was statelier, +Her eyes had depth more deep: +I think they must have had +Always a something sad, +Unless they were asleep. + +While I stared, my Lady took +My hand in her spare hand, +Jewelled and soft and grand, +And looked with a long long look +Of hunger in my face; +As if she tried to trace +Features she ought to know, +And half hoped, half feared, to find. +Whatever was in her mind +She heaved a sigh at last, +And began to talk to me. +"Your nurse was my dear nurse, +<a name="p_229"><span class="pagenum">[229]</span></a>And her nursling's dear," said she: +"No one told me a word +Of her getting worse and worse, +Till her poor life was past" +(Here my Lady's tears dropped fast): +"I might have been with her, +I might have promised and heard, +But she had no comforter. +She might have told me much +Which now I shall never know, +Never, never shall know." +She sat by me sobbing so, +And seemed so woe-begone, +That I laid one hand upon +Hers with a timid touch, +Scarce thinking what I did, +Not knowing what to say: +That moment her face was hid +In the pillow close by mine, +Her arm was flung over me, +She hugged me, sobbing so +As if her heart would break, +And kissed me where I lay. + +After this she often came +To bring me fruit or wine, +Or sometimes hothouse flowers. +And at nights I lay awake +Often and often thinking +What to do for her sake. +Wet or dry it was the same: +<a name="p_230"><span class="pagenum">[230]</span></a>She would come in at all hours, +Set me eating and drinking, +And say I must grow strong; +At last the day seemed long +And home seemed scarcely home +If she did not come. + +Well, I grew strong again: +In time of primroses +I went to pluck them in the lane; +In time of nestling birds +I heard them chirping round the house; +And all the herds +Were out at grass when I grew strong, +And days were waxen long, +And there was work for bees +Among the May-bush boughs, +And I had shot up tall, +And life felt after all +Pleasant, and not so long +When I grew strong. + +I was going to the Hall +To be my Lady's maid: +"Her little friend," she said to me, +"Almost her child," +She said and smiled, +Sighing painfully; +Blushing, with a second flush, +As if she blushed to blush. + +<a name="p_231"><span class="pagenum">[231]</span></a>Friend, servant, child: just this +My standing at the Hall; +The other servants call me "Miss," +My Lady calls me "Margaret," +With her clear voice musical. +She never chides when I forget +This or that; she never chides. +Except when people come to stay +(And that's not often) at the Hall, +I sit with her all day +And ride out when she rides. +She sings to me and makes me sing; +Sometimes I read to her, +Sometimes we merely sit and talk. +She noticed once my ring +And made me tell its history: +That evening in our garden walk +She said she should infer +The ring had been my father's first, +Then my mother's, given for me +To the nurse who nursed +My mother in her misery, +That so quite certainly +Some one might know me, who-- +Then she was silent, and I too. + +I hate when people come: +The women speak and stare +And mean to be so civil. +This one will stroke my hair, +<a name="p_232"><span class="pagenum">[232]</span></a>That one will pat my cheek +And praise my Lady's kindness, +Expecting me to speak; +I like the proud ones best +Who sit as struck with blindness, +As if I wasn't there. +But if any gentleman +Is staying at the Hall +(Though few come prying here), +My Lady seems to fear +Some downright dreadful evil, +And makes me keep my room +As closely as she can: +So I hate when people come, +It is so troublesome. +In spite of all her care, +Sometimes to keep alive +I sometimes do contrive +To get out in the grounds +For a whiff of wholesome air, +Under the rose you know: +It's charming to break bounds, +Stolen waters are sweet, +And what's the good of feet +If for days they mustn't go? +Give me a longer tether, +Or I may break from it. + +Now I have eyes and ears +And just some little wit: +<a name="p_233"><span class="pagenum">[233]</span></a>"Almost my lady's child"; +I recollect she smiled, +Sighed and blushed together; +Then her story of the ring +Sounds not improbable, +She told it me so well +It seemed the actual thing:-- +O keep your counsel close, +But I guess under the rose, +In long past summer weather +When the world was blossoming, +And the rose upon its thorn: +I guess not who he was +Flawed honor like a glass +And made my life forlorn; +But my Mother, Mother, Mother, +O, I know her from all other. + +My Lady, you might trust +Your daughter with your fame. +Trust me, I would not shame +Our honorable name, +For I have noble blood +Though I was bred in dust +And brought up in the mud. +I will not press my claim, +Just leave me where you will: +But you might trust your daughter, +For blood is thicker than water +And you're my mother still. + +<a name="p_234"><span class="pagenum">[234]</span></a>So my Lady holds her own +With condescending grace, +And fills her lofty place +With an untroubled face +As a queen may fill a throne. +While I could hint a tale +(But then I am her child) +Would make her quail; +Would set her in the dust, +Lorn with no comforter, +Her glorious hair defiled +And ashes on her cheek: +The decent world would thrust +Its finger out at her, +Not much displeased I think +To make a nine days' stir; +The decent world would sink +Its voice to speak of her. + +Now this is what I mean +To do, no more, no less: +Never to speak, or show +Bare sign of what I know. +Let the blot pass unseen; +Yea, let her never guess +I hold the tangled clew +She huddles out of view. +Friend, servant, almost child, +So be it and nothing more +On this side of the grave. +<a name="p_235"><span class="pagenum">[235]</span></a>Mother, in Paradise, +You'll see with clearer eyes; +Perhaps in this world even +When you are like to die +And face to face with Heaven +You'll drop for once the lie: +But you must drop the mask, not I. + +My Lady promises +Two hundred pounds with me +Whenever I may wed +A man she can approve: +And since besides her bounty +I'm fairest in the county +(For so I've heard it said, +Though I don't vouch for this), +Her promised pounds may move +Some honest man to see +My virtues and my beauties; +Perhaps the rising grazier, +Or temperance publican, +May claim my wifely duties. +Meanwhile I wait their leisure +And grace-bestowing pleasure, +I wait the happy man; +But if I hold my head +And pitch my expectations +Just higher than their level, +They must fall back on patience: +I may not mean to wed, +Yet I'll be civil. + +<a name="p_236"><span class="pagenum">[236]</span></a>Now sometimes in a dream +My heart goes out of me +To build and scheme, +Till I sob after things that seem +So pleasant in a dream: +A home such as I see +My blessed neighbors live in +With father and with mother, +All proud of one another, +Named by one common name, +From baby in the bud +To full-blown workman father; +It's little short of Heaven. +I'd give my gentle blood +To wash my special shame +And drown my private grudge; +I'd toil and moil much rather +The dingiest cottage drudge +Whose mother need not blush, +Than live here like a lady +And see my Mother flush +And hear her voice unsteady +Sometimes, yet never dare +Ask to share her care. + +Of course the servants sneer +Behind my back at me; +Of course the village girls, +Who envy me my curls +And gowns and idleness, +<a name="p_237"><span class="pagenum">[237]</span></a>Take comfort in a jeer; +Of course the ladies guess +Just so much of my history +As points the emphatic stress +With which they laud my Lady; +The gentlemen who catch +A casual glimpse of me +And turn again to see, +Their valets on the watch +To speak a word with me, +All know and sting me wild; +Till I am almost ready +To wish that I were dead, +No faces more to see, +No more words to be said, +My Mother safe at last +Disburdened of her child, +And the past past. + +"All equal before God,"-- +Our Rector has it so, +And sundry sleepers nod: +It may be so; I know +All are not equal here, +And when the sleepers wake +They make a difference. +"All equal in the grave,"-- +That shows an obvious sense: +Yet something which I crave +Not death itself brings near; +<a name="p_238"><span class="pagenum">[238]</span></a>How should death half atone +For all my past; or make +The name I bear my own? + +I love my dear old Nurse +Who loved me without gains; +I love my mistress even, +Friend, Mother, what you will: +But I could almost curse +My Father for his pains; +And sometimes at my prayer, +Kneeling in sight of Heaven, +I almost curse him still: +Why did he set his snare +To catch at unaware +My Mother's foolish youth; +Load me with shame that's hers, +And her with something worse, +A lifelong lie for truth? + +I think my mind is fixed +On one point and made up: +To accept my lot unmixed; +Never to drug the cup +But drink it by myself. +I'll not be wooed for pelf; +I'll not blot out my shame +With any man's good name; +But nameless as I stand, +My hand is my own hand, +<a name="p_239"><span class="pagenum">[239]</span></a>And nameless as I came +I go to the dark land. + +"All equal in the grave,"-- +I bide my time till then: +"All equal before God,"-- +To-day I feel His rod, +To-morrow He may save: + Amen.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_239A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#239">SONG.</a></h4> +<pre>Oh what comes over the sea, + Shoals and quicksands past; +And what comes home to me, + Sailing slow, sailing fast? + +A wind comes over the sea + With a moan in its blast; +But nothing comes home to me, + Sailing slow, sailing fast. + +Let me be, let me be, + For my lot is cast: +Land or sea all's one to me, + And sail it slow or fast.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_240"><span class="pagenum">[240]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#240">BY THE SEA.</a></h4> +<pre>Why does the sea moan evermore? + Shut out from heaven it makes its moan. +It frets against the boundary shore; + All earth's full rivers cannot fill + The sea, that drinking thirsteth still. + +Sheer miracles of loveliness + Lie hid in its unlooked-on bed: +Anemones, salt, passionless, + Blow flower-like; just enough alive + To blow and multiply and thrive. + +Shells quaint with curve, or spot, or spike, + Encrusted live things argus-eyed, +All fair alike, yet all unlike, + Are born without a pang, and die + Without a pang,--and so pass by.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_240A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#p_240B">DAYS OF VANITY.</a></h4> +<pre> A dream that waketh, + Bubble that breaketh, +Song whose burden sigheth, + A passing breath, + Smoke that vanisheth,-- +Such is life that dieth. + +<a name="p_241"><span class="pagenum">[241]</span></a> A flower that fadeth, + Fruit the tree sheddeth, +Trackless bird that flieth, + Summer time brief, + Falling of the leaf,-- +Such is life that dieth. + + A scent exhaling, + Snow waters failing, +Morning dew that drieth, + A windy blast, + Lengthening shadows cast,-- +Such is life that dieth. + + A scanty measure, + Rust-eaten treasure, +Spending that nought buyeth, + Moth on the wing, + Toil unprofiting,-- +Such is life that dieth. + + Morrow by morrow + Sorrow breeds sorrow, +For this my song sigheth; + From day to night + We lapse out of sight,-- +Such is life that dieth.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_242"><span class="pagenum">[242]</span></a> +</pre> +<h4><a href="#242">ENRICA, 1865.</a></h4> +<pre>She came among us from the South + And made the North her home awhile + Our dimness brightened in her smile, +Our tongue grew sweeter in her mouth. + +We chilled beside her liberal glow, + She dwarfed us by her ampler scale, + Her full-blown blossom made us pale, +She summer-like and we like snow. + +We Englishwomen, trim, correct, + All minted in the self-same mould, + Warm-hearted but of semblance cold, +All-courteous out of self-respect. + +She woman in her natural grace, + Less trammelled she by lore of school, + Courteous by nature not by rule, +Warm-hearted and of cordial face. + +So for awhile she made her home + Among us in the rigid North, + She who from Italy came forth +And scaled the Alps and crossed the foam. + +But if she found us like our sea, + Of aspect colourless and chill, + Rock-girt; like it she found us still +Deep at our deepest, strong and free.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_243"><span class="pagenum">[243]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#243">ONCE FOR ALL.</a></h4> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">(Margaret.)</span></p> +<pre>I said: This is a beautiful fresh rose. + I said: I will delight me with its scent, + Will watch its lovely curve of languishment, +Will watch its leaves unclose, its heart unclose. +I said: Old Earth has put away her snows, + All living things make merry to their bent, + A flower is come for every flower that went +In autumn; the sun glows, the south wind blows. +So walking in a garden of delight + I came upon one sheltered shadowed nook +Where broad leaf shadows veiled the day with night, + And there lay snow unmelted by the sun:-- +I answered: Take who will the path I took, + Winter nips once for all; love is but one.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_243A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#p_243B">AUTUMN VIOLETS.</a></h4> +<pre>Keep love for youth, and violets for the spring: + Or if these bloom when worn-out autumn grieves, + Let them lie hid in double shade of leaves, +Their own, and others dropped down withering; +For violets suit when home birds build and sing, + Not when the outbound bird a passage cleaves; + Not with dry stubble of mown harvest sheaves, + +<a name="p_244"><span class="pagenum">[244]</span></a>But when the green world buds to blossoming. +Keep violets for the spring, and love for youth, + Love that should dwell with beauty, mirth, and hope: + Or if a later sadder love be born, + Let this not look for grace beyond its scope, +But give itself, nor plead for answering truth-- + A grateful Ruth tho' gleaning scanty corn.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_244A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#244">"THEY DESIRE A BETTER COUNTRY."</a></h4> +<h5>I.</h5> +<pre>I would not if I could undo my past, + Tho' for its sake my future is a blank; + My past for which I have myself to thank, +For all its faults and follies first and last. +I would not cast anew the lot once cast, + Or launch a second ship for one that sank, + Or drug with sweets the bitterness I drank, +Or break by feasting my perpetual fast. +I would not if I could: for much more dear + Is one remembrance than a hundred joys, + More than a thousand hopes in jubilee; + Dearer the music of one tearful voice + That unforgotten calls and calls to me, +"Follow me here, rise up, and follow here."</pre> +<h5>II.</h5> +<pre>What seekest thou, far in the unknown land? + In hope I follow joy gone on before; + In hope and fear persistent more and more, +<a name="p_245"><span class="pagenum">[245]</span></a>As the dry desert lengthens out its sand. +Whilst day and night I carry in my hand + The golden key to ope the golden door + Of golden home; yet mine eye weepeth sore, +For long the journey is that makes no stand. +And who is this that veiled doth walk with thee? + Lo, this is Love that walketh at my right; + One exile holds us both, and we are bound + To selfsame home-joys in the land of light. +Weeping thou walkest with him; weepeth he?-- + Some sobbing weep, some weep and make no sound.</pre> +<h5>III.</h5> +<pre>A dimness of a glory glimmers here + Thro' veils and distance from the space remote, + A faintest far vibration of a note +Reaches to us and seems to bring us near; +Causing our face to glow with braver cheer, + Making the serried mist to stand afloat, + Subduing languor with an antidote, +And strengthening love almost to cast out fear: +Till for one moment golden city walls + Rise looming on us, golden walls of home, +Light of our eyes until the darkness falls; + Then thro' the outer darkness burdensome +I hear again the tender voice that calls, + "Follow me hither, follow, rise, and come."</pre> +<pre><a name="p_246"><span class="pagenum">[246]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#246">A GREEN CORNFIELD.</a></h4> +<p class="figcenter">"And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest."</p> +<pre>The earth was green, the sky was blue: + I saw and heard one sunny morn +A skylark hang between the two, + A singing speck above the corn; + +A stage below, in gay accord, + White butterflies danced on the wing, +And still the singing skylark soared + And silent sank, and soared to sing. + +The cornfield stretched a tender green + To right and left beside my walks; +I knew he had a nest unseen + Somewhere among the million stalks: + +And as I paused to hear his song + While swift the sunny moments slid, +Perhaps his mate sat listening long, + And listened longer than I did.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_247"><span class="pagenum">[247]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#247">A BRIDE SONG.</a></h4> +<pre>Through the vales to my love! + To the happy small nest of home +Green from basement to roof; + Where the honey-bees come +To the window-sill flowers, + And dive from above, +Safe from the spider that weaves + Her warp and her woof +In some outermost leaves. + +Through the vales to my love! + In sweet April hours + All rainbows and showers, +While dove answers dove,-- + In beautiful May, +When the orchards are tender + And frothing with flowers,-- + In opulent June, +When the wheat stands up slender + By sweet-smelling hay, +And half the sun's splendour + Descends to the moon. + +Through the vales to my love! + Where the turf is so soft to the feet, + And the thyme makes it sweet, +And the stately foxglove +<a name="p_248"><span class="pagenum">[248]</span></a> Hangs silent its exquisite bells; + And where water wells +The greenness grows greener, + And bulrushes stand +Round a lily to screen her. + +Nevertheless, if this land, + Like a garden to smell and to sight, +Were turned to a desert of sand, + Stripped bare of delight, + All its best gone to worst, +For my feet no repose, + No water to comfort my thirst, +And heaven like a furnace above,-- + The desert would be + As gushing of waters to me, +The wilderness be as a rose, + If it led me to thee, + O my love!</pre> +<pre><a name="p_249"><span class="pagenum">[249]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#249">THE LOWEST ROOM.</a></h4> +<pre>Like flowers sequestered from the sun + And wind of summer, day by day +I dwindled paler, whilst my hair + Showed the first tinge of grey. + +"Oh, what is life, that we should live? + Or what is death, that we must die? +A bursting bubble is our life: + I also, what am I?" + +"What is your grief? now tell me, sweet, + That I may grieve," my sister said; +And stayed a white embroidering hand + And raised a golden head: + +Her tresses showed a richer mass, + Her eyes looked softer than my own, +Her figure had a statelier height, + Her voice a tenderer tone. + +"Some must be second and not first; + All cannot be the first of all: +Is not this, too, but vanity? + I stumble like to fall. + +<a name="p_250"><span class="pagenum">[250]</span></a>"So yesterday I read the acts + Of Hector and each clangorous king +With wrathful great Æacides:-- + Old Homer leaves a sting." + +The comely face looked up again, + The deft hand lingered on the thread +"Sweet, tell me what is Homer's sting, + Old Homer's sting?" she said. + +"He stirs my sluggish pulse like wine, + He melts me like the wind of spice, +Strong as strong Ajax' red right hand, + And grand like Juno's eyes. + +"I cannot melt the sons of men, + I cannot fire and tempest-toss:-- +Besides, those days were golden days, + Whilst these are days of dross." + +She laughed a feminine low laugh, + Yet did not stay her dexterous hand: +"Now tell me of those days," she said, + "When time ran golden sand." + +"Then men were men of might and right, + Sheer might, at least, and weighty swords; +Then men in open blood and fire + Bore witness to their words,-- + +<a name="p_251"><span class="pagenum">[251]</span></a>"Crest-rearing kings with whistling spears; + But if these shivered in the shock +They wrenched up hundred-rooted trees, + Or hurled the effacing rock. + +"Then hand to hand, then foot to foot, + Stern to the death-grip grappling then, +Who ever thought of gunpowder + Amongst these men of men? + +"They knew whose hand struck home the death, + They knew who broke but would not bend, +Could venerate an equal foe + And scorn a laggard friend. + +"Calm in the utmost stress of doom, + Devout toward adverse powers above, +They hated with intenser hate + And loved with fuller love. + +"Then heavenly beauty could allay + As heavenly beauty stirred the strife: +By them a slave was worshipped more + Than is by us a wife." + +She laughed again, my sister laughed; + Made answer o'er the laboured cloth: +"I rather would be one of us + Than wife, or slave, or both." + +<a name="p_252"><span class="pagenum">[252]</span></a>"Oh better then be slave or wife + Than fritter now blank life away: +Then night had holiness of night, + And day was sacred day. + +"The princess laboured at her loom, + Mistress and handmaiden alike; +Beneath their needles grew the field + With warriors armed to strike. + +"Or, look again, dim Dian's face + Gleamed perfect through the attendant night: +Were such not better than those holes + Amid that waste of white? + +"A shame it is, our aimless life; + I rather from my heart would feed +From silver dish in gilded stall + With wheat and wine the steed-- + +"The faithful steed that bore my lord + In safety through the hostile land, +The faithful steed that arched his neck + To fondle with my hand." + +Her needle erred; a moment's pause, + A moment's patience, all was well. +Then she: "But just suppose the horse, + Suppose the rider fell? + +<a name="p_253"><span class="pagenum">[253]</span></a>"Then captive in an alien house, + Hungering on exile's bitter bread,-- +They happy, they who won the lot + Of sacrifice," she said. + +Speaking she faltered, while her look + Showed forth her passion like a glass: +With hand suspended, kindling eye, + Flushed cheek, how fair she was! + +"Ah well, be those the days of dross; + This, if you will, the age of gold: +Yet had those days a spark of warmth, + While these are somewhat cold-- + +"Are somewhat mean and cold and slow, + Are stunted from heroic growth: +We gain but little when we prove + The worthlessness of both." + +"But life is in our hands," she said; + "In our own hands for gain or loss: +Shall not the Sevenfold Sacred Fire + Suffice to purge our dross? + +"Too short a century of dreams, + One day of work sufficient length: +Why should not you, why should not I, + Attain heroic strength? + +<a name="p_254"><span class="pagenum">[254]</span></a>"Our life is given us as a blank, + Ourselves must make it blest or curst: +Who dooms me I shall only be + The second, not the first? + +"Learn from old Homer, if you will, + Such wisdom as his books have said: +In one the acts of Ajax shine, + In one of Diomed. + +"Honoured all heroes whose high deeds + Through life, through death, enlarge their span +Only Achilles in his rage + And sloth is less than man." + +"Achilles only less than man? + He less than man who, half a god, +Discomfited all Greece with rest, + Cowed Ilion with a nod? + +"He offered vengeance, lifelong grief + To one dear ghost, uncounted price: +Beasts, Trojans, adverse gods, himself, + Heaped up the sacrifice. + +"Self-immolated to his friend, + Shrined in world's wonder, Homer's page, +Is this the man, the less than men + Of this degenerate age?" + +<a name="p_255"><span class="pagenum">[255]</span></a>"Gross from his acorns, tusky boar + Does memorable acts like his; +So for her snared offended young + Bleeds the swart lioness." + +But here she paused; our eyes had met, + And I was whitening with the jeer; +She rose: "I went too far," she said; + Spoke low: "Forgive me, dear. + +"To me our days seem pleasant days, + Our home a haven of pure content; +Forgive me if I said too much, + So much more than I meant. + +"Homer, though greater than his gods, + With rough-hewn virtues was sufficed +And rough-hewn men: but what are such + To us who learn of Christ?" + +The much-moved pathos of her voice, + Her almost tearful eyes, her cheek +Grown pale, confessed the strength of love + Which only made her speak. + +For mild she was, of few soft words, + Most gentle, easy to be led, +Content to listen when I spoke, + And reverence what I said: + +<a name="p_256"><span class="pagenum">[256]</span></a>I elder sister by six years; + Not half so glad, or wise, or good: +Her words rebuked my secret self + And shamed me where I stood. + +She never guessed her words reproved + A silent envy nursed within, +A selfish, souring discontent + Pride-born, the devil's sin. + +I smiled, half bitter, half in jest: + "The wisest man of all the wise +Left for his summary of life + 'Vanity of vanities.' + +"Beneath the sun there's nothing new: + Men flow, men ebb, mankind flows on: +If I am wearied of my life, + Why, so was Solomon. + +"Vanity of vanities he preached + Of all he found, of all he sought: +Vanity of vanities, the gist + Of all the words he taught. + +"This in the wisdom of the world, + In Homer's page, in all, we find: +As the sea is not filled, so yearns + Man's universal mind. + +<a name="p_257"><span class="pagenum">[257]</span></a>"This Homer felt, who gave his men + With glory but a transient state: +His very Jove could not reverse + Irrevocable fate. + +"Uncertain all their lot save this-- + Who wins must lose, who lives must die: +All trodden out into the dark + Alike, all vanity." + +She scarcely answered when I paused, + But rather to herself said: "One +Is here," low-voiced and loving, "Yea, + Greater than Solomon." + +So both were silent, she and I: + She laid her work aside, and went +Into the garden-walks, like spring, + All gracious with content: + +A little graver than her wont, + Because her words had fretted me; +Not warbling quite her merriest tune + Bird-like from tree to tree. + +I chose a book to read and dream: + Yet half the while with furtive eyes +Marked how she made her choice of flowers + Intuitively wise, + +<a name="p_258"><span class="pagenum">[258]</span></a>And ranged them with instinctive taste + Which all my books had failed to teach; +Fresh rose herself, and daintier + Than blossom of the peach. + +By birthright higher than myself, + Though nestling of the self-same nest: +No fault of hers, no fault of mine, + But stubborn to digest. + +I watched her, till my book unmarked + Slid noiseless to the velvet floor; +Till all the opulent summer-world + Looked poorer than before. + +Just then her busy fingers ceased, + Her fluttered colour went and came: +I knew whose step was on the walk, + Whose voice would name her name. + + * * * * * </pre> +<pre>Well, twenty years have passed since then: + My sister now, a stately wife +Still fair, looks back in peace and sees + The longer half of life-- + +The longer half of prosperous life, + With little grief, or fear, or fret: +She, loved and loving long ago, + Is loved and loving yet. + +<a name="p_259"><span class="pagenum">[259]</span></a>A husband honourable, brave, + Is her main wealth in all the world: +And next to him one like herself, + One daughter golden-curled: + +Fair image of her own fair youth, + As beautiful and as serene, +With almost such another love + As her own love has been. + +Yet, though of world-wide charity, + And in her home most tender dove, +Her treasure and her heart are stored + In the home-land of love. + +She thrives, God's blessed husbandry; + Most like a vine which full of fruit +Doth cling and lean and climb toward heaven, + While earth still binds its root. + +I sit and watch my sister's face: + How little altered since the hours +When she, a kind, light-hearted girl, + Gathered her garden flowers: + +Her song just mellowed by regret + For having teased me with her talk; +Then all-forgetful as she heard + One step upon the walk. + +<a name="p_260"><span class="pagenum">[260]</span></a>While I? I sat alone and watched; + My lot in life, to live alone +In mine own world of interests, + Much felt, but little shown. + +Not to be first: how hard to learn + That lifelong lesson of the past; +Line graven on line and stroke on stroke: + But, thank God, learned at last. + +So now in patience I possess + My soul year after tedious year, +Content to take the lowest place, + The place assigned me here. + +Yet sometimes, when I feel my strength + Most weak, and life most burdensome, +I lift mine eyes up to the hills + From whence my help shall come: + +Yea, sometimes still I lift my heart + To the Archangelic trumpet-burst, +When all deep secrets shall be shown, + And many last be first.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_261"><span class="pagenum">[261]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#261">DEAD HOPE.</a></h4> +<pre>Hope new born one pleasant morn + Died at even; +Hope dead lives nevermore, + No, not in heaven. + +If his shroud were but a cloud + To weep itself away; +Or were he buried underground + To sprout some day! +But dead and gone is dead and gone + Vainly wept upon. + +Nought we place above his face + To mark the spot, +But it shows a barren place + In our lot.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_261A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#p_261B">A DAUGHTER OF EVE.</a></h4> +<pre>A fool I was to sleep at noon, + And wake when night is chilly +Beneath the comfortless cold moon; +A fool to pluck my rose too soon, + A fool to snap my lily. + +<a name="p_262"><span class="pagenum">[262]</span></a>My garden-plot I have not kept; + Faded and all-forsaken, +I weep as I have never wept: +Oh it was summer when I slept, + It's winter now I waken. + +Talk what you please of future spring + And sun-warmed sweet to-morrow:-- +Stripped bare of hope and every thing, +No more to laugh, no more to sing, + I sit alone with sorrow.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_262A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#262">VENUS' LOOKING-GLASS.</a></h4> +<pre>I marked where lovely Venus and her court + With song and dance and merry laugh went by; + Weightless, their wingless feet seemed made to fly, +Bound from the ground and in mid air to sport. +Left far behind I heard the dolphins snort, + Tracking their goddess with a wistful eye, + Around whose head white doves rose, wheeling high +Or low, and cooed after their tender sort. +All this I saw in spring. Through summer heat + I saw the lovely Queen of Love no more. + But when flushed autumn through the woodlands went +I spied sweet Venus walk amid the wheat: + Whom seeing, every harvester gave o'er + His toil, and laughed and hoped and was content.</pre> +<pre> +<a name="p_263"><span class="pagenum">[263]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#263">LOVE LIES BLEEDING.</a></h4> +<pre>Love that is dead and buried, yesterday + Out of his grave rose up before my face, + No recognition in his look, no trace +Of memory in his eyes dust-dimmed and grey. +While I, remembering, found no word to say, + But felt my quickened heart leap in its place; + Caught afterglow thrown back from long set days, +Caught echoes of all music passed away. +Was this indeed to meet?--I mind me yet + In youth we met when hope and love were quick, + We parted with hope dead, but love alive: + I mind me how we parted then heart sick, + Remembering, loving, hopeless, weak to strive:-- +Was this to meet? Not so, we have not met.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_263A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#p_263B">BIRD RAPTURES.</a></h4> +<pre>The sunrise wakes the lark to sing, + The moonrise wakes the nightingale. +Come darkness, moonrise, every thing + That is so silent, sweet, and pale: + Come, so ye wake the nightingale. + +Make haste to mount, thou wistful moon, + Make haste to wake the nightingale: +Let silence set the world in tune +<a name="p_264"><span class="pagenum">[264]</span></a>To hearken to that wordless tale +Which warbles from the nightingale + +O herald skylark, stay thy flight + One moment, for a nightingale +Floods us with sorrow and delight. + To-morrow thou shalt hoist the sail; + Leave us to-night the nightingale.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_264A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#264">MY FRIEND.</a></h4> +<pre>Two days ago with dancing glancing hair, + With living lips and eyes: + Now pale, dumb, blind, she lies; +So pale, yet still so fair. + +We have not left her yet, not yet alone; + But soon must leave her where + She will not miss our care, +Bone of our bone. + +Weep not; O friends, we should not weep: + Our friend of friends lies full of rest; + No sorrow rankles in her breast, +Fallen fast asleep. + +She sleeps below, + She wakes and laughs above; + To-day, as she walked, let us walk in love, +To-morrow follow so.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_265"><span class="pagenum">[265]</span></a></pre> +<pre> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#265">TWILIGHT NIGHT.</a></h4> +<h5>I.</h5> +<pre>We met, hand to hand, + We clasped hands close and fast, +As close as oak and ivy stand; + But it is past: + Come day, come night, day comes at last. + +We loosed hand from hand, + We parted face from face; +Each went his way to his own land + At his own pace: + Each went to fill his separate place. + +If we should meet one day, + If both should not forget. +We shall clasp hands the accustomed way, + As when we met + So long ago, as I remember yet.</pre> +<h5>II.</h5> +<pre>Where my heart is (wherever that may be) + Might I but follow! +If you fly thither over heath and lea, +O honey-seeking bee, + O careless swallow! +Bid some for whom I watch keep watch for me + +<a name="p_266"><span class="pagenum">[266]</span></a>Alas! that we must dwell, my heart and I, + So far asunder. +Hours wax to days, and days and days creep by; +I watch with wistful eye, + I wait and wonder: +When will that day draw nigh--that hour draw nigh? + +Not yesterday, and not I think to-day; + Perhaps to-morrow. +Day after day "to-morrow," thus I say: +I watched so yesterday + In hope and sorrow, +Again to-day I watch the accustomed way.</pre> +<pre> +<a name="p_266A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#266">A BIRD SONG.</a></h4> +<pre>It's a year almost that I have not seen her: +Oh, last summer green things were greener, +Brambles fewer, the blue sky bluer. + +It's surely summer, for there's a swallow: +Come one swallow, his mate will follow, +The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken. + +Oh happy swallow whose mate will follow +O'er height, o'er hollow! I'd be a swallow, +To build this weather one nest together.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_267"><span class="pagenum">[267]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#267">A SMILE AND A SIGH.</a></h4> +<pre>A smile because the nights are short! + And every morning brings such pleasure +Of sweet love-making, harmless sport: + Love that makes and finds its treasure; + Love, treasure without measure. + +A sigh because the days are long! + Long, long these days that pass in sighing, +A burden saddens every song: + While time lags which should be flying, + We live who would be dying.</pre> +<pre> +<a name="p_267A"></a></pre><pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#p_267B">AMOR MUNDI.</a></h4> +<pre>"O where are you going with your love-locks flowing, + On the west wind blowing along this valley track?" +"The downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye, + We shall escape the uphill by never turning back." + +So they two went together in glowing August weather, + The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right; +<a name="p_268"><span class="pagenum">[268]</span></a>And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float on + The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight. + +"Oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven, + Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?" +"Oh, that's a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous, + An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt." + +"Oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly, + Their scent comes rich and sickly?"--"A scaled and hooded worm." +"Oh, what's that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?" + "Oh, that's a thin dead body which waits the eternal term." + +"Turn again, O my sweetest,--turn again, false and fleetest: + This beaten way thou beatest I fear is hell's own track." +"Nay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting: + This downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back."</pre> +<pre><a name="p_269"><span class="pagenum">[269]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#269">A CHRISTMAS CAROL.</a></h4> +<pre>In the bleak mid-winter + Frosty wind made moan, +Earth stood hard as iron, + Water like a stone; +Snow had fallen, snow on snow, + Snow on snow, +In the bleak mid-winter + Long ago. + +Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him + Nor earth sustain; +Heaven and earth shall flee away + When He comes to reign: +In the bleak mid-winter + A stable-place sufficed +The Lord God Almighty + Jesus Christ. + +Enough for Him whom cherubim + Worship night and day, +A breastful of milk + And a mangerful of hay; +Enough for Him whom angels + Fall down before, +The ox and ass and camel + Which adore. + +<a name="p_270"><span class="pagenum">[270]</span></a>Angels and archangels + May have gathered there, +Cherubim and seraphim + Throng'd the air, +But only His mother + In her maiden bliss +Worshipped her Beloved + With a kiss. + +What can I give Him, + Poor as I am? +If I were a shepherd + I would bring a lamb, +If I were a wise man + I would do my part,-- +Yet what I can I give Him, + Give my heart.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_271"><span class="pagenum">[271]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#271">BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON.</a></h4> +<h5>B.C. 570.</h5> +<pre>Here, where I dwell, I waste to skin and bone; + The curse is come upon me, and I waste + In penal torment powerless to atone. +The curse is come on me, which makes no haste + And doth not tarry, crushing both the proud + Hard man and him the sinner double-faced. +Look not upon me, for my soul is bowed + Within me, as my body in this mire; + My soul crawls dumb-struck, sore bestead and cowed +As Sodom and Gomorrah scourged by fire, + As Jericho before God's trumpet-peal, + So we the elect ones perish in His ire. +Vainly we gird on sackcloth, vainly kneel + With famished faces toward Jerusalem: + His heart is shut against us not to feel, +His ears against our cry He shutteth them, + His hand He shorteneth that He will not save, + His law is loud against us to condemn: +And we, as unclean bodies in the grave + Inheriting corruption and the dark, + Are outcast from His presence which we crave. +Our Mercy hath departed from His Ark, + Our Glory hath departed from His rest, + Our Shield hath left us naked as a mark +<a name="p_272"><span class="pagenum">[272]</span></a>Unto all pitiless eyes made manifest. + Our very Father hath forsaken us, + Our God hath cast us from Him: we oppress'd +Unto our foes are even marvellous, + A hissing and a butt for pointing hands, + Whilst God Almighty hunts and grinds us thus; +For He hath scattered us in alien lands, + Our priests, our princes, our anointed king, + And bound us hand and foot with brazen bands. +Here while I sit, my painful heart takes wing + Home to the home-land I may see no more, + Where milk and honey flow, where waters spring +And fail not, where I dwelt in days of yore + Under my fig-tree and my fruitful vine, + There where my parents dwelt at ease before: +Now strangers press the olives that are mine, + Reap all the corners of my harvest-field, + And make their fat hearts wanton with my wine; +To them my trees, to them my gardens yield + Their sweets and spices and their tender green, + O'er them in noontide heat outspread their shield. +Yet these are they whose fathers had not been + Housed with my dogs; whom hip and thigh we smote + And with their blood washed their pollutions clean, +Purging the land which spewed them from its throat; + Their daughters took we for a pleasant prey, + Choice tender ones on whom the fathers dote: +Now they in turn have led our own away; + Our daughters and our sisters and our wives + Sore weeping as they weep who curse the day, +<a name="p_273"><span class="pagenum">[273]</span></a>To live, remote from help, dishonoured lives, + Soothing their drunken masters with a song, + Or dancing in their golden tinkling gyves-- +Accurst if they remember through the long + Estrangement of their exile, twice accursed + If they forget and join the accursèd throng. +How doth my heart that is so wrung not burst + When I remember that my way was plain, + And that God's candle lit me at the first, +Whilst now I grope in darkness, grope in vain, + Desiring but to find Him Who is lost, + To find him once again, but once again! +His wrath came on us to the uttermost, + His covenanted and most righteous wrath. + Yet this is He of Whom we made our boast, +Who lit the Fiery Pillar in our path, + Who swept the Red Sea dry before our feet, + Who in His jealousy smote kings, and hath +Sworn once to David: One shall fill thy seat + Born of thy body, as the sun and moon + 'Stablished for aye in sovereignty complete. +O Lord, remember David, and that soon. + The Glory hath departed, Ichabod! + Yet now, before our sun grow dark at noon, +Before we come to nought beneath Thy rod, + Before we go down quick into the pit, + Remember us for good, O God, our God:-- +Thy Name will I remember, praising it, + Though Thou forget me, though Thou hide Thy face, +<a name="p_274"><span class="pagenum">[274]</span></a> And blot me from the Book which Thou hast writ; +Thy Name will I remember in my praise + And call to mind Thy faithfulness of old, +Though as a weaver Thou cut off my days + And end me as a tale ends that is told.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_274A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#274">PARADISE.</a></h4> +<pre>Once in a dream I saw the flowers + That bud and bloom in Paradise; + More fair they are than waking eyes +Have seen in all this world of ours. +And faint the perfume-bearing rose, + And faint the lily on its stem, +And faint the perfect violet + Compared with them. + +I heard the songs of Paradise: + Each bird sat singing in his place; + A tender song so full of grace +It soared like incense to the skies. +Each bird sat singing to his mate + Soft-cooing notes among the trees: +The nightingale herself were cold + To such as these. + +I saw the fourfold River flow, + And deep it was, with golden sand; + It flowed between a mossy land +With murmured music grave and low. + +<a name="p_275"><span class="pagenum">[275]</span></a>It hath refreshment for all thirst, + For fainting spirits strength and rest; +Earth holds not such a draught as this + From east to west. + +The Tree of Life stood budding there, + Abundant with its twelvefold fruits; + Eternal sap sustains its roots, +Its shadowing branches fill the air. +Its leaves are healing for the world, + Its fruit the hungry world can feed, +Sweeter than honey to the taste, + And balm indeed. + +I saw the gate called Beautiful; + And looked, but scarce could look within; + I saw the golden streets begin, +And outskirts of the glassy pool. +Oh harps, oh crowns of plenteous stars, + O green palm branches many-leaved-- +Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, + Nor heart conceived! + +I hope to see these things again, + But not as once in dreams by night; + To see them with my very sight, +And touch and handle and attain: +To have all Heaven beneath my feet + For narrow way that once they trod; +To have my part with all the saints, + And with my God.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_276"><span class="pagenum">[276]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#276">"I WILL LIFT UP MINE EYES UNTO THE HILLS."</a></h4> +<pre>I am pale with sick desire, + For my heart is far away +From this world's fitful fire + And this world's waning day; +In a dream it overleaps + A world of tedious ills +To where the sunshine sleeps + On the everlasting hills.-- + Say the Saints: There Angels ease us + Glorified and white. + They say: We rest in Jesus, + Where is not day or night. + +My soul saith: I have sought + For a home that is not gained, +I have spent yet nothing bought, + Have laboured but not attained; +My pride strove to mount and grow, + And hath but dwindled down; +My love sought love, and lo! + Hath not attained its crown.-- + Say the Saints: Fresh souls increase us, + None languish or recede. + They say: We love our Jesus, + And He loves us indeed. + +<a name="p_277"><span class="pagenum">[277]</span></a>I cannot rise above, + I cannot rest beneath, +I cannot find out love, + Or escape from death; +Dear hopes and joys gone by + Still mock me with a name; +My best belovèd die, + And I cannot die with them.-- + Say the Saints: No deaths decrease us, + Where our rest is glorious. + They say: We live in Jesus, + Who once died for us. + +O my soul, she beats her wings + And pants to fly away +Up to immortal things + In the heavenly day: +Yet she flags and almost faints; + Can such be meant for me?-- +Come and see, say the Saints. + Saith Jesus: Come and see. + Say the Saints: His pleasures please us + Before God and the Lamb. + Come and taste My sweets, saith Jesus: + Be with Me where I am.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_278"><span class="pagenum">[278]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#278">SAINTS AND ANGELS.</a></h4> +<pre>It's oh in Paradise that I fain would be, + Away from earth and weariness and all beside; +Earth is too full of loss with its dividing sea, + But Paradise upbuilds the bower for the bride. + +Where flowers are yet in bud while the boughs are green, + I would get quit of earth and get robed for heaven; +Putting on my raiment white within the screen, + Putting on my crown of gold whose gems are seven + +Fair is the fourfold river that maketh no moan, + Fair are the trees fruit-bearing of the wood, +Fair are the gold and bdellium and the onyx stone, + And I know the gold of that land is good. + +O my love, my dove, lift up your eyes + Toward the eastern gate like an opening rose; +You and I who parted will meet in Paradise, + Pass within and sing when the gates unclose. + +This life is but the passage of a day, + This life is but a pang and all is over; +But in the life to come which fades not away + Every love shall abide and every lover. + +<a name="p_279"><span class="pagenum">[279]</span></a>He who wore out pleasure and mastered all lore, + Solomon, wrote "Vanity of vanities:" +Down to death, of all that went before + In his mighty long life, the record is this. + +With loves by the hundred, wealth beyond measure, + Is this he who wrote "Vanity of vanities"? +Yea, "Vanity of vanities" he saith of pleasure, + And of all he learned set his seal to this. + +Yet we love and faint not, for our love is one, + And we hope and flag not, for our hope is sure, +Although there be nothing new beneath the sun + And no help for life and for death no cure. + +The road to death is life, the gate of life is death, + We who wake shall sleep, we shall wax who wane; +Let us not vex our souls for stoppage of a breath, + The fall of a river that turneth not again. + +Be the road short, and be the gate near,-- + Shall a short road tire, a strait gate appall? +The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, + And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_280"><span class="pagenum">[280]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#280">"WHEN MY HEART IS VEXED, I WILL COMPLAIN."</a></h4> +<pre>"O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me? + Me whom thou settest in a barren land, + Hungry and thirsty on the burning sand, +Hungry and thirsty where no waters be +Nor shadows of date-bearing tree:-- +O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?" + +"I came from Edom by as parched a track, + As rough a track beneath My bleeding feet. + I came from Edom seeking thee, and sweet +I counted bitterness; I turned not back +But counted life as death, and trod +The winepress all alone: and I am God." + +"Yet, Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me? + For Thou art strong to comfort: and could I + But comfort one I love, who, like to die, +Lifts feeble hands and eyes that fail to see +In one last prayer for comfort--nay, +I could not stand aside or turn away." + +"Alas! thou knowest that for thee I died + For thee I thirsted with the dying thirst; + I, Blessed, for thy sake was counted cursed, +<a name="p_281"><span class="pagenum">[281]</span></a>In sight of men and angels crucified: +All this and more I bore to prove +My love, and wilt thou yet mistrust My love?" + +"Lord, I am fain to think Thou lovest me, + For Thou art all in all and I am Thine; + And lo! Thy love is better than new wine, +And I am sick of love in loving Thee. +But dost Thou love me? speak and save, +For jealousy is cruel as the grave." + +"Nay, if thy love is not an empty breath + My love is as thine own--deep answers deep. + Peace, peace: I give to my beloved sleep, +Not death but sleep, for love is strong as death: +Take patience; sweet thy sleep shall be, +Yea, thou shalt wake in Paradise with Me."</pre> +<pre><a name="p_281A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#281">AFTER COMMUNION.</a></h4> +<pre>Why should I call Thee Lord, Who art my God? + Why should I call Thee Friend, Who art my Love? + Or King, Who art my very Spouse above? +Or call Thy Sceptre on my heart Thy rod? + Lo, now Thy banner over me is love, +All heaven flies open to me at Thy nod: +For Thou hast lit Thy flame in me a clod, + Made me a nest for dwelling of Thy Dove. + What wilt Thou call me in our home above, +<a name="p_282"><span class="pagenum">[282]</span></a>Who now hast called me friend? how will it be + When Thou for good wine settest forth the best? +Now Thou dost bid me come and sup with Thee, + Now Thou dost make me lean upon Thy breast: +How will it be with me in time of love?</pre> +<pre><a name="p_282A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#282">A ROSE PLANT IN JERICHO.</a></h4> +<pre>At morn I plucked a rose and gave it Thee, + A rose of joy and happy love and peace, + A rose with scarce a thorn: + But in the chillness of a second morn + My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase +Was but one thorn that wounded me. + +I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee; + And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace, + Not joy this mortal morn: + If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn, + Wilt thou not give me for my rose increase +Of gladness, and all sweets to me? + +My thorny rose, my love and pain, to Thee + I offer; and I set my heart in peace, + And rest upon my thorn: + For verily I think to-morrow morn + Shall bring me Paradise, my gift's increase, +Yea, give Thy very Self to me.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_283"><span class="pagenum">[283]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#283">WHO SHALL DELIVER ME?</a></h4> +<pre>God strengthen me to bear myself; +That heaviest weight of all to bear, +Inalienable weight of care. + +All others are outside myself; +I lock my door and bar them out, +The turmoil, tedium, gad-about. + +I lock my door upon myself, +And bar them out; but who shall wall +Self from myself, most loathed of all? + +If I could once lay down myself, +And start self-purged upon the race +That all must run! Death runs apace. + +If I could set aside myself, +And start with lightened heart upon +The road by all men overgone! + +God harden me against myself, +This coward with pathetic voice +Who craves for ease and rest and joys: + +<a name="p_284"><span class="pagenum">[284]</span></a>Myself, arch-traitor to myself; +My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe, +My clog whatever road I go. + +Yet One there is can curb myself, +Can roll the strangling load from me. +Break off the yoke and set me free.</pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h3>DEVOTIONAL PIECES.</h3> +<pre> </pre> +<pre><a name="p_287"><span class="pagenum">[287]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#287">DESPISED AND REJECTED.</a></h4> +<pre>My sun has set, I dwell +In darkness as a dead man out of sight; +And none remains, not one, that I should tell +To him mine evil plight +This bitter night. +I will make fast my door +That hollow friends may trouble me no more. + +"Friend, open to Me."--Who is this that calls? +Nay, I am deaf as are my walls: +Cease crying, for I will not hear +Thy cry of hope or fear. +Others were dear, +Others forsook me: what art thou indeed +That I should heed +Thy lamentable need? +Hungry should feed, +Or stranger lodge thee here? + +"Friend, My Feet bleed. +Open thy door to Me and comfort Me." +<a name="p_288"><span class="pagenum">[288]</span></a>I will not open, trouble me no more. +Go on thy way footsore, +I will not rise and open unto thee. + +"Then is it nothing to thee? Open, see +Who stands to plead with thee. +Open, lest I should pass thee by, and thou +One day entreat My Face +And howl for grace, +And I be deaf as thou art now. +Open to Me." + +Then I cried out upon him: Cease, +Leave me in peace: +Fear not that I should crave +Aught thou mayst have. +Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more, +Lest I arise and chase thee from my door. +What, shall I not be let +Alone, that thou dost vex me yet? + +But all night long that voice spake urgently: +"Open to Me." +Still harping in mine ears: +"Rise, let Me in." +Pleading with tears: +"Open to Me that I may come to thee." +While the dew dropped, while the dark hours were cold: +"My Feet bleed, see My Face, +<a name="p_289"><span class="pagenum">[289]</span></a>See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace, +My Heart doth bleed for thee, +Open to Me." + +So till the break of day: +Then died away +That voice, in silence as of sorrow; +Then footsteps echoing like a sigh +Passed me by, +Lingering footsteps slow to pass. +On the morrow +I saw upon the grass +Each footprint marked in blood, and on my door +The mark of blood forevermore.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_289A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#289">LONG BARREN.</a></h4> +<pre>Thou who didst hang upon a barren tree, +My God, for me; + Though I till now be barren, now at length, + Lord, give me strength +To bring forth fruit to Thee. + +Thou who didst bear for me the crown of thorn, +Spitting and scorn; + Though I till now have put forth thorns, yet now + Strengthen me Thou +That better fruit be borne. + +<a name="p_290"><span class="pagenum">[290]</span></a>Thou Rose of Sharon, Cedar of broad roots, +Vine of sweet fruits, + Thou Lily of the vale with fadeless leaf, + Of thousands Chief, +Feed Thou my feeble shoots.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_290A"></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#290">IF ONLY.</a></h4> +<pre>If I might only love my God and die! +But now He bids me love Him and live on, + Now when the bloom of all my life is gone, +The pleasant half of life has quite gone by. +My tree of hope is lopped that spread so high, + And I forget how summer glowed and shone, + While autumn grips me with its fingers wan, +And frets me with its fitful windy sigh. +When autumn passes then must winter numb, + And winter may not pass a weary while, + But when it passes spring shall flower again: + And in that spring who weepeth now shall smile, + Yea, they shall wax who now are on the wane, +Yea, they shall sing for love when Christ shall come.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_291"><span class="pagenum">[291]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#291">DOST THOU NOT CARE?</a></h4> +<pre>I love and love not: Lord, it breaks my heart + To love and not to love. +Thou veiled within Thy glory, gone apart + Into Thy shrine, which is above, +Dost Thou not love me, Lord, or care + For this mine ill?-- +<i>I love thee here or there,</i> + <i>I will accept thy broken heart, lie still.</i> + +Lord, it was well with me in time gone by + That cometh not again, +When I was fresh and cheerful, who but I? + I fresh, I cheerful: worn with pain +Now, out of sight and out of heart; + O Lord, how long?-- +<i>I watch thee as thou art,</i> + <i>I will accept thy fainting heart, be strong.</i> + +"Lie still," "be strong," to-day; but, Lord, to-morrow, + What of to-morrow, Lord? +Shall there be rest from toil, be truce from sorrow, + Be living green upon the sward +Now but a barren grave to me, + Be joy for sorrow?-- +<i>Did I not die for thee?</i> + <i>Do I not live for thee? leave Me to-morrow.</i></pre> +<pre><a name="p_292"><span class="pagenum">[292]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#292">WEARY IN WELL-DOING.</a></h4> +<pre>I would have gone; God bade me stay: + I would have worked; God bade me rest. +He broke my will from day to day, + He read my yearnings unexpressed, + And said them nay. + +Now I would stay; God bids me go: + Now I would rest; God bids me work. +He breaks my heart tossed to and fro, + My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk + And vex it so. + +I go, Lord, where Thou sendest me; + Day after day I plod and moil: +But, Christ my God, when will it be + That I may let alone my toil + And rest with Thee?</pre> +<pre><a name="p_293"><span class="pagenum">[293]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#293">MARTYRS' SONG.</a></h4> +<pre>We meet in joy, though we part in sorrow; +We part to-night, but we meet to-morrow. +Be it flood or blood the path that's trod, +All the same it leads home to God: +Be it furnace-fire voluminous, +One like God's Son will walk with us. + +What are these that glow from afar, +These that lean over the golden bar, +Strong as the lion, pure as the dove, +With open arms and hearts of love? +They the blessed ones gone before, +They the blessed forevermore. +Out of great tribulation they went +Home to their home of Heaven-content; +Through flood, or blood, or furnace-fire, +To the rest that fulfils desire. + +What are these that fly as a cloud, +With flashing heads and faces bowed, +In their mouths a victorious psalm, +In their hands a robe and a palm? +Welcoming angels these that shine, +Your own angel, and yours, and mine; +<a name="p_294"><span class="pagenum">[294]</span></a>Who have hedged us both day and night +On the left hand and on the right, +Who have watched us both night and day +Because the Devil keeps watch to slay. + +Light above light, and Bliss beyond bliss, +Whom words cannot utter, lo, Who is This? +As a King with many crowns He stands, +And our names are graven upon His hands; +As a Priest, with God-uplifted eyes, +He offers for us His Sacrifice; +As the Lamb of God for sinners slain, +That we too may live He lives again; +As our Champion behold Him stand, +Strong to save us, at God's Right Hand. + +God the Father give us grace +To walk in the light of Jesus' Face. +God the Son give us a part +In the hiding-place of Jesus' Heart: +God the Spirit so hold us up +That we may drink of Jesus' cup. + +Death is short and life is long; +Satan is strong, but Christ more strong. +At His Word, Who hath led us hither, +The Red Sea must part hither and thither. +At His Word, Who goes before us too, +Jordan must cleave to let us through. + +<a name="p_295"><span class="pagenum">[295]</span></a>Yet one pang, searching and sore, +And then Heaven forevermore; +Yet one moment awful and dark, +Then safety within the Veil and the Ark; +Yet one effort by Christ His grace, +Then Christ forever face to face. + +God the Father we will adore, +In Jesus' Name, now and evermore: +God the Son we will love and thank +In this flood and on the farther bank: +God the Holy Ghost we will praise, +In Jesus' Name, through endless days: +God Almighty, God Three in One, +God Almighty, God alone.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_296"><span class="pagenum">[296]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#296">AFTER THIS THE JUDGMENT.</a></h4> +<pre>As eager home-bound traveller to the goal, + Or steadfast seeker on an unsearched main, +Or martyr panting for an aureole, + My fellow-pilgrims pass me, and attain +That hidden mansion of perpetual peace, + Where keen desire and hope dwell free from pain: +That gate stands open of perennial ease; + I view the glory till I partly long, +Yet lack the fire of love which quickens these. + O, passing Angel, speed me with a song, +A melody of heaven to reach my heart + And rouse me to the race and make me strong; +Till in such music I take up my part, + Swelling those Hallelujahs full of rest, +One, tenfold, hundred-fold, with heavenly art, + Fulfilling north and south and east and west, +Thousand, ten-thousand-fold, innumerable, + All blent in one yet each one manifest; +Each one distinguished and beloved as well + As if no second voice in earth or heaven +Were lifted up the Love of God to tell. + Ah, Love of God, which Thine Own Self hast given +To me most poor, and made me rich in love, + Love that dost pass the tenfold seven times seven. +<a name="p_297"><span class="pagenum">[297]</span></a>Draw Thou mine eyes, draw Thou my heart above, + My treasure and my heart store Thou in Thee, +Brood over me with yearnings of a dove; + Be Husband, Brother, closest Friend to me; +Love me as very mother loves her son, + Her sucking firstborn fondled on her knee: +Yea, more than mother loves her little one; + For, earthly, even a mother may forget +And feel no pity for its piteous moan; + But Thou, O Love of God, remember yet, +Through the dry desert, through the waterflood + (Life, death), until the Great White Throne is set. +If now I am sick in chewing the bitter cud + Of sweet past sin, though solaced by Thy grace, +And ofttimes strengthened by Thy Flesh and Blood, + How shall I then stand up before Thy face, +When from Thine eyes repentance shall be hid, + And utmost Justice stand in Mercy's place: +When every sin I thought or spoke or did + Shall meet me at the inexorable bar, +And there be no man standing in the mid + To plead for me; while star fallen after star +With heaven and earth are like a ripened shock, + And all time's mighty works and wonders are +Consumed as in a moment; when no rock + Remains to fall on me, no tree to hide, +But I stand all creation's gazing-stock, + Exposed and comfortless on every side, +Placed trembling in the final balances + Whose poise this hour, this moment, must be tried?-- +<a name="p_298"><span class="pagenum">[298]</span></a>Ah, Love of God, if greater love than this + Hath no man, that a man die for his friend, +And if such love of love Thine Own Love is, + Plead with Thyself, with me, before the end; +Redeem me from the irrevocable past; + Pitch Thou Thy Presence round me to defend; +Yea seek with piercèd feet, yea hold me fast + With piercèd hands whose wounds were made by love; +Not what I am, remember what Thou wast + When darkness hid from Thee Thy heavens above, +And sin Thy Father's Face, while Thou didst drink + The bitter cup of death, didst taste thereof +For every man; while Thou wast nigh to sink + Beneath the intense intolerable rod, +Grown sick of love; not what I am, but think + Thy Life then ransomed mine, my God, my God.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_299"><span class="pagenum">[299]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#299">GOOD FRIDAY.</a></h4> +<pre>Am I a stone and not a sheep + That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy Cross, + To number drop by drop Thy Blood's slow loss, +And yet not weep? + +Not so those women loved + Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; + Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly; +Not so the thief was moved; + +Not so the Sun and Moon + Which hid their faces in a starless sky, + A horror of great darkness at broad noon,-- +I, only I. + +Yet give not o'er, + But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; +Greater than Moses, turn and look once more + And smite a rock.</pre> +<pre><a name="p_300"><span class="pagenum">[300]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#300">THE LOWEST PLACE.</a></h4> +<pre>Give me the lowest place: not that I dare + Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died +That I might live and share + Thy glory by Thy side. + +Give me the lowest place: or if for me + That lowest place too high, make one more low +Where I may sit and see + My God and love Thee so. + +</pre> +<pre> + +</pre><h3> +A PAGEANT + +AND + +OTHER POEMS.</h3> +<pre><a name="II_9"><span class="pagenum">[9]</span></a></pre> +<pre>Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome + Has many sonnets: so here now shall be + One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me +To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home, + To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee +I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome; + Whose service is my special dignity, +And she my loadstar while I go and come. +And so because you love me, and because + I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath + Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honored name: + In you not fourscore years can dim the flame +Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws + Of time and change and mortal life and death.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_11"><span class="pagenum">[11]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B11">THE KEY-NOTE.</a></h4> +<pre>Where are the songs I used to know, + Where are the notes I used to sing? + I have forgotten everything +I used to know so long ago; +Summer has followed after Spring; + Now Autumn is so shrunk and sere, +I scarcely think a sadder thing + Can be the Winter of my year. + +Yet Robin sings through Winter's rest, + When bushes put their berries on; + While they their ruddy jewels don, +He sings out of a ruddy breast; +The hips and haws and ruddy breast + Make one spot warm where snowflakes lie +They break and cheer the unlovely rest + Of Winter's pause--and why not I?</pre> +<pre><a name="II_13"><span class="pagenum">[13]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B13">THE MONTHS: A PAGEANT.</a></h4> +<pre> </pre> +<h4>PERSONIFICATIONS.</h4> +<table border="0" width="236" align="center"> + <tr> + <td width="113" height="21"> + <pre style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><i>Boys.</i></pre> + </td> + <td width="107" height="21"> + <pre style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;"><i>Girls.</i></pre> + </td> </tr> + <tr> + <td width="113" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">January.</pre> + </td> + <td width="107" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">February.</pre> + </td> +</tr> + <tr> + <td width="113" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">March.</pre> + </td> + <td width="107" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">April.</pre> + </td> +</tr> + <tr> + <td width="113" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">July.</pre> + </td> + <td width="107" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">May.</pre> + </td> +</tr> + <tr> + <td width="113" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">August.</pre> + </td> + <td width="107" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">June.</pre> + </td> +</tr> + <tr> + <td width="113" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">October.</pre> + </td> + <td width="107" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">September.</pre> + </td> +</tr> + <tr> + <td width="113" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">December.</pre> + </td> + <td width="107" height="21"> + + <pre class="smcap" style="line-height:100%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;">November.</pre> + </td> +</tr> +</table> +<div class="figcenter"> </div> +<div class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Robin Redbreasts; Lambs and Sheep; Nightingale and +Nestlings.<br>Various Flowers, Fruits, etc.</span></div> +<pre class="figcenter"><i><span class="figcenter">Scene</span></i><span class="figcenter">:</span><span class="smcap">A Cottage with its Grounds.</span></pre> +<pre> [A room in a large comfortable cottage; a fire burning on + the hearth; a table on which the breakfast things have + been left standing. January discovered seated by the + fire.] + </pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">January.</span></p> +<pre> +Cold the day and cold the drifted snow, +Dim the day until the cold dark night.<br> <br> [Stirs the fire.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_14"><span class="pagenum">[14]</span></a>Crackle, sparkle, fagot; embers glow: +Some one may be plodding through the snow +Longing for a light, +For the light that you and I can show. +If no one else should come, +Here Robin Redbreast's welcome to a crumb, +And never troublesome: +Robin, why don't you come and fetch your crumb? + + Here's butter for my hunch of bread, + And sugar for your crumb; + Here's room upon the hearthrug, + If you'll only come. + + In your scarlet waistcoat, + With your keen bright eye, + Where are you loitering? + Wings were made to fly! + + Make haste to breakfast, + Come and fetch your crumb, + For I'm as glad to see you + As you are glad to come. + + +[Two Robin Redbreasts are seen tapping with their beaks at +the lattice, which January opens. The birds flutter in, +hop about the floor, and peck up the crumbs and sugar +<a name="II_15"><span class="pagenum">[15]</span></a>thrown to them. They have scarcely finished their meal, +when a knock is heard at the door. January hangs a +guard in front of the fire, and opens to February, who +appears with a bunch of snowdrops in her hand.] </pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">January.</span></p> +<pre>Good-morrow, sister.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">February.</span></p> +<pre>Brother, joy to you! +I've brought some snowdrops; only just a few, +But quite enough to prove the world awake, +Cheerful and hopeful in the frosty dew +And for the pale sun's sake. + +[She hands a few of her snowdrops to January, who retires +into the background. While February stands arranging +the remaining snowdrops in a glass of water on the +window-sill, a soft butting and bleating are heard outside. +She opens the door, and sees one foremost lamb, with +other sheep and lambs bleating and crowding towards +her.] + </pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">February.</span></p> +<pre>O you, you little wonder, come--come in, +You wonderful, you woolly soft white lamb: +You panting mother ewe, come too, +<a name="II_16"><span class="pagenum">[16]</span></a>And lead that tottering twin +Safe in: +Bring all your bleating kith and kin, +Except the horny ram. + +[February opens a second door in the background, and the +little flock files through into a warm and sheltered compartment +out of sight.] + + The lambkin tottering in its walk + With just a fleece to wear; + The snowdrop drooping on its stalk + So slender,-- + Snowdrop and lamb, a pretty pair, + Braving the cold for our delight, + Both white, + Both tender. + +[A rattling of doors and windows; branches seen without, +tossing violently to and fro.] + +How the doors rattle, and the branches sway! +Here's brother March comes whirling on his way +With winds that eddy and sing. + +[She turns the handle of the door, which bursts open, and +discloses March hastening up, both hands full of violets +and anemones.]</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">February.</span></p> +<pre><a name="II_17"><span class="pagenum">[17]</span></a>Come, show me what you bring; +For I have said my say, fulfilled my day, +And must away.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">March.</span></p> +<pre><span class="figcenter"> [Stopping short on the threshold.]</span><br> + I blow an arouse + Through the world's wide house + To quicken the torpid earth: + Grappling I fling + Each feeble thing, + But bring strong life to the birth. + I wrestle and frown, + And topple down; + I wrench, I rend, I uproot; + Yet the violet + Is born where I set + The sole of my flying foot, + +[Hands violets and anemones to February, who retires into +the background.] + + And in my wake + Frail wind-flowers quake, + And the catkins promise fruit. +<a name="II_18"><span class="pagenum">[18]</span></a> I drive ocean ashore + With rush and roar, + And he cannot say me nay: + My harpstrings all + Are the forests tall, + Making music when I play. + And as others perforce, + So I on my course + Run and needs must run, + With sap on the mount + And buds past count + And rivers and clouds and sun, + With seasons and breath + And time and death + And all that has yet begun. + +[Before March has done speaking, a voice is heard approaching +accompanied by a twittering of birds. April comes +along singing, and stands outside and out of sight to finish +her song.] + </pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">April.</span></p> +<pre> <span class="figcenter">[Outside.]</span><br> + Pretty little three + Sparrows in a tree, + Light upon the wing; + Though you cannot sing + You can chirp of Spring: +<a name="II_19"><span class="pagenum">[19]</span></a> Chirp of Spring to me, + Sparrows, from your tree. + + Never mind the showers, + Chirp about the flowers + While you build a nest: + Straws from east and west, + Feathers from your breast, + Make the snuggest bowers + In a world of flowers. + + You must dart away + From the chosen spray, + You intrusive third + Extra little bird; + Join the unwedded herd! + These have done with play, + And must work to-day. + </pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">April.</span></p> +<pre> <span class="figcenter">[Appearing at the open door.]</span> + +Good-morrow and good-bye: if others fly, +Of all the flying months you're the most flying. + +</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">March.</span></p> +<pre>You're hope and sweetness, April. +<a name="II_20"><span class="pagenum">[20]</span></a> + +</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">April.</span></p> +<pre> Birth means dying, +As wings and wind mean flying; +So you and I and all things fly or die; +And sometimes I sit sighing to think of dying. +But meanwhile I've a rainbow in my showers, +And a lapful of flowers, +And these dear nestlings aged three hours; +And here's their mother sitting, +Their father's merely flitting +To find their breakfast somewhere in my bowers. + +[As she speaks April shows March her apron full of flowers +and nest full of birds. March wanders away into the +grounds. April, without entering the cottage, hangs over +the hungry nestlings watching them.] + +</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">April.</span></p> +<pre>What beaks you have, you funny things, + What voices shrill and weak; + Who'd think that anything that sings + Could sing through such a beak? + Yet you'll be nightingales one day, + And charm the country-side, + When I'm away and far away + And May is queen and bride. + +<a name="II_21"><span class="pagenum">[21]</span></a>[May arrives unperceived by April, and gives her a kiss. +April starts and looks round.] + +</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">April.</span></p> +<pre>Ah May, good-morrow May, and so good-bye. + </pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">May.</span></p> +<pre>That's just your way, sweet April, smile and sigh: +Your sorrow's half in fun, +Begun and done +And turned to joy while twenty seconds run. +I've gathered flowers all as I came along, +At every step a flower +Fed by your last bright shower,-- + +[She divides an armful of all sorts of flowers with April, who +strolls away through the garden.] + +</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">May.</span></p> +<pre>And gathering flowers I listened to the song +Of every bird in bower. + The world and I are far too full of bliss + To think or plan or toil or care; + The sun is waxing strong, + The days are waxing long, + And all that is, + Is fair. + +<a name="II_22"><span class="pagenum">[22]</span></a> Here are my buds of lily and of rose, + And here's my namesake-blossom, may; + And from a watery spot + See here forget-me-not, + With all that blows + To-day. + + Hark to my linnets from the hedges green, + Blackbird and lark and thrush and dove, + And every nightingale + And cuckoo tells its tale, + And all they mean + Is love. + +[June appears at the further end of the garden, coming slowly +towards May, who, seeing her, exclaims]</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">May.</span></p> +<pre>Surely you're come too early, sister June. + </pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">June.</span></p> +<pre>Indeed I feel as if I came too soon +To round your young May moon +And set the world a-gasping at my noon. +Yet come I must. So here are strawberries +Sun-flushed and sweet, as many as you please; +<a name="II_23"><span class="pagenum">[23]</span></a>And here are full-blown roses by the score, +More roses, and yet more. + +<span class="figcenter">[May, eating strawberries, withdraws among the flower beds.]</span></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">June.</span></p> +<pre>The sun does all my long day's work for me, + Raises and ripens everything; +I need but sit beneath a leafy tree + And watch and sing. + + [Seats herself in the shadow of a laburnum. + +Or if I'm lulled by note of bird and bee, + Or lulled by noontide's silence deep, +I need but nestle down beneath my tree + And drop asleep. + +[June falls asleep; and is not awakened by the voice of July, +who behind the scenes is heard half singing, half calling.] + +</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">July.</span></p> +<pre> <span class="figcenter">[Behind the scenes.]</span> + +Blue flags, yellow flags, flags all freckled, +Which will you take? yellow, blue, speckled! +Take which you will, speckled, blue, yellow, +Each in its way has not a fellow. + +<a name="II_24"><span class="pagenum">[24]</span></a>[Enter July, a basket of many-colored irises slung upon his +shoulders, a bunch of ripe grass in one hand, and a plate +piled full of peaches balanced upon the other. He steals +up to June, and tickles her with the grass. She wakes.]</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">June.</span></p> +<pre>What, here already?</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">July.</span></p> +<pre> Nay, my tryst is kept; +The longest day slipped by you while you slept. +I've brought you one curved pyramid of bloom, + + [Hands her the plate. + +Not flowers, but peaches, gathered where the bees, +As downy, bask and boom +In sunshine and in gloom of trees. +But get you in, a storm is at my heels; +The whirlwind whistles and wheels, +Lightning flashes and thunder peals, +Flying and following hard upon my heels. + +<span class="figcenter">[June takes shelter in a thickly-woven arbor.]</span> + +</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">July.</span></p> +<pre> The roar of a storm sweeps up + From the east to the lurid west, + The darkening sky, like a cup, + Is filled with rain to the brink; + <a name="II_25"><span class="pagenum">[25]</span></a>The sky is purple and fire, + Blackness and noise and unrest; + The earth, parched with desire, + Opens her mouth to drink. + + Send forth thy thunder and fire, + Turn over thy brimming cup, + O sky, appease the desire + Of earth in her parched unrest; + Pour out drink to her thirst, + Her famishing life lift up; + Make thyself fair as at first, + With a rainbow for thy crest. + + Have done with thunder and fire, + O sky with the rainbow crest; + O earth, have done with desire, + Drink, and drink deep, and rest. + +[Enter August, carrying a sheaf made up of different kinds of +grain.]</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">July.</span></p> +<pre>Hail, brother August, flushed and warm +And scatheless from my storm. +Your hands are full of corn, I see, +As full as hands can be: +<a name="II_26"><span class="pagenum">[26]</span></a>And earth and air both smell as sweet as balm +In their recovered calm, +And that they owe to me. + +<span class="figcenter">[July retires into a shrubbery.]</span></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">August.</span></p> +<pre>Wheat sways heavy, oats are airy, + Barley bows a graceful head, + Short and small shoots up canary, + Each of these is some one's bread; + Bread for man or bread for beast, + Or at very least + A bird's savory feast. + + Men are brethren of each other, + One in flesh and one in food; + And a sort of foster brother + Is the litter, or the brood, + Of that folk in fur or feather, + Who, with men together, + Breast the wind and weather. + +<span class="figcenter">[August descries September toiling across the lawn.]</span></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">August.</span></p> +<pre>My harvest home is ended; and I spy +September drawing nigh +<a name="II_27"><span class="pagenum">[27]</span></a>With the first thought of Autumn in her eye, +And the first sigh +Of Autumn wind among her locks that fly. + +[September arrives, carrying upon her head a basket heaped +high with fruit]</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">September.</span></p> +<pre>Unload me, brother. I have brought a few +Plums and these pears for you, +A dozen kinds of apples, one or two +Melons, some figs all bursting through +Their skins, and pearled with dew +These damsons violet-blue. + +[While September is speaking, August lifts the basket to the +ground, selects various fruits, and withdraws slowly along +the gravel walk, eating a pear as he goes.]</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">September.</span></p> +<pre> My song is half a sigh + Because my green leaves die; +Sweet are my fruits, but all my leaves are dying; + And well may Autumn sigh, + And well may I + Who watch the sere leaves flying. + +<a name="II_28"><span class="pagenum">[28]</span></a> My leaves that fade and fall, + I note you one and all; +I call you, and the Autumn wind is calling, + Lamenting for your fall, + And for the pall + You spread on earth in falling. + +And here's a song of flowers to suit such hours: +A song of the last lilies, the last flowers, +Amid my withering bowers. + + In the sunny garden bed + Lilies look so pale, + Lilies droop the head + In the shady grassy vale; + If all alike they pine + In shade and in shine, + If everywhere they grieve, + Where will lilies live? + +[October enters briskly, some leafy twigs bearing different +sorts of nuts in one hand, and a long ripe hop-bine trailing +after him from the other. A dahlia is stuck in his +buttonhole.]</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">October.</span></p> +<pre>Nay, cheer up, sister. Life is not quite over, +Even if the year has done with corn and clover, +<a name="II_29"><span class="pagenum">[29]</span></a>With flowers and leaves; besides, in fact it's true, +Some leaves remain and some flowers too. +For me and you. +Now see my crops: + + [Offering his produce to September. + + I've brought you nuts and hops; +And when the leaf drops, why, the walnut drops. + +[October wreaths the hop-bine about September's neck, and +gives her the nut twigs. They enter the cottage together, +but without shutting the door. She steps into the background: +he advances to the hearth, removes the guard, +stirs up the smouldering fire, and arranges several chestnuts +ready to roast.] + +</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">October.</span></p> +<pre>Crack your first nut and light your first fire, + Roast your first chestnut crisp on the bar; +Make the logs sparkle, stir the blaze higher; + Logs are cheery as sun or as star, + Logs we can find wherever we are. + +Spring one soft day will open the leaves, + Spring one bright day will lure back the flowers; +Never fancy my whistling wind grieves, + Never fancy I've tears in my showers; + Dance, nights and days! and dance on, my hours! + + [Sees November approaching. + +</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">October.</span></p> +<pre><a name="II_30"><span class="pagenum">[30]</span></a>Here comes my youngest sister, looking dim +And grim, +With dismal ways. +What cheer, November?</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">November.</span></p> +<pre> <span class="figcenter">[Entering and shutting the door.]</span> + +Nought have I to bring, +Tramping a-chill and shivering, +Except these pine-cones for a blaze,-- +Except a fog which follows, +And stuffs up all the hollows,-- +Except a hoar frost here and there,-- +Except some shooting stars +Which dart their luminous cars +Trackless and noiseless through the keen night air. + +[October, shrugging his shoulders, withdraws into the background, +while November throws her pine cones on the +fire, and sits down listlessly.]</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">November.</span></p> +<pre>The earth lies fast asleep, grown tired + Of all that's high or deep; +There's nought desired and nought required + Save a sleep. + +<a name="II_31"><span class="pagenum">[31]</span></a>I rock the cradle of the earth, + I lull her with a sigh; +And know that she will wake to mirth + By and by. + +[Through the window December is seen running and leaping +in the direction of the door. He knocks.]</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">November.</span></p> +<pre> <span class="figcenter">[Calls out without rising.]</span> + +Ah, here's my youngest brother come at last: +Come in, December. + +[He opens the door and enters, loaded with evergreens in +berry, etc.]</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">November.</span></p> +<pre>Come, and shut the door, +For now it's snowing fast; +It snows, and will snow more and more; +Don't let it drift in on the floor. +But you, you're all aglow; how can you be +Rosy and warm and smiling in the cold?</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">December.</span></p> +<pre>Nay, no closed doors for me, +But open doors and open hearts and glee +To welcome young and old. + +<a name="II_32"><span class="pagenum">[32]</span></a> Dimmest and brightest month am I; +My short days end, my lengthening days begin; +What matters more or less sun in the sky, + When all is sun within? + + [He begins making a wreath as he sings. + + Ivy and privet dark as night, +I weave with hips and haws a cheerful show, +And holly for a beauty and delight, + And milky mistletoe. + + While high above them all I set +Yew twigs and Christmas roses pure and pale; +Then Spring her snowdrop and her violet + May keep, so sweet and frail; + + May keep each merry singing bird, +Of all her happy birds that singing build: +For I've a carol which some shepherds heard + Once in a wintry field. + +[While December concludes his song all the other Months +troop in from the garden, or advance out of the background. +The Twelve join hands in a circle, and begin +dancing round to a stately measure as the Curtain falls.] + +</pre> +<pre><a name="II_33"><span class="pagenum">[33]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B33">PASTIME.</a></h4> +<pre>A boat amid the ripples, drifting, rocking, + Two idle people, without pause or aim; +While in the ominous west there gathers darkness + Flushed with flame. + +A haycock in a hayfield backing, lapping, + Two drowsy people pillowed round about; +While in the ominous west across the darkness + Flame leaps out. + +Better a wrecked life than a life so aimless, + Better a wrecked life than a life so soft; +The ominous west glooms thundering, with its fire + Lit aloft.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_34"><span class="pagenum">[34]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B34">"ITALIA, IO TI SALUTO!"</a></h4> +<pre>To come back from the sweet South, to the North + Where I was born, bred, look to die; +Come back to do my day's work in its day, + Play out my play-- + Amen, amen, say I. + +To see no more the country half my own, + Nor hear the half familiar speech, +Amen, I say; I turn to that bleak North + Whence I came forth-- + The South lies out of reach. + +But when our swallows fly back to the South, + To the sweet South, to the sweet South, +The tears may come again into my eyes + On the old wise, + And the sweet name to my mouth.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_35"><span class="pagenum">[35]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B35">MIRRORS OF LIFE AND DEATH.</a></h4> +<pre>The mystery of Life, the mystery +Of Death, I see +Darkly as in a glass; +Their shadows pass, +And talk with me. + +As the flush of a Morning Sky, +As a Morning Sky colorless-- +Each yields its measure of light +To a wet world or a dry; +Each fares through day to night +With equal pace, +And then each one +Is done. + +As the Sun with glory and grace +In his face, +Benignantly hot, +<a name="II_36"><span class="pagenum">[36]</span></a>Graciously radiant and keen, +Ready to rise and to run,-- +Not without spot, +Not even the Sun. + +As the Moon +On the wax, on the wane, +With night for her noon; +Vanishing soon, +To appear again. + +As Roses that droop +Half warm, half chill, in the languid May, +And breathe out a scent +Sweet and faint; +Till the wind gives one swoop +To scatter their beauty away. + +As Lilies a multitude, +One dipping, one rising, one sinking, +On rippling waters, clear blue +And pure for their drinking; +One new dead, and one opened anew, +And all good. + +As a cankered pale Flower, +With death for a dower, +<a name="II_37"><span class="pagenum">[37]</span></a>Each hour of its life half dead; +With death for a crown +Weighing down +Its head. + +As an Eagle, half strength and half grace, +Most potent to face +Unwinking the splendor of light; +Harrying the East and the West, +Soaring aloft from our sight; +Yet one day or one night dropped to rest, +On the low common earth +Of his birth. + +As a Dove, +Not alone, +In a world of her own +Full of fluttering soft noises +And tender sweet voices +Of love. + +As a Mouse +Keeping house +In the fork of a tree, +With nuts in a crevice, +And an acorn or two; +<a name="II_38"><span class="pagenum">[38]</span></a>What cares he +For blossoming boughs, +Or the song-singing bevies +Of birds in their glee, +Scarlet, or golden, or blue? + +As a Mole grubbing underground; +When it comes to the light +It grubs its way back again, +Feeling no bias of fur +To hamper it in its stir, +Scant of pleasure and pain, +Sinking itself out of sight +Without sound. + +As Waters that drop and drop, +Weariness without end, +That drop and never stop, +Wear that nothing can mend, +Till one day they drop-- +Stop-- +And there's an end, +And matters mend. + +As Trees, beneath whose skin +We mark not the sap begin +<a name="II_39"><span class="pagenum">[39]</span></a>To swell and rise, +Till the whole bursts out in green: +We mark the falling leaves +When the wide world grieves +And sighs. + +As a Forest on fire, +Where maddened creatures desire +Wet mud or wings +Beyond all those things +Which could assuage desire +On this side the flaming fire. + +As Wind with a sob and sigh +To which there comes no reply +But a rustle and shiver +From rushes of the river; +As Wind with a desolate moan, +Moaning on alone. + +As a Desert all sand, +Blank, neither water nor land +For solace, or dwelling, or culture, +Where the storms and the wild creatures howl; +Given over to lion and vulture, +To ostrich, and jackal, and owl: +<a name="II_40"><span class="pagenum">[40]</span></a>Yet somewhere an oasis lies; +There waters arise +To nourish one seedling of balm, +Perhaps, or one palm. + +As the Sea, +Murmuring, shifting, swaying; +One time sunnily playing, +One time wrecking and slaying; +In whichever mood it be, +Worst or best, +Never at rest. + +As still Waters and deep, +As shallow Waters that brawl, +As rapid Waters that leap +To their fall. + +As Music, as Color, as Shape, +Keys of rapture and pain +Turning in vain +In a lock which turns not again, +While breaths and moments escape. + +As Spring, all bloom and desire; +As Summer, all gift and fire; +<a name="II_41"><span class="pagenum">[41]</span></a>As Autumn, a dying glow; +As Winter, with nought to show: + +Winter which lays its dead all out of sight, +All clothed in white, +All waiting for the long-awaited light.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_42"><span class="pagenum">[42]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B42">A BALLAD OF BODING.</a></h4> +<pre>There are sleeping dreams and waking dreams; +What seems is not always as it seems. + +I looked out of my window in the sweet new morning, +And there I saw three barges of manifold adorning +Went sailing toward the East: +The first had sails like fire, +The next like glittering wire, +But sackcloth were the sails of the least; +And all the crews made music, and two had spread a feast. + +The first choir breathed in flutes, +And fingered soft guitars; +The second won from lutes +Harmonious chords and jars, +With drums for stormy bars: +But the third was all of harpers and scarlet trumpeters; +Notes of triumph, then +An alarm again, +<a name="II_43"><span class="pagenum">[43]</span></a>As for onset, as for victory, rallies, stirs, +Peace at last and glory to the vanquishers. + +The first barge showed for figurehead a Love with wings; +The second showed for figurehead a Worm with stings; +The third, a Lily tangled to a Rose which clings. +The first bore for freight gold and spice and down; +The second bore a sword, a sceptre, and a crown; +The third, a heap of earth gone to dust and brown. +Winged Love meseemed like Folly in the face; +Stinged Worm meseemed loathly in his place; +Lily and Rose were flowers of grace. + +Merry went the revel of the fire-sailed crew, +Singing, feasting, dancing to and fro: +Pleasures ever changing, ever graceful, ever new; +Sighs, but scarce of woe; +All the sighing +Wooed such sweet replying; +All the sighing, sweet and low, +Used to come and go +For more pleasure, merely so. +Yet at intervals some one grew tired +Of everything desired, +And sank, I knew not whither, in sorry plight, +Out of sight. + +<a name="II_44"><span class="pagenum">[44]</span></a>The second crew seemed ever +Wider-visioned, graver, +More distinct of purpose, more sustained of will; +With heads erect and proud, +And voices sometimes loud; +With endless tacking, counter-tacking, +All things grasping, all things lacking, +It would seem; +Ever shifting helm, or sail, or shroud, +Drifting on as in a dream. +Hoarding to their utmost bent, +Feasting to their fill, +Yet gnawed by discontent, +Envy, hatred, malice, on their road they went. +Their freight was not a treasure, +Their music not a pleasure; +The sword flashed, cleaving through their bands, +Sceptre and crown changed hands. + +The third crew as they went +Seemed mostly different; +They toiled in rowing, for to them the wind was contrary, +As all the world might see. +They labored at the oar, +While on their heads they bore +<a name="II_45"><span class="pagenum">[45]</span></a>The fiery stress of sunshine more and more. +They labored at the oar hand-sore, +Till rain went splashing, +And spray went dashing, +Down on them, and up on them, more and more. +Their sails were patched and rent, +Their masts were bent, +In peril of their lives they worked and went. +For them no feast was spread, +No soft luxurious bed +Scented and white, +No crown or sceptre hung in sight; +In weariness and painfulness, +In thirst and sore distress, +They rowed and steered from left to right +With all their might. +Their trumpeters and harpers round about +Incessantly played out, +And sometimes they made answer with a shout; +But oftener they groaned or wept, +And seldom paused to eat, and seldom slept. +I wept for pity watching them, but more +I wept heart-sore +Once and again to see +Some weary man plunge overboard, and swim +<a name="II_46"><span class="pagenum">[46]</span></a>To Love or Worm ship floating buoyantly: +And there all welcomed him. + +The ships steered each apart and seemed to scorn each other, +Yet all the crews were interchangeable; +Now one man, now another, +--Like bloodless spectres some, some flushed by health,-- +Changed openly, or changed by stealth, +Scaling a slippery side, and scaled it well. +The most left Love ship, hauling wealth +Up Worm ship's side; +While some few hollow-eyed +Left either for the sack-sailed boat; +But this, though not remote, +Was worst to mount, and whoso left it once +Scarce ever came again, +But seemed to loathe his erst companions, +And wish and work them bane. + +Then I knew (I know not how) there lurked quicksands full of dread, +Rocks and reefs and whirlpools in the water-bed, +Whence a waterspout +Instantaneously leaped out, +Roaring as it reared its head. + +<a name="II_47"><span class="pagenum">[47]</span></a>Soon I spied a something dim, +Many-handed, grim, +That went flitting to and fro the first and second ship; +It puffed their sails full out +With puffs of smoky breath +From a smouldering lip, +And cleared the waterspout +Which reeled roaring round about +Threatening death. +With a horny hand it steered, +And a horn appeared +On its sneering head upreared +Haughty and high +Against the blackening lowering sky. +With a hoof it swayed the waves; +They opened here and there, +Till I spied deep ocean graves +Full of skeletons +That were men and women once +Foul or fair; +Full of things that creep +And fester in the deep +And never breathe the clean life-nurturing air. + +The third bark held aloof +From the Monster with the hoof, +<a name="II_48"><span class="pagenum">[48]</span></a>Despite his urgent beck, +And fraught with guile +Abominable his smile; +Till I saw him take a flying leap on to that deck. +Then full of awe, +With these same eyes I saw +His head incredible retract its horn +Rounding like babe's new born, +While silvery phosphorescence played +About his dis-horned head. +The sneer smoothed from his lip, +He beamed blandly on the ship; +All winds sank to a moan, +All waves to a monotone +(For all these seemed his realm), +While he laid a strong caressing hand upon the helm. + +Then a cry well nigh of despair +Shrieked to heaven, a clamor of desperate prayer. +The harpers harped no more, +While the trumpeters sounded sore +An alarm to wake the dead from their bed: +To the rescue, to the rescue, now or never, +To the rescue, O ye living, O ye dead, +Or no more help or hope for ever!-- +The planks strained as though they must part asunder, +<a name="II_49"><span class="pagenum">[49]</span></a>The masts bent as though they must dip under, +And the winds and the waves at length +Girt up their strength, +And the depths were laid bare, +And heaven flashed fire and volleyed thunder +Through the rain-choked air, +And sea and sky seemed to kiss +In the horror and the hiss +Of the whole world shuddering everywhere. + +Lo! a Flyer swooping down +With wings to span the globe, +And splendor for his robe +And splendor for his crown. +He lighted on the helm with a foot of fire, +And spun the Monster overboard: +And that monstrous thing abhorred, +Gnashing with balked desire, +Wriggled like a worm infirm +Up the Worm +Of the loathly figurehead. +There he crouched and gnashed; +And his head re-horned, and gashed +From the other's grapple, dripped bloody red. + +I saw that thing accurst +Wreak his worst +<a name="II_50"><span class="pagenum">[50]</span></a>On the first and second crew: +Some with baited hook +He angled for and took, +Some dragged overboard in a net he threw, +Some he did to death +With hoof or horn or blasting breath. + +I heard a voice of wailing +Where the ships went sailing, +A sorrowful voice prevailing +Above the sound of the sea, +Above the singers' voices, +And musical merry noises; +All songs had turned to sighing, +The light was failing, +The day was dying-- +Ah me, +That such a sorrow should be! + +There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land +When Love ship went down by the bottomless quicksand +To its grave in the bitter wave. +There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land +When Worm ship went to pieces on the rock-bound strand, +And the bitter wave was its grave. +<a name="II_51"><span class="pagenum">[51]</span></a>But land and sea waxed hoary +In whiteness of a glory +Never told in story +Nor seen by mortal eye, +When the third ship crossed the bar +Where whirls and breakers are, +And steered into the splendors of the sky; +That third bark and that least +Which had never seemed to feast, +Yet kept high festival above sun and moon and star.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_52"><span class="pagenum">[52]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B52">YET A LITTLE WHILE.</a></h4> +<pre>I dreamed and did not seek: to-day I seek + Who can no longer dream; +But now am all behindhand, waxen weak, + And dazed amid so many things that gleam + Yet are not what they seem. + +I dreamed and did not work: to-day I work + Kept wide awake by care +And loss, and perils dimly guessed to lurk; + I work and reap not, while my life goes bare + And void in wintry air. + +I hope indeed; but hope itself is fear + Viewed on the sunny side; +I hope, and disregard the world that's here, + The prizes drawn, the sweet things that betide; + I hope, and I abide.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_53"><span class="pagenum">[53]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B53">HE AND SHE.</a></h4> +<pre>"Should one of us remember, + And one of us forget, +I wish I knew what each will do-- + But who can tell as yet?" + +"Should one of us remember, + And one of us forget, +I promise you what I will do-- +And I'm content to wait for you, + And not be sure as yet."</pre> +<pre><a name="II_54"><span class="pagenum">[54]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h4><a href="#B54">MONNA INNOMINATA.</a></h4> +<h5>A SONNET OF SONNETS.</h5> +<pre>Beatrice, immortalized by "altissimo poeta ... cotanto +amante;" Laura, celebrated by a great though an inferior bard,--have +alike paid the exceptional penalty of exceptional honor, +and have come down to us resplendent with charms, but (at +least, to my apprehension) scant of attractiveness. + +These heroines of world-wide fame were preceded by a bevy +of unnamed ladies "donne innominate" sung by a school of +less conspicuous poets; and in that land and that period which +gave simultaneous birth to Catholics, to Albigenses, and to +Troubadours, one can imagine many a lady as sharing her +lover's poetic aptitude, while the barrier between them might +be one held sacred by both, yet not such as to render mutual +love incompatible with mutual honor. + +Had such a lady spoken for herself, the portrait left us might +have appeared more tender, if less dignified, than any drawn +even by a devoted friend. Or had the Great Poetess of our +own day and nation only been unhappy instead of happy, her +circumstances would have invited her to bequeath to us, in +lieu of the "Portuguese Sonnets," an inimitable "donna innominata" +drawn not from fancy but from feeling, and worthy +to occupy a niche beside Beatrice and Laura.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_55"><span class="pagenum">[55]</span></a></pre> +<h5>1.</h5> +<pre>"Lo di che han detto a' dolci amici addio."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci!"--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + +Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:-- + Or come not yet, for it is over then, + And long it is before you come again, +So far between my pleasures are and few. +While, when you come not, what I do I do + Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest "when:" + For one man is my world of all the men +This wide world holds; O love, my world is you. +Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang + Because the pang of parting comes so soon; + My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon + Between the heavenly days on which we meet: +Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang + When life was sweet because you called them sweet?</pre> +<pre><a name="II_56"><span class="pagenum">[56]</span></a></pre> +<h5>2.</h5> +<pre>"Era già l'ora che volge il desio."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima."--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + +I wish I could remember that first day, + First hour, first moment of your meeting me, + If bright or dim the season, it might be +Summer or Winter for aught I can say; +So unrecorded did it slip away, + So blind was I to see and to foresee, + So dull to mark the budding of my tree +That would not blossom yet for many a May. +If only I could recollect it, such + A day of days! I let it come and go + As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow; +It seemed to mean so little, meant so much; +If only now I could recall that touch, + First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know!</pre> +<pre><a name="II_57"><span class="pagenum">[57]</span></a></pre> +<h5>3.</h5> +<pre>"O ombre vane, fuor che ne l'aspetto!"--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"Immaginata guida la conduce."--<span class="center">Petrarca</span>. + + + +</pre> +<pre>I dream of you to wake: would that I might + Dream of you and not wake but slumber on; + Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone, +As Summer ended Summer birds take flight. +In happy dreams I hold you full in sight, + I blush again who waking look so wan; + Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone, +In happy dreams your smile makes day of night. +Thus only in a dream we are at one, + Thus only in a dream we give and take + The faith that maketh rich who take or give; + If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake, + To die were surely sweeter than to live, +Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_58"><span class="pagenum">[58]</span></a></pre> +<h5>4.</h5> +<pre>"Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>. +"Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore,<br>E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore."--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + +I loved you first: but afterwards your love + Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song +As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove. + Which owes the other most? my love was long, + And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong; +I loved and guessed at you, you construed me +And loved me for what might or might not be-- + Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong. +For verily love knows not "mine" or "thine;" + With separate "I" and "thou" free love has done, + For one is both and both are one in love: +Rich love knows nought of "thine that is not mine;" + Both have the strength and both the length thereof, + Both of us of the love which makes us one.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_59"><span class="pagenum">[59]</span></a></pre> +<h5>5.</h5> +<pre>"Amor che a nulla amato amar perdona."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"Amor m'addusse in si gioiosa spene."--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + +O my heart's heart, and you who are to me + More than myself myself, God be with you, + Keep you in strong obedience leal and true +To Him whose noble service setteth free, +Give you all good we see or can foresee, + Make your joys many and your sorrows few, + Bless you in what you bear and what you do, +Yea, perfect you as He would have you be. +So much for you; but what for me, dear friend? + To love you without stint and all I can +To-day, to-morrow, world without an end; + To love you much and yet to love you more, + As Jordan at his flood sweeps either shore; + Since woman is the helpmeet made for man.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_60"><span class="pagenum">[60]</span></a></pre> +<h5>6.</h5> +<pre> "Or puoi la quantitate +Comprender de l'amor che a te mi scalda."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"Non vo' che da tal nodo amor mi scioglia."--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + +Trust me, I have not earned your dear rebuke, + I love, as you would have me, God the most; + Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost, +Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look +Unready to forego what I forsook; + This say I, having counted up the cost, + This, though I be the feeblest of God's host, +The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook, +Yet while I love my God the most, I deem + That I can never love you overmuch; + I love Him more, so let me love you too; + Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such +I cannot love you if I love not Him, + I cannot love Him if I love not you.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_61"><span class="pagenum">[61]</span></a></pre> +<h5>7.</h5> +<pre>"Qui primavera sempre ed ogni frutto."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"Ragionando con meco ed io con lui."--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + +"Love me, for I love you"--and answer me, + "Love me, for I love you"--so shall we stand + As happy equals in the flowering land +Of love, that knows not a dividing sea. +Love builds the house on rock and not on sand, + Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately; +And who hath found love's citadel unmanned? + And who hath held in bonds love's liberty? +My heart's a coward though my words are brave-- + We meet so seldom, yet we surely part + So often; there's a problem for your art! + Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith, +Though jealousy be cruel as the grave, + And death be strong, yet love is strong as death.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_62"><span class="pagenum">[62]</span></a></pre> +<h5>8.</h5> +<pre>"Come dicesse a Dio: D'altro non calme."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"Spero trovar pietà non che perdono."--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + +"I, if I perish, perish"--Esther spake: + And bride of life or death she made her fair + In all the lustre of her perfumed hair +And smiles that kindle longing but to slake. +She put on pomp of loveliness, to take + Her husband through his eyes at unaware; + She spread abroad her beauty for a snare, +Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake. +She trapped him with one mesh of silken hair, + She vanquished him by wisdom of her wit, + And built her people's house that it should stand:-- + If I might take my life so in my hand, +And for my love to Love put up my prayer, + And for love's sake by Love be granted it!</pre> +<pre><a name="II_63"><span class="pagenum">[63]</span></a></pre> +<h5>9.</h5> +<pre>"O dignitosa coscienza e netta!"--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"Spirto più acceso di virtuti ardenti."--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + +Thinking of you, and all that was, and all + That might have been and now can never be, + I feel your honored excellence, and see +Myself unworthy of the happier call: +For woe is me who walk so apt to fall, + So apt to shrink afraid, so apt to flee, + Apt to lie down and die (ah, woe is me!) +Faithless and hopeless turning to the wall. +And yet not hopeless quite nor faithless quite, +Because not loveless; love may toil all night, + But take at morning; wrestle till the break + Of day, but then wield power with God and man:-- + So take I heart of grace as best I can, + Ready to spend and be spent for your sake.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_64"><span class="pagenum">[64]</span></a> + +</pre> +<h5>10.</h5> +<pre>"Con miglior corso e con migliore stella."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"La vita fugge e non s'arresta un' ora."--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + +Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing; + Death following hard on life gains ground apace; + Faith runs with each and rears an eager face, +Outruns the rest, makes light of everything, +Spurns earth, and still finds breath to pray and sing; + While love ahead of all uplifts his praise, + Still asks for grace and still gives thanks for grace, +Content with all day brings and night will bring. +Life wanes; and when love folds his wings above + Tired hope, and less we feel his conscious pulse, + Let us go fall asleep, dear friend, in peace: + A little while, and age and sorrow cease; + A little while, and life reborn annuls +Loss and decay and death, and all is love.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_65"><span class="pagenum">[65]</span></a></pre> +<h5>11.</h5> +<pre>"Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"Contando i casi della vita nostra."--<span class="smcap">Petrarc</span>a. + + +Many in aftertimes will say of you +"He loved her"--while of me what will they say? + Not that I loved you more than just in play, +For fashion's sake as idle women do. +Even let them prate; who know not what we knew + Of love and parting in exceeding pain, + Of parting hopeless here to meet again, +Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view. +But by my heart of love laid bare to you, + My love that you can make not void nor vain, +Love that foregoes you but to claim anew + Beyond this passage of the gate of death, + I charge you at the Judgment make it plain + My love of you was life and not a breath.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_66"><span class="pagenum">[66]</span></a></pre> +<h5>12.</h5> +<pre>"Amor, che ne la mente mi ragiona."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"Amor vien nel bel viso di costei."--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + +If there be any one can take my place + And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve, + Think not that I can grudge it, but believe +I do commend you to that nobler grace, +That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face; + Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive + I too am crowned, while bridal crowns I weave, +And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace. +For if I did not love you, it might be + That I should grudge you some one dear delight; + But since the heart is yours that was mine own, + Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right, +Your honorable freedom makes me free, + And you companioned I am not alone.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_67"><span class="pagenum">[67]</span></a></pre> +<h5>13.</h5> +<pre>"E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.<br>"Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia."--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + + +</pre> +<pre>If I could trust mine own self with your fate, + Shall I not rather trust it in God's hand? + Without Whose Will one lily doth not stand, +Nor sparrow fall at his appointed date; + Who numbereth the innumerable sand, +Who weighs the wind and water with a weight, +To Whom the world is neither small nor great, + Whose knowledge foreknew every plan we planned. +Searching my heart for all that touches you, + I find there only love and love's goodwill +Helpless to help and impotent to do, + Of understanding dull, of sight most dim; + And therefore I commend you back to Him + Whose love your love's capacity can fill.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_68"><span class="pagenum">[68]</span></a></pre> +<h5>14.</h5> +<pre>"E la Sua Volontade è nostra pace."--<span class="smcap">Dant</span>e.<br>"Sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome."--<span class="smcap">Petrarca</span>. + + +Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there + Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this; + Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss? +I will not bind fresh roses in my hair, +To shame a cheek at best but little fair,-- + Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,-- +I will not seek for blossoms anywhere, + Except such common flowers as blow with corn. +Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain? + The longing of a heart pent up forlorn, + A silent heart whose silence loves and longs; + The silence of a heart which sang its songs + While youth and beauty made a summer morn, +Silence of love that cannot sing again.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_69"><span class="pagenum">[69]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B69">"LUSCIOUS AND SORROWFUL."</a></h4> +<pre>Beautiful, tender, wasting away for sorrow; +Thus to-day; and how shall it be with thee to-morrow? + Beautiful, tender--what else? + A hope tells. + +Beautiful, tender, keeping the jubilee +In the land of home together, past death and sea; + No more change or death, no more + Salt sea-shore.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_70"><span class="pagenum">[70]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B70">DE PROFUNDIS.</a></h4> +<pre>Oh why is heaven built so far, + Oh why is earth set so remote? +I cannot reach the nearest star + That hangs afloat. + +I would not care to reach the moon, + One round monotonous of change; +Yet even she repeats her tune + Beyond my range. + +I never watch the scattered fire + Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train, +But all my heart is one desire, + And all in vain: + +For I am bound with fleshly bands, + Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope; +I strain my heart, I stretch my hands, + And catch at hope.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_71"><span class="pagenum">[71]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B71">TEMPUS FUGIT.</a></h4> +<pre>Lovely Spring, +A brief sweet thing, +Is swift on the wing; +Gracious Summer, +A slow sweet comer, +Hastens past; +Autumn while sweet +Is all incomplete +With a moaning blast,-- +Nothing can last, +Can be cleaved unto, +Can be dwelt upon; +It is hurried through, +It is come and gone, +Undone it cannot be done, +It is ever to do, +Ever old, ever new, +Ever waxing old +And lapsing to Winter cold.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_72"><span class="pagenum">[72]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B72">GOLDEN GLORIES.</a></h4> +<pre>The buttercup is like a golden cup, + The marigold is like a golden frill, +The daisy with a golden eye looks up, + And golden spreads the flag beside the rill, + And gay and golden nods the daffodil, +The gorsey common swells a golden sea, + The cowslip hangs a head of golden tips, +And golden drips the honey which the bee + Sucks from sweet hearts of flowers and stores and sips.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_73"><span class="pagenum">[73]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B73">JOHNNY.</a></h4> +<h5>FOUNDED ON AN ANECDOTE OF THE FIRST FRENCH +REVOLUTION.</h5> +<pre>Johnny had a golden head + Like a golden mop in blow, +Right and left his curls would spread + In a glory and a glow, +And they framed his honest face +Like stray sunbeams out of place. + +Long and thick, they half could hide + How threadbare his patched jacket hung; +They used to be his Mother's pride; + She praised them with a tender tongue, +And stroked them with a loving finger +That smoothed and stroked and loved to linger. + +On a doorstep Johnny sat, + Up and down the street looked he; +Johnny did not own a hat, + Hot or cold tho' days might be; +Johnny did not own a boot +To cover up his muddy foot. + +<a name="II_74"><span class="pagenum">[74]</span></a>Johnny's face was pale and thin, + Pale with hunger and with crying; +For his Mother lay within, + Talked and tossed and seemed a-dying, +While Johnny racked his brains to think +How to get her help and drink, + +Get her physic, get her tea, + Get her bread and something nice; +Not a penny piece had he, + And scarce a shilling might suffice; +No wonder that his soul was sad, +When not one penny piece he had. + +As he sat there thinking, moping, + Because his Mother's wants were many, +Wishing much but scarcely hoping + To earn a shilling or a penny, +A friendly neighbor passed him by +And questioned him: Why did he cry? + +Alas! his trouble soon was told: + He did not cry for cold or hunger, +Though he was hungry both and cold; + He only felt more weak and younger, +Because he wished so to be old +And apt at earning pence or gold. + +<a name="II_75"><span class="pagenum">[75]</span></a>Kindly that neighbor was, but poor, + Scant coin had he to give or lend; +And well he guessed there needed more + Than pence or shillings to befriend +The helpless woman in her strait, +So much loved, yet so desolate. + +One way he saw, and only one: + He would--he could not--give the advice, +And yet he must: the widow's son + Had curls of gold would fetch their price; +Long curls which might be clipped, and sold +For silver, or perhaps for gold. + +Our Johnny, when he understood + Which shop it was that purchased hair, +Ran off as briskly as he could, + And in a trice stood cropped and bare, +Too short of hair to fill a locket, +But jingling money in his pocket. + +Precious money--tea and bread, + Physic, ease, for Mother dear, +Better than a golden head: + Yet our hero dropped one tear +When he spied himself close shorn, +Barer much than lamb new born. + +<a name="II_76"><span class="pagenum">[76]</span></a>His Mother throve upon the money, + Ate and revived and kissed her son: +But oh! when she perceived her Johnny, + And understood what he had done +All and only for her sake, +She sobbed as if her heart must break.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_77"><span class="pagenum">[77]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B77">"HOLLOW-SOUNDING AND MYSTERIOUS."</a></h4> +<pre>There's no replying +To the Wind's sighing, +Telling, foretelling, +Dying, undying, +Dwindling and swelling, +Complaining, droning, +Whistling and moaning, +Ever beginning, +Ending, repeating, +Hinting and dinning, +Lagging and fleeting-- +We've no replying +Living or dying +To the Wind's sighing. + +What are you telling, +Variable Wind-tone? +What would be teaching, +O sinking, swelling, +Desolate Wind-moan? +Ever for ever +<a name="II_78"><span class="pagenum">[78]</span></a>Teaching and preaching, +Never, ah never +Making us wiser-- +The earliest riser +Catches no meaning, +The last who hearkens +Garners no gleaning +Of wisdom's treasure, +While the world darkens:-- +Living or dying, +In pain, in pleasure, +We've no replying +To wordless flying +Wind's sighing.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_79"><span class="pagenum">[79]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B79">MAIDEN MAY.</a></h4> +<pre>Maiden May sat in her bower, +In her blush rose bower in flower, + Sweet of scent; +Sat and dreamed away an hour, + Half content, half uncontent. + +"Why should rose blossoms be born, +Tender blossoms, on a thorn + Though so sweet? +Never a thorn besets the corn + Scentless in its strength complete. + +"Why are roses all so frail, +At the mercy of the gale, + Of a breath? +Yet so sweet and perfect pale, + Still so sweet in life and death." + +<a name="II_80"><span class="pagenum">[80]</span></a>Maiden May sat in her bower, +In her blush rose bower in flower, + Where a linnet +Made one bristling branch the tower + For her nest and young ones in it. + +"Gay and clear the linnet trills; +Yet the skylark only, thrills + Heaven and earth +When he breasts the height, and fills + Height and depth with song and mirth. + +"Nightingales which yield to night +Solitary strange delight, + Reign alone: +But the lark for all his height + Fills no solitary throne; + +"While he sings, a hundred sing; +Wing their flight below his wing + Yet in flight; +Each a lovely joyful thing + To the measure of its delight. + +<a name="II_81"><span class="pagenum">[81]</span></a>"Why then should a lark be reckoned +One alone, without a second + Near his throne? +He in skyward flight unslackened, + In his music, not alone." + +Maiden May sat in her bower; +Her own face was like a flower + Of the prime, +Half in sunshine, half in shower, + In the year's most tender time. + +Her own thoughts in silent song +Musically flowed along, + Wise, unwise, +Wistful, wondering, weak or strong: + As brook shallows sink or rise. + +Other thoughts another day, +Maiden May, will surge and sway + Round your heart; +Wake, and plead, and turn at bay, + Wisdom part, and folly part. + +<a name="II_82"><span class="pagenum">[82]</span></a>Time not far remote will borrow +Other joys, another sorrow, + All for you; +Not to-day, and yet to-morrow + Reasoning false and reasoning true. + +Wherefore greatest? Wherefore least? +Hearts that starve and hearts that feast? + You and I? +Stammering Oracles have ceased, + And the whole earth stands at "why?" + +Underneath all things that be +Lies an unsolved mystery; + Over all +Spreads a veil impenetrably, + Spreads a dense unlifted pall. + +Mystery of mysteries: +<i>This</i> creation hears and sees + High and low-- +Vanity of vanities: + <i>This</i> we test and <i>this</i> we know. + +<a name="II_83"><span class="pagenum">[83]</span></a>Maiden May, the days of flowering +Nurse you now in sweet embowering, + Sunny days; +Bright with rainbows all the showering, + Bright with blossoms all the ways. + +Close the inlet of your bower, +Close it close with thorn and flower, + Maiden May; +Lengthen out the shortening hour,-- + Morrows are not as to-day. + +Stay to-day which wanes too soon, +Stay the sun and stay the moon, + Stay your youth; +Bask you in the actual noon, + Rest you in the present truth. + +Let to-day suffice to-day: +For itself to-morrow may + Fetch its loss; +Aim and stumble, say its say, + Watch and pray and bear its cross.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_84"><span class="pagenum">[84]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B84">TILL TO-MORROW.</a></h4> +<pre>Long have I longed, till I am tired + Of longing and desire; +Farewell my points in vain desired, + My dying fire; +Farewell all things that die and fail and tire. + +Springtide and youth and useless pleasure + And all my useless scheming, +My hopes of unattainable treasure, + Dreams not worth dreaming, +Glow-worms that gleam but yield no warmth in gleaming, + +Farewell all shows that fade in showing: + My wish and joy stand over +Until to-morrow; Heaven is glowing + Through cloudy cover, +Beyond all clouds loves me my Heavenly Lover.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_85"><span class="pagenum">[85]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B85">DEATH-WATCHES.</a></h4> +<pre>The Spring spreads one green lap of flowers + Which Autumn buries at the fall, +No chilling showers of Autumn hours + Can stay them or recall; +Winds sing a dirge, while earth lays out of sight +Her garment of delight. + +The cloven East brings forth the sun, + The cloven West doth bury him +What time his gorgeous race is run + And all the world grows dim; +A funeral moon is lit in heaven's hollow, +And pale the star-lights follow.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_86"><span class="pagenum">[86]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B86">TOUCHING "NEVER."</a></h4> +<pre>Because you never yet have loved me, dear, + Think you you never can nor ever will? + Surely while life remains hope lingers still, +Hope the last blossom of life's dying year. +Because the season and mine age grow sere, + Shall never Spring bring forth her daffodil, + Shall never sweeter Summer feast her fill +Of roses with the nightingales they hear? +If you had loved me, I not loving you, + If you had urged me with the tender plea +Of what our unknown years to come might do +(Eternal years, if Time should count too few), + I would have owned the point you pressed on me, +Was possible, or probable, or true.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_87"><span class="pagenum">[87]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B87">BRANDONS BOTH.</a></h4> +<pre>Oh fair Milly Brandon, a young maid, a fair maid! + All her curls are yellow and her eyes are blue, +And her cheeks were rosy red till a secret care made + Hollow whiteness of their brightness as a care will do. + +Still she tends her flowers, but not as in the old days, + Still she sings her songs, but not the songs of old: +If now it be high Summer her days seem brief and cold days, + If now it be high Summer her nights are long and cold. + +If you have a secret keep it, pure maid Milly; + Life is filled with troubles and the world with scorn; +And pity without love is at best times hard and chilly, + Chilling sore and stinging sore a heart forlorn. + +Walter Brandon, do you guess Milly Brandon's secret? + Many things you know, but not everything, +With your locks like raven's plumage, and eyes like an egret, + And a laugh that is music, and such a voice to sing. + +<a name="II_88"><span class="pagenum">[88]</span></a>Nelly Knollys, she is fair, but she is not fairer + Than fairest Milly Brandon was before she turned so pale: +Oh, but Nelly's dearer if she be not rarer, + She need not keep a secret or blush behind a veil. + +Beyond the first green hills, beyond the nearest valleys, + Nelly dwells at home beneath her mother's eyes: +Her home is neat and homely, not a cot and not a palace, + Just the home where love sets up his happiest memories. + +Milly has no mother; and sad beyond another + Is she whose blessed mother is vanished out of call: +Truly comfort beyond comfort is stored up in a mother + Who bears with all, and hopes through all, and loves us all. + +Where peacocks nod and flaunt up and down the terrace, + Furling and unfurling their scores of sightless eyes, +To and fro among the leaves and buds and flowers and berries + Maiden Milly strolls and pauses, smiles and sighs. + +<a name="II_89"><span class="pagenum">[89]</span></a>On the hedged-in terrace of her father's palace + She may stroll and muse alone, may smile or sigh alone, +Letting thoughts and eyes go wandering over hills and valleys + To-day her father's, and one day to be all her own. + +If her thoughts go coursing down lowlands and up highlands, + It is because the startled game are leaping from their lair; +If her thoughts dart homeward to the reedy river islands, + It is because the waterfowl rise startled here or there. + +At length a footfall on the steps: she turns, composed and steady, + All the long-descended greatness of her father's house +Lifting up her head; and there stands Walter keen and ready + For hunting or for hawking, a flush upon his brows. + +<a name="II_90"><span class="pagenum">[90]</span></a>"Good-morrow, fair cousin." "Good-morrow, fairest cousin: + The sun has started on his course, and I must start to-day. +If you have done me one good turn you've done me many a dozen, + And I shall often think of you, think of you away." + +"Over hill and hollow what quarry will you follow, + Or what fish will you angle for beside the river's edge? +There's cloud upon the hill-top and there 's mist deep down the hollow, + And fog among the rushes and the rustling sedge." + +"I shall speed well enough be it hunting or hawking, + Or casting a bait towards the shyest daintiest fin. +But I kiss your hands, my cousin; I must not loiter talking, + For nothing comes of nothing, and I'm fain to seek and win." + +"Here's a thorny rose: will you wear it an hour, + Till the petals drop apart still fresh and pink and sweet? +Till the petals drop from the drooping perished flower, + And only the graceless thorns are left of it." + +<a name="II_91"><span class="pagenum">[91]</span></a>"Nay, I have another rose sprung in another garden, + Another rose which sweetens all the world for me. +Be you a tenderer mistress and be you a warier warden + Of your rose, as sweet as mine, and full as fair to see." + +"Nay, a bud once plucked there is no reviving, + Nor is it worth your wearing now, nor worth indeed my own; +The dead to the dead, and the living to the living. + It's time I go within, for it's time now you were gone." + +"Good-bye, Milly Brandon, I shall not forget you, + Though it be good-bye between us for ever from to-day; +I could almost wish to-day that I had never met you, + And I'm true to you in this one word that I say." + +"Good-bye, Walter. I can guess which thornless rose you covet; + Long may it bloom and prolong its sunny morn: +Yet as for my one thorny rose, I do not cease to love it, + And if it is no more a flower I love it as a thorn."</pre> +<pre><a name="II_92"><span class="pagenum">[92]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B92">A LIFE'S PARALLELS.</a></h4> +<pre>Never on this side of the grave again, + On this side of the river, +On this side of the garner of the grain, + Never,-- + +Ever while time flows on and on and on, + That narrow noiseless river, +Ever while corn bows heavy-headed, wan, + Ever,-- + +Never despairing, often fainting, ruing, + But looking back, ah never! +Faint yet pursuing, faint yet still pursuing + Ever.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_93"><span class="pagenum">[93]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B93">AT LAST.</a></h4> +<pre>Many have sung of love a root of bane: + While to my mind a root of balm it is, + For love at length breeds love; sufficient bliss +For life and death and rising up again. +Surely when light of Heaven makes all things plain, + Love will grow plain with all its mysteries; + Nor shall we need to fetch from over seas +Wisdom or wealth or pleasure safe from pain. +Love in our borders, love within our heart, + Love all in all, we then shall bide at rest, + Ended for ever life's unending quest, + Ended for ever effort, change and fear: +Love all in all;--no more that better part + Purchased, but at the cost of all things here.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_94"><span class="pagenum">[94]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B94">GOLDEN SILENCES.</a></h4> +<pre>There is silence that saith, "Ah me!" + There is silence that nothing saith; + One the silence of life forlorn, + One the silence of death; +One is, and the other shall be. + +One we know and have known for long, + One we know not, but we shall know, + All we who have ever been born; + Even so, be it so,-- +There is silence, despite a song. + +Sowing day is a silent day, + Resting night is a silent night; + But whoso reaps the ripened corn + Shall shout in his delight, +While silences vanish away.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_95"><span class="pagenum">[95]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B95">IN THE WILLOW SHADE.</a></h4> +<pre>I sat beneath a willow tree, + Where water falls and calls; +While fancies upon fancies solaced me, + Some true, and some were false. + +Who set their heart upon a hope + That never comes to pass, +Droop in the end like fading heliotrope, + The sun's wan looking-glass. + +Who set their will upon a whim + Clung to through good and ill, +Are wrecked alike whether they sink or swim, + Or hit or miss their will. + +All things are vain that wax and wane, + For which we waste our breath; +Love only doth not wane and is not vain, + Love only outlives death. + +<a name="II_96"><span class="pagenum">[96]</span></a>A singing lark rose toward the sky, + Circling he sang amain; +He sang, a speck scarce visible sky-high, + And then he sank again. + +A second like a sunlit spark + Flashed singing up his track; +But never overtook that foremost lark, + And songless fluttered back. + +A hovering melody of birds + Haunted the air above; +They clearly sang contentment without words, + And youth and joy and love. + +O silvery weeping willow tree + With all leaves shivering, +Have you no purpose but to shadow me + Beside this rippled spring? + +On this first fleeting day of Spring, + For Winter is gone by, +And every bird on every quivering wing + Floats in a sunny sky; + +<a name="II_97"><span class="pagenum">[97]</span></a>On this first Summer-like soft day, + While sunshine steeps the air, +And every cloud has gat itself away, + And birds sing everywhere. + +Have you no purpose in the world + But thus to shadow me +With all your tender drooping twigs unfurled, + O weeping willow tree? + +With all your tremulous leaves outspread + Betwixt me and the sun, +While here I loiter on a mossy bed + With half my work undone; + +My work undone, that should be done + At once with all my might; +For after the long day and lingering sun + Comes the unworking night. + +This day is lapsing on its way, + Is lapsing out of sight; +And after all the chances of the day + Comes the resourceless night. + +<a name="II_98"><span class="pagenum">[98]</span></a>The weeping-willow shook its head + And stretched its shadow long; +The west grew crimson, the sun smouldered red, + The birds forbore a song. + +Slow wind sighed through the willow leaves, + The ripple made a moan, +The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves; + And then I felt alone. + +I rose to go, and felt the chill, + And shivered as I went; +Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still, + What more that willow meant; + +That silvery weeping-willow tree + With all leaves shivering, +Which spent one long day overshadowing me + Beside a spring in Spring.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_99"><span class="pagenum">[99]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4><a href="#B99">FLUTTERED WINGS.</a></h4> +<pre> The splendor of the kindling day, + The splendor of the setting sun, + These move my soul to wend its way, + And have done +With all we grasp and toil amongst and say. + + The paling roses of a cloud, + The fading bow that arches space, + These woo my fancy toward my shroud; + Toward the place +Of faces veiled, and heads discrowned and bowed. + + The nation of the awful stars, + The wandering star whose blaze is brief, + These make me beat against the bars + Of my grief; +My tedious grief, twin to the life it mars. + + O fretted heart tossed to and fro, + So fain to flee, so fain to rest! + All glories that are high or low, + East or west, +Grow dim to thee who art so fain to go.</pre> +<pre> +<a name="II_100"><span class="pagenum">[100]</span></a></pre> +<pre> + </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B100">A FISHER-WIFE.</a></h4> +<pre>The soonest mended, nothing said; + And help may rise from east or west; +But my two hands are lumps of lead, + My heart sits leaden in my breast. + +O north wind swoop not from the north, + O south wind linger in the south, +Oh come not raving raging forth, + To bring my heart into my mouth; + +For I've a husband out at sea, + Afloat on feeble planks of wood; +He does not know what fear may be; + I would have told him if I could. + +I would have locked him in my arms, + I would have hid him in my heart; +For oh! the waves are fraught with harms, + And he and I so far apart.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_101"><span class="pagenum">[101]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B101">WHAT'S IN A NAME?</a></h4> +<pre>Why has Spring one syllable less +Than any its fellow season? +There may be some other reason, +And I'm merely making a guess; +But surely it hoards such wealth +Of happiness, hope and health, +Sunshine and musical sound, +It may spare a foot from its name +Yet all the same +Superabound. + +Soft-named Summer, +Most welcome comer, +Brings almost everything +Over which we dream or sing +Or sigh; +But then Summer wends its way, +To-morrow,--to-day,-- +Good-bye!</pre> +<pre><a name="II_102"><span class="pagenum">[102]</span></a>Autumn,--the slow name lingers, +While we likewise flag; +It silences many singers; +Its slow days drag, +Yet hasten at speed +To leave us in chilly need +For Winter to strip indeed. + +In all-lack Winter, +Dull of sense and of sound, +We huddle and shiver +Beside our splinter +Of crackling pine, +Snow in sky and snow on ground. +Winter and cold +Can't last for ever! +To-day, to-morrow, the sun will shine; +When we are old, +But some still are young, +Singing the song +Which others have sung, +Ringing the bells +Which others have rung,-- +Even so! +We ourselves, who else? +We ourselves long +Long ago.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_103"><span class="pagenum">[103]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B103">MARIANA.</a></h4> +<pre>Not for me marring or making, +Not for me giving or taking; + I love my Love and he loves not me, +I love my Love and my heart is breaking. + +Sweet is Spring in its lovely showing, +Sweet the violet veiled in blowing, + Sweet it is to love and be loved; +Ah, sweet knowledge beyond my knowing! + +Who sighs for love sighs but for pleasure, +Who wastes for love hoards up a treasure; + Sweet to be loved and take no count, +Sweet it is to love without measure. + +Sweet my Love whom I loved to try for, +Sweet my Love whom I love and sigh for, + Will you once love me and sigh for me, +You my Love whom I love and die for?</pre> +<pre><a name="II_104"><span class="pagenum">[104]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B104">MEMENTO MORI.</a></h4> +<pre>Poor the pleasure +Doled out by measure, +Sweet though it be, while brief +As falling of the leaf; +Poor is pleasure +By weight and measure. + +Sweet the sorrow +Which ends to-morrow; +Sharp though it be and sore, +It ends for evermore: +Zest of sorrow, +What ends to-morrow.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_105"><span class="pagenum">[105]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B105">"ONE FOOT ON SEA, AND ONE ON SHORE."</a></h4> +<pre>"Oh tell me once and tell me twice + And tell me thrice to make it plain, +When we who part this weary day, + When we who part shall meet again." + +"When windflowers blossom on the sea + And fishes skim along the plain, +Then we who part this weary day, + Then you and I shall meet again." + +"Yet tell me once before we part, + Why need we part who part in pain? +If flowers must blossom on the sea, + Why, we shall never meet again. + +"My cheeks are paler than a rose, + My tears are salter than the main, +My heart is like a lump of ice + If we must never meet again." + +<a name="II_106"><span class="pagenum">[106]</span></a>"Oh weep or laugh, but let me be, + And live or die, for all's in vain; +For life's in vain since we must part, + And parting must not meet again + +"Till windflowers blossom on the sea, + And fishes skim along the plain; +Pale rose of roses let me be, + Your breaking heart breaks mine again."</pre> +<pre><a name="II_107"><span class="pagenum">[107]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B107">BUDS AND BABIES.</a></h4> +<pre>A million buds are born that never blow, + That sweet with promise lift a pretty head + To blush and wither on a barren bed + And leave no fruit to show. + +Sweet, unfulfilled. Yet have I understood + One joy, by their fragility made plain: + Nothing was ever beautiful in vain, + Or all in vain was good.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_108"><span class="pagenum">[108]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B108">BOY JOHNNY.</a></h4> +<pre>"If you'll busk you as a bride + And make ready, +It's I will wed you with a ring, + O fair lady." + +"Shall I busk me as a bride, + I so bonny, +For you to wed me with a ring, + O boy Johnny?" + +"When you've busked you as a bride + And made ready, +Who else is there to marry you, + O fair lady?" + +"I will find my lover out, + I so bonny, +And you shall bear my wedding-train, + O boy Johnny."</pre> +<pre><a name="II_109"><span class="pagenum">[109]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B109">FREAKS OF FASHION.</a></h4> +<pre>Such a hubbub in the nests, + Such a bustle and squeak! +Nestlings, guiltless of a feather, + Learning just to speak, +Ask--"And how about the fashions?" + From a cavernous beak. + +Perched on bushes, perched on hedges, + Perched on firm hahas, +Perched on anything that holds them, + Gay papas and grave mammas +Teach the knowledge-thirsty nestlings: + Hear the gay papas. + +Robin says: "A scarlet waistcoat + Will be all the wear, +Snug, and also cheerful-looking + For the frostiest air, +Comfortable for the chest too + When one comes to plume and pair." + +<a name="II_110"><span class="pagenum">[110]</span></a>"Neat gray hoods will be in vogue," + Quoth a Jackdaw: "Glossy gray, +Setting close, yet setting easy, + Nothing fly-away; +Suited to our misty mornings, + <i>A la negligée</i>." + +Flushing salmon, flushing sulphur, + Haughty Cockatoos +Answer--"Hoods may do for mornings, + But for evenings choose +High head-dresses, curved like crescents, + Such as well-bred persons use." + +"Top-knots, yes; yet more essential + Still, a train or tail," +Screamed the Peacock: "Gemmed and lustrous + Not too stiff, and not too frail; +Those are best which rearrange as + Fans, and spread or trail." + +Spoke the Swan, entrenched behind + An inimitable neck: +"After all, there's nothing sweeter + For the lawn or lake +Than simple white, if fine and flaky + And absolutely free from speck." + +<a name="II_111"><span class="pagenum">[111]</span></a>"Yellow," hinted a Canary, + "Warmer, not less <i>distingué</i>." +"Peach color," put in a Lory, + "Cannot look <i>outré</i>." +"All the colors are in fashion, + And are right," the Parrots say. + +"Very well. But do contrast + Tints harmonious," +Piped a Blackbird, justly proud + Of bill aurigerous; +"Half the world may learn a lesson + As to that from us." + +Then a Stork took up the word: + "Aim at height and <i>chic</i>: +Not high heels, they're common; somehow, + Stilted legs, not thick, +Nor yet thin:" he just glanced downward + And snapped to his beak. + +Here a rustling and a whirring, + As of fans outspread, +Hinted that mammas felt anxious + Lest the next thing said +Might prove less than quite judicious, + Or even underbred. + +<a name="II_112"><span class="pagenum">[112]</span></a>So a mother Auk resumed + The broken thread of speech: +"Let colors sort themselves, my dears, + Yellow, or red, or peach; +The main points, as it seems to me, + We mothers have to teach, + +"Are form and texture, elegance, + An air reserved, sublime; +The mode of wearing what we wear + With due regard to month and clime. +But now, let's all compose ourselves, + It's almost breakfast-time." + +A hubbub, a squeak, a bustle! + Who cares to chatter or sing +With delightful breakfast coming? + Yet they whisper under the wing: +"So we may wear whatever we like, + Anything, everything!"</pre> +<pre><a name="II_113"><span class="pagenum">[113]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B113">AN OCTOBER GARDEN.</a></h4> +<pre>In my Autumn garden I was fain + To mourn among my scattered roses; + Alas for that last rosebud which uncloses +To Autumn's languid sun and rain +When all the world is on the wane! + Which has not felt the sweet constraint of June, + Nor heard the nightingale in tune. + +Broad-faced asters by my garden walk, + You are but coarse compared with roses: + More choice, more dear that rosebud which uncloses +Faint-scented, pinched, upon its stalk, +That least and last which cold winds balk; + A rose it is though least and last of all, + A rose to me though at the fall.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_114"><span class="pagenum">[114]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B114">"SUMMER IS ENDED."</a></h4> +<pre>To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose + Scentless, colorless, <i>this!</i> + Will it ever be thus (who knows?) + Thus with our bliss, + If we wait till the close? + +Though we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end + Sooner, later, at last, + Which nothing can mar, nothing mend: + An end locked fast, + Bent we cannot re-bend.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_115"><span class="pagenum">[115]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B115">PASSING AND GLASSING.</a></h4> +<pre> All things that pass + Are woman's looking-glass; +They show her how her bloom must fade, +And she herself be laid +With withered roses in the shade; + With withered roses and the fallen peach, + Unlovely, out of reach + Of summer joy that was. + + All things that pass + Are woman's tiring-glass; +The faded lavender is sweet, +Sweet the dead violet +Culled and laid by and cared for yet; + The dried-up violets and dried lavender + Still sweet, may comfort her, + Nor need she cry Alas! + + All things that pass + Are wisdom's looking-glass; +<a name="II_116"><span class="pagenum">[116]</span></a>Being full of hope and fear, and still +Brimful of good or ill, +According to our work and will; + For there is nothing new beneath the sun; + Our doings have been done, + And that which shall be was.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_117"><span class="pagenum">[117]</span></a><span class="pagenum"></span></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B117">"I WILL ARISE."</a></h4> +<pre>Weary and weak,--accept my weariness; + Weary and weak and downcast in my soul, +With hope growing less and less, + And with the goal +Distant and dim,--accept my sore distress. +I thought to reach the goal so long ago, + At outset of the race I dreamed of rest, +Not knowing what now I know + Of breathless haste, + Of long-drawn straining effort across the waste. + +One only thing I knew, Thy love of me; + One only thing I know, Thy sacred same +Love of me full and free, + A craving flame +Of selfless love of me which burns in Thee. +How can I think of thee, and yet grow chill; + Of Thee, and yet grow cold and nigh to death? +Re-energize my will, + Rebuild my faith; + I will arise and run, Thou giving me breath. + +<a name="II_118"><span class="pagenum">[118]</span></a>I will arise, repenting and in pain; + I will arise, and smite upon my breast +And turn to Thee again; + Thou choosest best, +Lead me along the road Thou makest plain. +Lead me a little way, and carry me + A little way, and listen to my sighs, +And store my tears with Thee, + And deign replies + To feeble prayers;--O Lord, I will arise.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_119"><span class="pagenum">[119]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B119">A PRODIGAL SON.</a></h4> +<pre>Does that lamp still burn in my Father's house, + Which he kindled the night I went away? +I turned once beneath the cedar boughs, + And marked it gleam with a golden ray; + Did he think to light me home some day? + +Hungry here with the crunching swine, + Hungry harvest have I to reap; +In a dream I count my Father's kine, + I hear the tinkling bells of his sheep, + I watch his lambs that browse and leap. + +There is plenty of bread at home, + His servants have bread enough and to spare; +The purple wine-fat froths with foam, + Oil and spices make sweet the air, + While I perish hungry and bare. + +Rich and blessed those servants, rather + Than I who see not my Father's face! +I will arise and go to my Father:-- + "Fallen from sonship, beggared of grace, + Grant me, Father, a servant's place."</pre> +<pre><a name="II_120"><span class="pagenum">[120]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B120">SOEUR LOUISE DE LA MISÉRICORDE.</a></h4> +<h5 align="left">(1674.)</h5> +<pre>I have desired, and I have been desired; + But now the days are over of desire, + Now dust and dying embers mock my fire; +Where is the hire for which my life was hired? + Oh vanity of vanities, desire! + +Longing and love, pangs of a perished pleasure, + Longing and love, a disenkindled fire, + And memory a bottomless gulf of mire, +And love a fount of tears outrunning measure; + Oh vanity of vanities, desire! + +Now from my heart, love's deathbed, trickles, trickles, + Drop by drop slowly, drop by drop of fire, + The dross of life, of love, of spent desire; +Alas, my rose of life gone all to prickles,-- + Oh vanity of vanities, desire! + +<a name="II_121"><span class="pagenum">[121]</span></a>Oh vanity of vanities, desire; + Stunting my hope which might have strained up higher, + Turning my garden plot to barren mire; +Oh death-struck love, oh disenkindled fire, + Oh vanity of vanities, desire!</pre> +<pre><a name="II_122"><span class="pagenum">[122]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B122">AN "IMMURATA" SISTER.</a></h4> +<pre>Life flows down to death; we cannot bind + That current that it should not flee: +Life flows down to death, as rivers find + The inevitable sea. + +Men work and think, but women feel; + And so (for I'm a woman, I) + And so I should be glad to die +And cease from impotence of zeal, +And cease from hope, and cease from dread, + And cease from yearnings without gain, + And cease from all this world of pain, +And be at peace among the dead. + +Hearts that die, by death renew their youth, + Lightened of this life that doubts and dies; +Silent and contented, while the Truth + Unveiled makes them wise. + +Why should I seek and never find + That something which I have not had? + Fair and unutterably sad +<a name="II_123"><span class="pagenum">[123]</span></a>The world hath sought time out of mind; +The world hath sought and I have sought,-- + Ah, empty world and empty I! + For we have spent our strength for nought, +And soon it will be time to die. + +Sparks fly upward toward their fount of fire, + Kindling, flashing, hovering:-- +Kindle, flash, my soul; mount higher and higher, + Thou whole burnt-offering!</pre> +<pre><a name="II_124"><span class="pagenum">[124]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B124">"IF THOU SAYEST, BEHOLD, WE KNEW IT NOT."</a><br>--<span class="smcap">Proverbs</span> xxiv. 11, 12.</h4> +<h5 align="left">1.</h5> +<pre>I have done I know not what,--what have I done? + My brother's blood, my brother's soul, doth cry: + And I find no defence, find no reply, +No courage more to run this race I run +Not knowing what I have done, have left undone; + Ah me, these awful unknown hours that fly + Fruitless it may be, fleeting fruitless by +Rank with death-savor underneath the sun. +For what avails it that I did not know + The deed I did? what profits me the plea +That had I known I had not wronged him so? + Lord Jesus Christ, my God, him pity Thou; + Lord, if it may be, pity also me: + In judgment pity, and in death, and now.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_125"><span class="pagenum">[125]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">2.</h5> +<pre>Thou Who hast borne all burdens, bear our load, + Bear Thou our load whatever load it be; + Our guilt, our shame, our helpless misery, +Bear Thou Who only canst, O God my God. + Seek us and find us, for we cannot Thee +Or seek or find or hold or cleave unto: +We cannot do or undo; Lord, undo + Our self-undoing, for Thine is the key +Of all we are not though we might have been. + Dear Lord, if ever mercy moved Thy mind, + If so be love of us can move Thee yet, +If still the nail-prints in Thy Hands are seen, + Remember us,--yea, how shouldst Thou forget? + Remember us for good, and seek, and find.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_126"><span class="pagenum">[126]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">3.</h5> +<pre>Each soul I might have succored, may have slain, + All souls shall face me at the last Appeal, + That great last moment poised for woe or weal, +That final moment for man's bliss or bane. +Vanity of vanities, yea all is vain + Which then will not avail or help or heal: + Disfeatured faces, worn-out knees that kneel, +Will more avail than strength or beauty then. +Lord, by Thy Passion,--when Thy Face was marred + In sight of earth and hell tumultuous, + And Thy heart failed in Thee like melting wax, +And Thy Blood dropped more precious than the nard,-- + Lord, for Thy sake, not ours, supply our lacks, + For Thine own sake, not ours, Christ, pity us.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_127"><span class="pagenum">[127]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B127">THE THREAD OF LIFE.</a></h4> +<h5 align="left">1.</h5> +<pre>The irresponsive silence of the land, + The irresponsive sounding of the sea, + Speak both one message of one sense to me:-- +Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand +Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band + Of inner solitude; we bind not thee; + But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free? +What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand?-- +And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek, + And sometimes I remember days of old +When fellowship seemed not so far to seek + And all the world and I seemed much less cold, + And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold, +And hope felt strong and life itself not weak.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_128"><span class="pagenum">[128]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">2.</h5> +<pre>Thus am I mine own prison. Everything + Around me free and sunny and at ease: + Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees +Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing +And where all winds make various murmuring; + Where bees are found, with honey for the bees; + Where sounds are music, and where silences +Are music of an unlike fashioning. +Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew, + And smile a moment and a moment sigh +Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you? + But soon I put the foolish fancy by: +I am not what I have nor what I do; + But what I was I am, I am even I.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_129"><span class="pagenum">[129]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">3.</h5> +<pre>Therefore myself is that one only thing + I hold to use or waste, to keep or give; + My sole possession every day I live, +And still mine own despite Time's winnowing. +Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring + From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanative; + Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve; +And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing. +And this myself as king unto my King + I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me; +Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing + A sweet new song of His redeemed set free; +He bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting? + And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?</pre> +<pre><a name="II_130"><span class="pagenum">[130]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B130">AN OLD-WORLD THICKET.</a></h4> +<p class="figcenter">. . . "Una selva oscura."--<span class="smcap">Dante</span>.</p> +<pre> +Awake or sleeping (for I know not which) + I was or was not mazed within a wood + Where every mother-bird brought up her brood + Safe in some leafy niche +Of oak or ash, of cypress or of beech, + +Of silvery aspen trembling delicately, + Of plane or warmer-tinted sycamore, + Of elm that dies in secret from the core, + Of ivy weak and free, +Of pines, of all green lofty things that be. + +Such birds they seemed as challenged each desire; + Like spots of azure heaven upon the wing, + Like downy emeralds that alight and sing, + Like actual coals on fire, + Like anything they seemed, and everything. + +<a name="II_131"><span class="pagenum">[131]</span></a>Such mirth they made, such warblings and such chat + With tongue of music in a well-tuned beak, + They seemed to speak more wisdom than we speak, + To make our music flat + And all our subtlest reasonings wild or weak. + +Their meat was nought but flowers like butterflies, + With berries coral-colored or like gold; + Their drink was only dew, which blossoms hold + Deep where the honey lies; +Their wings and tails were lit by sparkling eyes. + +The shade wherein they revelled was a shade + That danced and twinkled to the unseen sun; + Branches and leaves cast shadows one by one, + And all their shadows swayed +In breaths of air that rustled and that played. + +A sound of waters neither rose nor sank, + And spread a sense of freshness through the air; + It seemed not here or there, but everywhere, + As if the whole earth drank, +Root fathom deep and strawberry on its bank. + +<a name="II_132"><span class="pagenum">[132]</span></a>But I who saw such things as I have said, + Was overdone with utter weariness; + And walked in care, as one whom fears oppress + Because above his head +Death hangs, or damage, or the dearth of bread. + +Each sore defeat of my defeated life + Faced and outfaced me in that bitter hour; + And turned to yearning palsy all my power, + And all my peace to strife, +Self stabbing self with keen lack-pity knife. + +Sweetness of beauty moved me to despair, + Stung me to anger by its mere content, + Made me all lonely on that way I went, + Piled care upon my care, +Brimmed full my cup, and stripped me empty and bare: + +For all that was but showed what all was not, + But gave clear proof of what might never be; + Making more destitute my poverty, + And yet more blank my lot, + And me much sadder by its jubilee. + +<a name="II_133"><span class="pagenum">[133]</span></a>Therefore I sat me down: for wherefore walk? + And closed mine eyes: for wherefore see or hear? + Alas, I had no shutter to mine ear, + And could not shun the talk + Of all rejoicing creatures far or near. + +Without my will I hearkened and I heard + (Asleep or waking, for I know not which), + Till note by note the music changed its pitch; + Bird ceased to answer bird, +And every wind sighed softly if it stirred. + +The drip of widening waters seemed to weep, + All fountains sobbed and gurgled as they sprang, +Somewhere a cataract cried out in its leap + Sheer down a headlong steep; + High over all cloud-thunders gave a clang. + +Such universal sound of lamentation + I heard and felt, fain not to feel or hear; + Nought else there seemed but anguish far and near; + Nought else but all creation + Moaning and groaning wrung by pain or fear, + +<a name="II_134"><span class="pagenum">[134]</span></a>Shuddering in the misery of its doom: + My heart then rose a rebel against light, + Scouring all earth and heaven and depth and height, + Ingathering wrath and gloom, + Ingathering wrath to wrath and night to night. + +Ah me, the bitterness of such revolt, + All impotent, all hateful, and all hate, +That kicks and breaks itself against the bolt + Of an imprisoning fate, + And vainly shakes, and cannot shake the gate. + +Agony to agony, deep called to deep, + Out of the deep I called of my desire; + My strength was weakness and my heart was fire; + Mine eyes that would not weep +Or sleep, scaled height and depth, and could not sleep; + +The eyes, I mean, of my rebellious soul, + For still my bodily eyes were closed and dark: + A random thing I seemed without a mark, + Racing without a goal, + Adrift upon life's sea without an ark. + +<a name="II_135"><span class="pagenum">[135]</span></a>More leaden than the actual self of lead + Outer and inner darkness weighed on me. + The tide of anger ebbed. Then fierce and free + Surged full above my head + The moaning tide of helpless misery. + +Why should I breathe, whose breath was but a sigh? + Why should I live, who drew such painful breath? +Oh weary work, the unanswerable why!-- + Yet I, why should I die, + Who had no hope in life, no hope in death? + +Grasses and mosses and the fallen leaf + Make peaceful bed for an indefinite term; + But underneath the grass there gnaws a worm-- + Haply, there gnaws a grief-- +Both, haply always; not, as now, so brief. + +The pleasure I remember, it is past; + The pain I feel is passing, passing by; + Thus all the world is passing, and thus I: + All things that cannot last + Have grown familiar, and are born to die. + +<a name="II_136"><span class="pagenum">[136]</span></a>And being familiar, have so long been borne + That habit trains us not to break but bend: +Mourning grows natural to us who mourn + In foresight of an end, + But that which ends not who shall brave or mend? + +Surely the ripe fruits tremble on their bough, + They cling and linger trembling till they drop: +I, trembling, cling to dying life; for how + Face the perpetual Now? + Birthless and deathless, void of start or stop, + +Void of repentance, void of hope and fear, + Of possibility, alternative, + Of all that ever made us bear to live + From night to morning here, + Of promise even which has no gift to give. + +The wood, and every creature of the wood, + Seemed mourning with me in an undertone; + Soft scattered chirpings and a windy moan, + Trees rustling where they stood +And shivered, showed compassion for my mood. + +<a name="II_137"><span class="pagenum">[137]</span></a>Rage to despair; and now despair had turned + Back to self-pity and mere weariness, +With yearnings like a smouldering fire that burned, + And might grow more or less, + And might die out or wax to white excess. + +Without, within me, music seemed to be; + Something not music, yet most musical, +Silence and sound in heavenly harmony; + At length a pattering fall +Of feet, a bell, and bleatings, broke through all. + +Then I looked up. The wood lay in a glow + From golden sunset and from ruddy sky; + The sun had stooped to earth though once so high; + Had stooped to earth, in slow +Warm dying loveliness brought near and low. + +Each water-drop made answer to the light, + Lit up a spark and showed the sun his face; + Soft purple shadows paved the grassy space + And crept from height to height, + From height to loftier height crept up apace. + +<a name="II_138"><span class="pagenum">[138]</span></a>While opposite the sun a gazing moon + Put on his glory for her coronet, +Kindling her luminous coldness to its noon, + As his great splendor set; + One only star made up her train as yet. + +Each twig was tipped with gold, each leaf was edged + And veined with gold from the gold-flooded west; +Each mother-bird, and mate-bird, and unfledged + Nestling, and curious nest, + Displayed a gilded moss or beak or breast. + +And filing peacefully between the trees, + Having the moon behind them, and the sun +Full in their meek mild faces, walked at ease + A homeward flock, at peace + With one another and with every one. + +A patriarchal ram with tinkling bell + Led all his kin; sometimes one browsing sheep + Hung back a moment, or one lamb would leap + And frolic in a dell; +Yet still they kept together, journeying well, + +<a name="II_139"><span class="pagenum">[139]</span></a>And bleating, one or other, many or few, + Journeying together toward the sunlit west; + Mild face by face, and woolly breast by breast, + Patient, sun-brightened too, + Still journeying toward the sunset and their rest.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_140"><span class="pagenum">[140]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B140">"ALL THY WORKS PRAISE THEE, O LORD."</a></h4> +<h5 align="left">A PROCESSIONAL OF CREATION.</h5> +<pre> </pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">All.</span></p> +<pre>I, All-Creation, sing my song of praise +To God Who made me and vouchsafes my days, +And sends me forth by multitudinous ways.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Seraph.</span></p> +<pre>I, like my Brethren, burn eternally +With love of Him Who is Love, and loveth me; +The Holy, Holy, Holy Unity.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Cherub.</span></p> +<pre>I, with my Brethren, gaze eternally +On Him Who is Wisdom, and Who knoweth me; +The Holy, Holy, Holy Trinity.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">All Angels.</span></p> +<pre>We rule, we serve, we work, we store His treasure, +Whose vessels are we, brimmed with strength and pleasure; +Our joys fulfil, yea, overfill our measure.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_141"><span class="pagenum">[141]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Heavens.</span></p> +<pre>We float before the Presence Infinite, +We cluster round the Throne in our delight, +Revolving and rejoicing in God's sight.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Firmament.</span></p> +<pre>I, blue and beautiful, and framed of air, +At sunrise and at sunset grow most fair; +His glory by my glories I declare.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Powers.</span></p> +<pre>We Powers are powers because He makes us strong; +Wherefore we roll all rolling orbs along, +We move all moving things, and sing our song.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Sun.</span></p> +<pre>I blaze to Him in mine engarlanding +Of rays, I flame His whole burnt-offering, +While as a bridegroom I rejoice and sing.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Moon.</span></p> +<pre>I follow, and am fair, and do His Will; +Through all my changes I am faithful still, +Full-orbed or strait, His mandate to fulfil.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_142"><span class="pagenum">[142]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Stars.</span></p> +<pre>We Star-hosts numerous, innumerous, +Throng space with energy untumultuous, +And work His Will Whose eye beholdeth us.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Galaxies and Nebulæ.</span></p> +<pre>No thing is far or near; and therefore we +Float neither far nor near; but where we be +Weave dances round the Throne perpetually.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Comets and Meteors.</span></p> +<pre>Our lights dart here and there, whirl to and fro, +We flash and vanish, we die down and glow; +All doing His Will Who bids us do it so.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Showers.</span></p> +<pre>We give ourselves; and be we great or small, +Thus are we made like Him Who giveth all, +Like Him Whose gracious pleasure bids us fall.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Dews.</span></p> +<pre>We give ourselves in silent secret ways, +Spending and spent in silence full of grace; +And thus are made like God, and show His praise.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_143"><span class="pagenum">[143]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Winds.</span></p> +<pre>We sift the air and winnow all the earth; +And God Who poised our weights and weighs our worth +Accepts the worship of our solemn mirth.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Fire.</span></p> +<pre>My power and strength are His Who fashioned me, +Ordained me image of His Jealousy, +Forged me His weapon fierce exceedingly.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Heat.</span></p> +<pre>I glow unto His glory, and do good: +I glow, and bring to life both bud and brood; +I glow, and ripen harvest-crops for food.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Winter and Summer.</span></p> +<pre>Our wealth and joys and beauties celebrate +His wealth of beauty Who sustains our state, +Before Whose changelessness we alternate.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Spring and Autumn.</span></p> +<pre>I hope,-- + And I remember,--</pre> +<pre><a name="II_144"><span class="pagenum">[144]</span></a></pre> +<pre> We give place +Either to other with contented grace, +Acceptable and lovely all our days.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Frost.</span></p> +<pre>I make the unstable stable, binding fast +The world of waters prone to ripple past: +Thus praise I God, Whose mercies I forecast.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Cold.</span></p> +<pre>I rouse and goad the slothful, apt to nod, +I stir and urge the laggards with my rod: +My praise is not of men, yet I praise God.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Snow.</span></p> +<pre>My whiteness shadoweth Him Who is most fair, +All spotless: yea, my whiteness which I wear +Exalts His Purity beyond compare.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Vapors.</span></p> +<pre>We darken sun and moon, and blot the day, +The good Will of our Maker to obey: +Till to the glory of God we pass away.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_145"><span class="pagenum">[145]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Night.</span></p> +<pre>Moon and all stars I don for diadem +To make me fair: I cast myself and them +Before His feet, Who knows us gem from gem.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Day.</span></p> +<pre>I shout before Him in my plenitude +Of light and warmth, of hope and wealth and food; +Ascribing all good to the Only Good.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Light and Darkness.</span></p> +<pre>I am God's dwelling-place,-- + And also I +Make His pavilion,-- + Lo, we bide and fly +Exulting in the Will of God Most High.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Lightning and Thunder.</span></p> +<pre>We indivisible flash forth His Fame, +We thunder forth the glory of His Name, +In harmony of resonance and flame.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_146"><span class="pagenum">[146]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Clouds.</span></p> +<pre>Sweet is our store, exhaled from sea or river: +We wear a rainbow, praising God the Giver +Because His mercy is for ever and ever.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Earth.</span></p> +<pre>I rest in Him rejoicing: resting so +And so rejoicing, in that I am low; +Yet known of Him, and following on to know.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Mountains.</span></p> +<pre>Our heights which laud Him, sink abased before +Him higher than the highest evermore: +God higher than the highest we adore.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Hills.</span></p> +<pre>We green-tops praise Him, and we fruitful heads, +Whereon the sunshine and the dew He sheds: +We green-tops praise Him, rising from out beds.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Green Things.</span></p> +<pre>We all green things, we blossoms bright or dim, +Trees, bushes, brushwood, corn and grasses slim, +We lift our many-favored lauds to Him.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_147"><span class="pagenum">[147]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Rose,--Lily,--Violet.</span></p> +<pre>I praise Him on my thorn which I adorn,-- +And I, amid my world of thistle and thorn,-- +And I, within my veil where I am born.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Apple,--Citron,--Pomegranate.</span></p> +<pre>We, Apple-blossom, Citron, Pomegranate, +We, clothed of God without our toil and fret, +We offer fatness where His Throne is set.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Vine,--Cedar,--Palm.</span></p> +<pre>I proffer Him my sweetness, who am sweet,-- +I bow my strength in fragrance at His feet,-- +I wave myself before His Judgment Seat.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Medicinal Herbs.</span></p> +<pre>I bring refreshment,-- + I bring ease and calm,-- +I lavish strength and healing,-- + I am balm,-- +We work His pitiful Will and chant our psalm.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_148"><span class="pagenum">[148]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">A Spring.</span></p> +<pre>Clear my pure fountain, clear and pure my rill, +My fountain and mine outflow deep and still, +I set His semblance forth and do His Will.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Sea.</span></p> +<pre>To-day I praise God with a sparkling face, +My thousand thousand waves all uttering praise: +To-morrow I commit me to His Grace.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Floods.</span></p> +<pre>We spring and swell meandering to and fro, +From height to depth, from depth to depth we flow, +We fertilize the world, and praise Him so.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Whales and Sea Mammals.</span></p> +<pre>We Whales and Monsters gambol in His sight +Rejoicing every day and every night, +Safe in the tender keeping of His Might.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Fishes.</span></p> +<pre>Our fashions and our colors and our speeds +Set forth His praise Who framed us and Who feeds, +Who knows our number and regards our needs.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_149"><span class="pagenum">[149]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Birds.</span></p> +<pre>Winged Angels of this visible world, we fly +To sing God's praises in the lofty sky; +We scale the height to praise our Lord most High.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Eagle and Dove.</span></p> +<pre>I the sun-gazing Eagle,-- + I the Dove, +With plumes of softness and a note of love,-- +We praise by divers gifts One God above.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Beasts and Cattle.</span></p> +<pre>We forest Beasts,-- + We Beasts of hill or cave,-- +We border-loving Creatures of the wave,-- +We praise our King with voices deep and grave.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Small Animals.</span></p> +<pre>God forms us weak and small, but pours out all +We need, and notes us while we stand or fall: +Wherefore we praise Him, weak and safe and small.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_150"><span class="pagenum">[150]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Lamb.</span></p> +<pre>I praise my loving Lord, Who maketh me +His type by harmless sweet simplicity: +Yet He the Lamb of lambs incomparably.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Lion.</span></p> +<pre>I praise the Lion of the Royal Race, +Strongest in fight and swiftest in the chase: +With all my might I leap and lavish praise.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">All Men.</span></p> +<pre>All creatures sing around us, and we sing: +We bring our own selves as our offering, +Our very selves we render to our King.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Israel.</span></p> +<pre>Flock of our Shepherd's pasture and His fold, +Purchased and well-beloved from days of old, +We tell His praise which still remains untold.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Priests.</span></p> +<pre>We free-will Shepherds tend His sheep, and feed; +We follow Him while caring for their need; +We follow praising Him, and them we lead.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_151"><span class="pagenum">[151]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Servants of God.</span></p> +<pre>We love God, for He loves us; we are free +In serving Him, who serve Him willingly: +As kings we reign, and praise His Majesty.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Holy and Humble Persons.</span></p> +<pre>All humble souls he calls and sanctifies; +All holy souls He calls to make them wise; +Accepting all, His free-will sacrifice.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Babes.</span></p> +<pre>He maketh me,-- + And me,-- + And me,-- + To be +His blessed little ones around His knee, +Who praise Him by mere love confidingly.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Women.</span></p> +<pre>God makes our service love, and makes our wage +Love: so we wend on patient pilgrimage, +Extolling Him by love from age to age.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_152"><span class="pagenum">[152]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Men.</span></p> +<pre>God gives us power to rule: He gives us power +To rule ourselves, and prune the exuberant flower +Of youth, and worship Him hour after hour.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">Spirits and Souls--</span></p> +<pre>Lo, in the hidden world we chant our chant +To Him Who fills us that we nothing want, +To Him Whose bounty leaves our craving scant.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">of Babes--</span></p> +<pre>With milky mouths we praise God, from the breast +Called home betimes to rest the perfect rest, +By love and joy fufilling His behest.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">of Women--</span></p> +<pre>We praise His Will which made us what He would, +His Will which fashioned us and called us good, +His Will our plenary beatitude.</pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">of Men.</span></p> +<pre>We praise His Will Who bore with us so long, +Who out of weakness wrought us swift and strong, +Champions of right and putters-down of wrong.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_153"><span class="pagenum">[153]</span></a></pre> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">All.</span></p> +<pre>Let everything that hath or hath not breath, +Let days and endless days, let life and death, +Praise God, praise God, praise God, His creature saith.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_154"><span class="pagenum">[154]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B154">LATER LIFE: A DOUBLE SONNET OF SONNETS.</a></h4> +<h5 align="left">1.</h5> +<pre>Before the mountains were brought forth, before + Earth and the world were made, then God was God: +And God will still be God, when flames shall roar + Round earth and heaven dissolving at His nod: + And this God is our God, even while His rod +Of righteous wrath falls on us smiting sore: +And this God is our God for evermore + Through life, through death, while clod returns to clod. +For though He slay us we will trust in Him; + We will flock home to Him by divers ways: + Yea, though He slay us we will vaunt His praise, +Serving and loving with the Cherubim, +Watching and loving with the Seraphim, + Our very selves His praise through endless days.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_155"><span class="pagenum">[155]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">2.</h5> +<pre>Rend hearts and rend not garments for our sins; + Gird sackcloth not on body but on soul; + Grovel in dust with faces toward the goal +Nor won, nor neared: he only laughs who wins. +Not neared the goal, the race too late begins; + Or left undone, we have yet to do the whole; + The sun is hurrying west and toward the pole +Where darkness waits for earth with all her kins. +Let us to-day, while it is called to-day, + Set out, if utmost speed may yet avail-- + The shadows lengthen and the light grows pale: + For who through darkness and the shadow of death, +Darkness that may be felt, shall find a way, + Blind-eyed, deaf-eared, and choked with failing breath?</pre> +<pre><a name="II_156"><span class="pagenum">[156]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">3.</h5> +<pre>Thou Who didst make and knowest whereof we are made, + Oh bear in mind our dust and nothingness, + Our wordless tearless dumbness of distress: +Bear Thou in mind the burden Thou hast laid +Upon us, and our feebleness unstayed + Except Thou stay us: for the long long race + Which stretches far and far before our face +Thou knowest,--remember Thou whereof we are made. +If making makes us Thine, then Thine we are; + And if redemption, we are twice Thine own: +If once Thou didst come down from heaven afar + To seek us and to find us, how not save? +Comfort us, save us, leave us not alone, + Thou Who didst die our death and fill our grave.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_157"><span class="pagenum">[157]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">4.</h5> +<pre>So tired am I, so weary of to-day, + So unrefreshed from foregone weariness, + So overburdened by foreseen distress, +So lagging and so stumbling on my way, +I scarce can rouse myself to watch or pray, + To hope, or aim, or toil for more or less,-- + Ah, always less and less, even while I press +Forward and toil and aim as best I may. +Half-starved of soul and heartsick utterly, + Yet lift I up my heart and soul and eyes + (Which fail in looking upward) toward the prize: +Me, Lord, Thou seest though I see not Thee; + Me now, as once the Thief in Paradise, +Even me, O Lord my Lord, remember me.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_158"><span class="pagenum">[158]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">5.</h5> +<pre>Lord, Thou Thyself art Love and only Thou; + Yet I who am not love would fain love Thee; + But Thou alone being Love canst furnish me +With that same love my heart is craving now. +Allow my plea! for if Thou disallow, + No second fountain can I find but Thee; + No second hope or help is left to me, +No second anything, but only Thou. +O Love accept, according my request; + O Love exhaust, fulfilling my desire: + Uphold me with the strength that cannot tire, +Nerve me to labor till Thou bid me rest, + Kindle my fire from Thine unkindled fire, +And charm the willing heart from out my breast.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_159"><span class="pagenum">[159]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">6.</h5> +<pre>We lack, yet cannot fix upon the lack: + Not this, nor that; yet somewhat, certainly. + We see the things we do not yearn to see +Around us: and what see we glancing back? +Lost hopes that leave our hearts upon the rack, + Hopes that were never ours yet seemed to be, + For which we steered on life's salt stormy sea +Braving the sunstroke and the frozen pack. +If thus to look behind is all in vain, + And all in vain to look to left or right, +Why face we not our future once again, +Launching with hardier hearts across the main, + Straining dim eyes to catch the invisible sight, +And strong to bear ourselves in patient pain?</pre> +<pre><a name="II_160"><span class="pagenum">[160]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">7.</h5> +<pre>To love and to remember; that is good: + To love and to forget; that is not well: + To lapse from love to hatred; that is hell +And death and torment, rightly understood. +Soul dazed by love and sorrow, cheer thy mood; + More blest art thou than mortal tongue can tell: + Ring not thy funeral but thy marriage bell, +And salt with hope thy life's insipid food. +Love is the goal, love is the way we wend, + Love is our parallel unending line + Whose only perfect Parallel is Christ, +Beginning not begun, End without end: + For He Who hath the heart of God sufficed, + Can satisfy all hearts,--yea, thine and mine.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_161"><span class="pagenum">[161]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">8.</h5> +<pre>We feel and see with different hearts and eyes:-- + Ah Christ, if all our hearts could meet in Thee + How well it were for them and well for me, +Our hearts Thy dear accepted sacrifice. +Thou, only Life of hearts and Light of eyes, + Our life, our light, if once we turn to Thee, + So be it, O Lord, to them and so to me; +Be all alike Thine own dear sacrifice. +Thou Who by death hast ransomed us from death, + Thyself God's sole well-pleasing Sacrifice, + Thine only sacred Self I plead with Thee: + Make Thou it well for them and well for me +That Thou hast given us souls and wills and breath; + And hearts to love Thee; and to see Thee, eyes.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_162"><span class="pagenum">[162]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">9.</h5> +<pre>Star Sirius and the Pole Star dwell afar + Beyond the drawings each of other's strength: + One blazes through the brief bright summer's length +Lavishing life-heat from a flaming car; + While one unchangeable upon a throne + Broods o'er the frozen heart of earth alone, +Content to reign the bright particular star + Of some who wander or of some who groan. +They own no drawings each of other's strength, + Nor vibrate in a visible sympathy, + Nor veer along their courses each toward each: + Yet are their orbits pitched in harmony +Of one dear heaven, across whose depth and length + Mayhap they talk together without speech.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_163"><span class="pagenum">[163]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">10.</h5> +<pre>Tread softly! all the earth is holy ground. + It may be, could we look with seeing eyes, + This spot we stand on is a Paradise +Where dead have come to life and lost been found, +Where Faith has triumphed, Martyrdom been crowned, + Where fools have foiled the wisdom of the wise; + From this same spot the dust of saints may rise, +And the King's prisoners come to light unbound. +O earth, earth, earth, hear thou thy Maker's Word: + "Thy dead thou shalt give up, nor hide thy slain"-- + Some who went weeping forth shall come again + Rejoicing from the east or from the west, +As doves fly to their windows, love's own bird + Contented and desirous to the nest.[1] + + +[1] "Quali colombe dal disio chiamate + Con l'ali aperte e ferme al dolce nido + Volan per l'aer dal voler portate." + <span class="smcap">Dante</span>.</pre> +<pre> </pre> +<pre> +<a name="II_164"><span class="pagenum">[164]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">11.</h5> +<pre>Lifelong our stumbles, lifelong our regret, + Lifelong our efforts failing and renewed, + While lifelong is our witness, "God is good:" +Who bore with us till now, bears with us yet, +Who still remembers and will not forget, + Who gives us light and warmth and daily food; + And gracious promises half understood, +And glories half unveiled, whereon to set +Our heart of hearts and eyes of our desire; + Uplifting us to longing and to love, +Luring us upward from this world of mire, + Urging us to press on and mount above + Ourselves and all we have had experience of, +Mounting to Him in love's perpetual fire.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_165"><span class="pagenum">[165]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">12.</h5> +<pre>A dream there is wherein we are fain to scream, + While struggling with ourselves we cannot speak: + And much of all our waking life, as weak +And misconceived, eludes us like the dream. +For half life's seemings are not what they seem, + And vain the laughs we laugh, the shrieks we shriek; + Yea, all is vain that mars the settled meek +Contented quiet of our daily theme. +When I was young I deemed that sweets are sweet: + But now I deem some searching bitters are + Sweeter than sweets, and more refreshing far, + And to be relished more, and more desired, +And more to be pursued on eager feet, + On feet untired, and still on feet though tired.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_166"><span class="pagenum">[166]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">13.</h5> +<pre>Shame is a shadow cast by sin: yet shame + Itself may be a glory and a grace, + Refashioning the sin-disfashioned face; +A nobler bruit than hollow-sounded fame, +A new-lit lustre on a tarnished name, + One virtue pent within an evil place, + Strength for the fight, and swiftness for the race, +A stinging salve, a life-requickening flame. +A salve so searching we may scarcely live, + A flame so fierce it seems that we must die, + An actual cautery thrust into the heart: + Nevertheless, men die not of such smart; +And shame gives back what nothing else can give, + Man to himself,--then sets him up on high.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_167"><span class="pagenum">[167]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">14.</h5> +<pre>When Adam and when Eve left Paradise + Did they love on and cling together still, + Forgiving one another all that ill +The twain had wrought on such a different wise? +She propped upon his strength, and he in guise + Of lover though of lord, girt to fulfil + Their term of life and die when God should will; +Lie down and sleep, and having slept arise. +Boast not against us, O our enemy! + To-day we fall, but we shall rise again; +We grope to-day, to-morrow we shall see: + What is to-day that we should fear to-day? + A morrow cometh which shall sweep away + Thee and thy realm of change and death and pain.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_168"><span class="pagenum">[168]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">15.</h5> +<pre>Let woman fear to teach and bear to learn, + Remembering the first woman's first mistake. + Eve had for pupil the inquiring snake, +Whose doubts she answered on a great concern; +But he the tables so contrived to turn, + It next was his to give and hers to take; + Till man deemed poison sweet for her sweet sake, +And fired a train by which the world must burn. +Did Adam love his Eve from first to last? + I think so; as we love who works us ill, + And wounds us to the quick, yet loves us still. +Love pardons the unpardonable past: +Love in a dominant embrace holds fast + His frailer self, and saves without her will.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_169"><span class="pagenum">[169]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">16.</h5> +<pre>Our teachers teach that one and one make two: + Later, Love rules that one and one make one: + Abstruse the problems! neither need we shun, +But skilfully to each should yield its due. +The narrower total seems to suit the few, + The wider total suits the common run; + Each obvious in its sphere like moon or sun; +Both provable by me, and both by you. +Befogged and witless, in a wordy maze + A groping stroll perhaps may do us good; + If cloyed we are with much we have understood, +If tired of half our dusty world and ways, + If sick of fasting, and if sick of food;-- +And how about these long still-lengthening days?</pre> +<pre><a name="II_170"><span class="pagenum">[170]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">17.</h5> +<pre>Something this foggy day, a something which + Is neither of this fog nor of to-day, + Has set me dreaming of the winds that play +Past certain cliffs, along one certain beach, + And turn the topmost edge of waves to spray: + Ah pleasant pebbly strand so far away, +So out of reach while quite within my reach, + As out of reach as India or Cathay! +I am sick of where I am and where I am not, + I am sick of foresight and of memory, + I am sick of all I have and all I see, + I am sick of self, and there is nothing new; +Oh weary impatient patience of my lot!-- + Thus with myself: how fares it, Friends, with you?</pre> +<pre><a name="II_171"><span class="pagenum">[171]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">18.</h5> +<pre>So late in Autumn half the world's asleep, + And half the wakeful world looks pinched and pale; + For dampness now, not freshness, rides the gale; +And cold and colorless comes ashore the deep +With tides that bluster or with tides that creep; + Now veiled uncouthness wears an uncouth veil + Of fog, not sultry haze; and blight and bale +Have done their worst, and leaves rot on the heap. +So late in Autumn one forgets the Spring, + Forgets the Summer with its opulence, +The callow birds that long have found a wing, + The swallows that more lately gat them hence: +Will anything like Spring, will anything + Like Summer, rouse one day the slumbering sense?</pre> +<pre><a name="II_172"><span class="pagenum">[172]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">19.</h5> +<pre>Here now is Winter. Winter, after all, + Is not so drear as was my boding dream + While Autumn gleamed its latest watery gleam +On sapless leafage too inert to fall. +Still leaves and berries clothe my garden wall + Where ivy thrives on scantiest sunny beam; + Still here a bud and there a blossom seem +Hopeful, and robin still is musical. +Leaves, flowers and fruit and one delightful song + Remain; these days are short, but now the nights + Intense and long, hang out their utmost lights; +Such starry nights are long, yet not too long; +Frost nips the weak, while strengthening still the strong + Against that day when Spring sets all to rights.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_173"><span class="pagenum">[173]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">20.</h5> +<pre>A hundred thousand birds salute the day:-- + One solitary bird salutes the night: +Its mellow grieving wiles our grief away, + And tunes our weary watches to delight; +It seems to sing the thoughts we cannot say, + To know and sing them, and to set them right; +Until we feel once more that May is May, + And hope some buds may bloom without a blight. +This solitary bird outweighs, outvies, + The hundred thousand merry-making birds +Whose innocent warblings yet might make us wise +Would we but follow when they bid us rise, + Would we but set their notes of praise to words +And launch our hearts up with them to the skies.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_174"><span class="pagenum">[174]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">21.</h5> +<pre>A host of things I take on trust: I take + The nightingales on trust, for few and far + Between those actual summer moments are +When I have heard what melody they make. +So chanced it once at Como on the Lake: + But all things, then, waxed musical; each star + Sang on its course, each breeze sang on its car, +All harmonies sang to senses wide-awake. +All things in tune, myself not out of tune, + Those nightingales were nightingales indeed: + Yet truly an owl had satisfied my need, +And wrought a rapture underneath that moon, + Or simple sparrow chirping from a reed; +For June that night glowed like a doubled June.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_175"><span class="pagenum">[175]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">22.</h5> +<pre>The mountains in their overwhelming might + Moved me to sadness when I saw them first, +And afterwards they moved me to delight; + Struck harmonies from silent chords which burst + Out into song, a song by memory nursed; +Forever unrenewed by touch or sight +Sleeps the keen magic of each day or night, + In pleasure and in wonder then immersed. +All Switzerland behind us on the ascent, + All Italy before us we plunged down + St. Gothard, garden of forget-me-not: + Yet why should such a flower choose such a spot? +Could we forget that way which once we went + Though not one flower had bloomed to weave its crown?</pre> +<pre><a name="II_176"><span class="pagenum">[176]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">23.</h5> +<pre>Beyond the seas we know stretch seas unknown, + Blue and bright-colored for our dim and green; + Beyond the lands we see, stretch lands unseen +With many-tinted tangle overgrown; +And icebound seas there are like seas of stone, + Serenely stormless as death lies serene; + And lifeless tracks of sand, which intervene +Betwixt the lands where living flowers are blown. +This dead and living world befits our case + Who live and die: we live in wearied hope, +We die in hope not dead; we run a race +To-day, and find no present halting-place; + All things we see lie far within our scope, +And still we peer beyond with craving face.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_177"><span class="pagenum">[177]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">24.</h5> +<pre>The wise do send their hearts before them to + Dear blesséd Heaven, despite the veil between; + The foolish nurse their hearts within the screen +Of this familiar world, where all we do +Or have is old, for there is nothing new: + Yet elder far that world we have not seen; + God's Presence antedates what else hath been: +Many the foolish seem, the wise seem few. +Oh foolishest fond folly of a heart + Divided, neither here nor there at rest! + That hankers after Heaven, but clings to earth; + That neither here nor there knows thorough mirth, +Half-choosing, wholly missing, the good part:-- + Oh fool among the foolish, in thy quest.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_178"><span class="pagenum">[178]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">25.</h5> +<pre>When we consider what this life we lead + Is not, and is; how full of toil and pain, + How blank of rest and of substantial gain, +Beset by hunger earth can never feed, +And propping half our hearts upon a reed; + We cease to mourn lost treasures mourned in vain, + Lost treasures we are fain and yet not fain +To fetch back for a solace of our need. +For who that feel this burden and this strain, + This wide vacuity of hope and heart, +Would bring their cherished well-beloved again: + To bleed with them and wince beneath the smart, +To have with stinted bliss such lavish bane, + To hold in lieu of all so poor a part?</pre> +<pre><a name="II_179"><span class="pagenum">[179]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">26.</h5> +<pre>This Life is full of numbness and of balk, + Of haltingness and baffled short-coming, + Of promise unfulfilled, of everything +That is puffed vanity and empty talk: +Its very bud hangs cankered on the stalk, + Its very song-bird trails a broken wing, + Its very Spring is not indeed like Spring, +But sighs like Autumn round an aimless walk. +This Life we live is dead for all its breath; + Death's self it is, set off on pilgrimage, + Travelling with tottering steps the first short stage: + The second stage is one mere desert dust + Where Death sits veiled amid creation's rust:-- +Unveil thy face, O Death who art not Death.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_180"><span class="pagenum">[180]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">27.</h5> +<pre>I have dreamed of Death:--what will it be to die + Not in a dream, but in the literal truth + With all Death's adjuncts ghastly and uncouth, +The pang that is the last and the last sigh? +Too dulled, it may be, for a last good-bye, + Too comfortless for any one to soothe, + A helpless charmless spectacle of ruth +Through long last hours, so long while yet they fly. +So long to those who hopeless in their fear + Watch the slow breath and look for what they dread: +While I supine, with ears that cease to hear, + With eyes that glaze, with heart-pulse running down, + (Alas! no saint rejoicing on her bed), + May miss the goal at last, may miss a crown.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_181"><span class="pagenum">[181]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">28.</h5> +<pre>In life our absent friend is far away: + But death may bring our friend exceeding near, + Show him familiar faces long so dear +And lead him back in reach of words we say. +He only cannot utter yea or nay + In any voice accustomed to our ear; + He only cannot make his face appear +And turn the sun back on our shadowed day. +The dead may be around us, dear and dead; + The unforgotten dearest dead may be + Watching us, with unslumbering eyes and heart, +Brimful of words which cannot yet be said, + Brimful of knowledge they may not impart, + Brimful of love for you and love for me.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_182"><span class="pagenum">[182]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B182">"FOR THINE OWN SAKE, O MY GOD."</a></h4> +<pre>Wearied of sinning, wearied of repentance, + Wearied of self, I turn, my God, to Thee; +To Thee, my Judge, on Whose all-righteous sentence + Hangs mine eternity: +I turn to Thee, I plead Thyself with Thee,-- + Be pitiful to me. + +Wearied I loathe myself, I loathe my sinning, + My stains, my festering sores, my misery: +Thou the Beginning, Thou ere my beginning + Didst see and didst foresee +Me miserable, me sinful, ruined me,-- + I plead Thyself with Thee. + +I plead Thyself with Thee Who art my Maker, + Regard Thy handiwork that cries to Thee; +I plead Thyself with Thee Who wast partaker + Of mine infirmity, +Love made Thee what Thou art, the love of me,-- + I plead Thyself with Thee.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_183"><span class="pagenum">[183]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B183">UNTIL THE DAY BREAK.</a></h4> +<pre>When will the day bring its pleasure? + When will the night bring its rest? +Reaper and gleaner and thresher + Peer toward the east and the west:-- + The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best. + +Meteors flash forth and expire, + Northern lights kindle and pale; +These are the days of desire, + Of eyes looking upward that fail; + Vanishing days as a finishing tale. + +Bows down the crop in its glory + Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold; +The millet is ripened and hoary, + The wheat ears are ripened to gold:-- + Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold? + +<a name="II_184"><span class="pagenum">[184]</span></a>The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth + Who knoweth the first and the last: +The Sower Who patiently soweth, + He scanneth the present and past: + He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast." + +Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers + The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown: +On threshers and gleaners and reapers, + O Lord of the harvest, look down; + Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown! + +"Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers, + The Lord of the first and the last: +"O My toilers, My weary, My weepers, + What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast. + Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past."</pre> +<pre><a name="II_185"><span class="pagenum">[185]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B185">"OF HIM THAT WAS READY TO PERISH."</a></h4> +<pre>Lord, I am waiting, weeping, watching for Thee: + My youth and hope lie by me buried and dead, + My wandering love hath not where to lay its head + Except Thou say "Come to Me." + +My noon is ended, abolished from life and light, + My noon is ended, ended and done away, + My sun went down in the hours that still were day, + And my lingering day is night. + +How long, O Lord, how long in my desperate pain + Shall I weep and watch, shall I weep and long for Thee? + Is Thy grace ended, Thy love cut off from me? + How long shall I long in vain? + +O God Who before the beginning hast seen the end, + Who hast made me flesh and blood, not frost and not fire, + Who hast filled me full of needs and love and desire + And a heart that craves a friend, + +<a name="II_186"><span class="pagenum">[186]</span></a>Who hast said "Come to Me and I will give thee rest," + Who hast said "Take on thee My yoke and learn of Me," + Who calledst a little child to come to Thee + And pillowedst John on Thy breast; + +Who spak'st to women that followed Thee sorrowing, + Bidding them weep for themselves and weep for their own; + Who didst welcome the outlaw adoring Thee all alone, + And plight Thy word as a King,-- + +By Thy love of these and of all that ever shall be, + By Thy love of these and of all the born and unborn, + Turn Thy gracious eyes on me and think no scorn + Of me, not even of me. + +Beside Thy Cross I hang on my cross in shame, + My wounds, weakness, extremity cry to Thee: + Bid me also to Paradise, also me + For the glory of Thy Name.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_187"><span class="pagenum">[187]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B187">"BEHOLD THE MAN!"</a></h4> +<pre>Shall Christ hang on the Cross, and we not look? + Heaven, earth, and hell stood gazing at the first, + While Christ for long-cursed man was counted cursed; +Christ, God and Man, Whom God the Father strook +And shamed and sifted and one while forsook:-- + Cry shame upon our bodies we have nursed + In sweets, our souls in pride, our spirits immersed +In wilfulness, our steps run all acrook. +Cry shame upon us! for He bore our shame + In agony, and we look on at ease +With neither hearts on flame nor cheeks on flame: + What hast thou, what have I, to do with peace? +Not to send peace but send a sword He came, + And fire and fasts and tearful night-watches.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_188"><span class="pagenum">[188]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B188">THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS.</a></h4> +<pre>Is this the Face that thrills with awe + Seraphs who veil their face above? +Is this the Face without a flaw, + The Face that is the Face of Love? +Yea, this defaced, a lifeless clod, + Hath all creation's love sufficed, +Hath satisfied the love of God, + This Face the Face of Jesus Christ.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_189"><span class="pagenum">[189]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B189">"IT IS FINISHED."</a></h4> +<pre>Dear Lord, let me recount to Thee +Some of the great things thou hast done + For me, even me + Thy little one. + +It was not I that cared for Thee,-- +But Thou didst set Thy heart upon + Me, even me + Thy little one. + +And therefore was it sweet to Thee +To leave Thy Majesty and Throne, + And grow like me + A Little One, + +A swaddled Baby on the knee +Of a dear Mother of Thine own, + Quite weak like me + Thy little one.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_190"><span class="pagenum">[190]</span></a>Thou didst assume my misery, +And reap the harvest I had sown, + Comforting me + Thy little one. + +Jerusalem and Galilee,-- +Thy love embraced not those alone, + But also me + Thy little one. + +Thy unblemished Body on the Tree +Was bared and broken to atone + For me, for me + Thy little one. + +Thou lovedst me upon the Tree,-- +Still me, hid by the ponderous stone,-- + Me always,--me + Thy little one. + +And love of me arose with Thee +When death and hell lay overthrown: + Thou lovedst me + Thy little one. + +<a name="II_191"><span class="pagenum">[191]</span></a>And love of me went up with Thee +To sit upon Thy Father's Throne: + Thou lovest me + Thy little one. + +Lord, as Thou me, so would I Thee +Love in pure love's communion, + For Thou lov'st me + Thy little one: + +Which love of me brings back with Thee +To Judgment when the Trump is blown, + Still loving me + Thy little one.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_192"><span class="pagenum">[192]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B192">AN EASTER CAROL.</a></h4> +<pre> Spring bursts to-day, +For Christ is risen and all the earth's at play. + + Flash forth, thou Sun, +The rain is over and gone, its work is done. + + Winter is past, +Sweet Spring is come at last, is come at last. + + Bud, Fig and Vine, +Bud, Olive, fat with fruit and oil and wine. + + Break forth this morn +In roses, thou but yesterday a Thorn. + + Uplift thy head, +O pure white Lily through the Winter dead. + + Beside your dams +Leap and rejoice, you merry-making Lambs. + +<a name="II_193"><span class="pagenum">[193]</span></a> All Herds and Flocks +Rejoice, all Beasts of thickets and of rocks. + + Sing, Creatures, sing, +Angels and Men and Birds and everything. + + All notes of Doves +Fill all our world: this is the time of loves.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_194"><span class="pagenum">[194]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B194">"BEHOLD A SHAKING."</a></h4> +<h5 align="left">1.</h5> +<pre>Man rising to the doom that shall not err,-- + Which hath most dread: the arouse of all or each; + All kindreds of all nations of all speech, +Or one by one of <i>him</i> and <i>him</i> and <i>her</i>? +While dust reanimate begins to stir + Here, there, beyond, beyond, reach beyond reach; + While every wave refashions on the beach +Alive or dead-in-life some seafarer. +Now meeting doth not join or parting part; + True meeting and true parting wait till then, + When whoso meet are joined for evermore, +Face answering face and heart at rest in heart:-- + God bring us all rejoicing to the shore + Of happy Heaven, His sheep home to the pen.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_195"><span class="pagenum">[195]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">2.</h5> +<pre>Blessèd that flock safe penned in Paradise; + Blessèd this flock which tramps in weary ways; + All form one flock, God's flock; all yield Him praise +By joy or pain, still tending toward the prize. +Joy speaks in praises there, and sings and flies + Where no night is, exulting all its days; + Here, pain finds solace, for, behold, it prays; +In both love lives the life that never dies. +Here life is the beginning of our death, + And death the starting-point whence life ensues; + Surely our life is death, our death is life: + Nor need we lay to heart our peace or strife, +But calm in faith and patience breathe the breath + God gave, to take again when He shall choose.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_196"><span class="pagenum">[196]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B196">ALL SAINTS.</a></h4> +<pre>They are flocking from the East +And the West, +They are flocking from the North +And the South, +Every moment setting forth +From realm of snake or lion, +Swamp or sand, +Ice or burning; +Greatest and least, +Palm in hand +And praise in mouth, +They are flocking up the path +To their rest, +Up the path that hath +No returning. + +Up the steeps of Zion +They are mounting, +Coming, coming, +Throngs beyond man's counting; +<a name="II_197"><span class="pagenum">[197]</span></a>With a sound +Like innumerable bees +Swarming, humming +Where flowering trees +Many-tinted, +Many-scented, +All alike abound +With honey,-- +With a swell +Like a blast upswaying unrestrainable +From a shadowed dell +To the hill-tops sunny,-- +With a thunder +Like the ocean when in strength +Breadth and length +It sets to shore; +More and more +Waves on waves redoubled pour +Leaping flashing to the shore +(Unlike the under +Drain of ebb that loseth ground +For all its roar.) + +They are thronging +From the East and West, +From the North and South, +<a name="II_198"><span class="pagenum">[198]</span></a>Saints are thronging, loving, longing, +To their land +Of rest, +Palm in hand +And praise in mouth.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_199"><span class="pagenum">[199]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B199">"TAKE CARE OF HIM."</a></h4> +<pre>"Thou whom I love, for whom I died, + Lovest thou Me, My bride?"-- +Low on my knees I love Thee, Lord, + Believed in and adored. + +"That I love thee the proof is plain: + How dost thou love again?"-- +In prayer, in toil, in earthly loss, + In a long-carried cross. + +"Yea, thou dost love: yet one adept + Brings more for Me to accept."-- +I mould my will to match with Thine, + My wishes I resign. + +"Thou givest much: then give the whole + For solace of My soul."-- +More would I give, if I could get: + But, Lord, what lack I yet? + +<a name="II_200"><span class="pagenum">[200]</span></a>"In Me thou lovest Me: I call + Thee to love Me in all."-- +Brim full my heart, dear Lord, that so + My love may overflow. + +"Love Me in sinners and in saints, + In each who needs or faints."-- +Lord, I will love Thee as I can + In every brother man. + +"All sore, all crippled, all who ache, + Tend all for My dear sake."-- +All for Thy sake, Lord: I will see + In every sufferer, Thee. + +"So I at last, upon My Throne + Of glory, Judge alone, +So I at last will say to thee: + Thou diddest it to Me."</pre> +<pre><a name="II_201"><span class="pagenum">[201]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B201">A MARTYR.</a></h4> +<p class="figcenter"><span class="smcap">THE VIGIL OF THE FEAST.</span></p> +<pre>Inner not outer, without gnash of teeth + Or weeping, save quiet sobs of some who pray + And feel the Everlasting Arms beneath,-- +Blackness of darkness this, but not for aye; + Darkness that even in gathering fleeteth fast, + Blackness of blackest darkness close to day. +Lord Jesus, through Thy darkened pillar cast, + Thy gracious eyes all-seeing cast on me + Until this tyranny be overpast. +Me, Lord, remember who remember Thee, + And cleave to Thee, and see Thee without sight, + And choose Thee still in dire extremity, +And in this darkness worship Thee my Light, + And Thee my Life adore in shadow of death, + Thee loved by day, and still beloved by night. +It is the Voice of my Beloved that saith: + "I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, I go + Whither that soul knows well that followeth"-- + +<a name="II_202"><span class="pagenum">[202]</span></a>O Lord, I follow, little as I know; + At this eleventh hour I rise and take + My life into my hand, and follow so, +With tears and heart-misgivings and heart-ache; + Thy feeblest follower, yet Thy follower + Indomitable for Thine only sake. +To-night I gird my will afresh, and stir + My strength, and brace my heart to do and dare, + Marvelling: Will to-morrow wake the whirr +Of the great rending wheel, or from his lair + Startle the jubilant lion in his rage, + Or clench the headsman's hand within my hair, +Or kindle fire to speed my pilgrimage, + Chariot of fire and horses of sheer fire + Whirling me home to heaven by one fierce stage? +Thy Will I will, I Thy desire desire; + Let not the waters close above my head, + Uphold me that I sink not in this mire: +For flesh and blood are frail and sore afraid; + And young I am, unsatisfied and young, + With memories, hopes, with cravings all unfed, +My song half sung, its sweetest notes unsung, + All plans cut short, all possibilities, + Because my cord of life is soon unstrung. +Was I a careless woman set at ease + That this so bitter cup is brimmed for me? + +<a name="II_203"><span class="pagenum">[203]</span></a> Had mine own vintage settled on the lees? +A word, a puff of smoke, would set me free; + A word, a puff of smoke, over and gone:... + Howbeit, whom have I, Lord, in heaven but Thee? +Yea, only Thee my choice is fixed upon + In heaven or earth, eternity or time:-- + Lord, hold me fast, Lord, leave me not alone, +Thy silly heartless dove that sees the lime + Yet almost flutters to the tempting bough: + Cover me, hide me, pluck me from this crime. +A word, a puff of smoke, would save me now:... + But who, my God, would save me in the day + Of Thy fierce anger? only Saviour Thou. +Preoccupy my heart, and turn away + And cover up mine eyes from frantic fear, + And stop mine ears lest I be driven astray: +For one stands ever dinning in mine ear + How my gray Father withers in the blight + Of love for me, who cruel am and dear; +And how my Mother through this lingering night + Until the day, sits tearless in her woe, + Loathing for love of me the happy light +Which brings to pass a concourse and a show + To glut the hungry faces merciless, +The thousand faces swaying to and fro, + Feasting on me unveiled in helplessness + +<a name="II_204"><span class="pagenum">[204]</span></a> Alone,--yet not alone: Lord, stand by me + As once by lonely Paul in his distress. +As blossoms to the sun I turn to Thee; + Thy dove turns to her window, think no scorn; + As one dove to an ark on shoreless sea, +To Thee I turn mine eyes, my heart forlorn; + Put forth Thy scarred right Hand, kind Lord, take hold + Of me Thine all-forsaken dove who mourn: +For Thou hast loved me since the days of old, + And I love Thee Whom loving I will love + Through life's short fever-fits of heat and cold; +Thy Name will I extol and sing thereof, + Will flee for refuge to Thy Blessèd Name. + Lord, look upon me from thy bliss above: +Look down on me, who shrink from all the shame + And pangs and desolation of my death, + Wrenched piecemeal or devoured or set on flame, +While all the world around me holds its breath + With eyes glued on me for a gazing-stock, + Pitiless eyes, while no man pitieth. +The floods are risen, I stagger in their shock, + My heart reels and is faint, I fail, I faint: + My God, set Thou me up upon the rock, +Thou Who didst long ago Thyself acquaint + With death, our death; Thou Who didst long ago + +<a name="II_205"><span class="pagenum">[205]</span></a> Pour forth Thy soul for sinner and for saint. +Bear me in mind, whom no one else will know; + Thou Whom Thy friends forsook, take Thou my part, + Of all forsaken in mine overthrow; +Carry me in Thy bosom, in Thy heart, + Carry me out of darkness into light, + To-morrow make me see Thee as Thou art. +Lover and friend Thou hidest from my sight:-- + Alas, alas, mine earthly love, alas, + For whom I thought to don the garments white +And white wreath of a bride, this rugged pass + Hath utterly divorced me from thy care; + Yea, I am to thee as a shattered glass +Worthless, with no more beauty lodging there, + Abhorred, lest I involve thee in my doom: + For sweet are sunshine and this upper air, +And life and youth are sweet, and give us room + For all most sweetest sweetnesses we taste: + Dear, what hast thou in common with a tomb? +I bow my head in silence, I make haste + Alone, I make haste out into the dark, + My life and youth and hope all run to waste. +Is this my body cold and stiff and stark, + Ashes made ashes, earth becoming earth, + Is this a prize for man to make his mark? + +<a name="II_206"><span class="pagenum">[206]</span></a>Am I, that very I who laughed in mirth + A while ago, a little, little while, + Yet all the while a-dying since my birth? +Now am I tired, too tired to strive or smile; + I sit alone, my mouth is in the dust: + Look Thou upon me, Lord, for I am vile. +In Thee is all my hope, is all my trust, + On Thee I centre all my self that dies, + And self that dies not with its mortal crust, +But sleeps and wakes, and in the end will rise + With hymns and hallelujahs on its lips, + Thee loving with the love that satisfies. +As once in Thine unutterable eclipse + The sun and moon grew dark for sympathy, + And earth cowered quaking underneath the drips +Of Thy slow Blood priceless exceedingly, + So now a little spare me, and show forth + Some pity, O my God, some pity of me. +If trouble comes not from the south or north, + But meted to us by Thy tender hand, + Let me not in Thine eyes be nothing worth: +Behold me where in agony I stand, + Behold me no man caring for my soul, + And take me to Thee in the far-off land, +Shorten the race and lift me to the goal.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_207"><span class="pagenum">[207]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B207">WHY?</a></h4> +<pre>Lord, if I love Thee and Thou lovest me, + Why need I any more these toilsome days; + Why should I not run singing up Thy ways +Straight into heaven, to rest myself with Thee? +What need remains of death-pang yet to be, + If all my soul is quickened in Thy praise; + If all my heart loves Thee, what need the amaze, +Struggle and dimness of an agony?-- +Bride whom I love, if thou too lovest Me, + Thou needs must choose My Likeness for thy dower: + So wilt thou toil in patience, and abide + Hungering and thirsting for that blessed hour +When I My Likeness shall behold in thee, + And thou therein shalt waken satisfied.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_208"><span class="pagenum">[208]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B208">"LOVE IS STRONG AS DEATH."</a></h4> +<pre>"I have not sought Thee, I have not found Thee, + I have not thirsted for Thee: + And now cold billows of death surround me, + Buffeting billows of death astound me,-- + Wilt Thou look upon, wilt Thou see + Thy perishing me?" + +"Yea, I have sought thee, yea, I have found thee, + Yea, I have thirsted for thee, + Yea, long ago with love's bands I bound thee: + Now the Everlasting Arms surround thee,-- + Through death's darkness I look and see + And clasp thee to Me."</pre> +<pre><a name="II_209"><span class="pagenum">[209]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B209">BIRCHINGTON CHURCHYARD.</a></h4> +<pre>A lowly hill which overlooks a flat, + Half sea, half country side; + A flat-shored sea of low-voiced creeping tide +Over a chalky, weedy mat. + +A hill of hillocks, flowery and kept green + Round Crosses raised for hope, + With many-tinted sunsets where the slope +Faces the lingering western sheen. + +A lowly hope, a height that is but low, + While Time sets solemnly, + While the tide rises of Eternity, +Silent and neither swift nor slow.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_210"><span class="pagenum">[210]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B210">ONE SEA-SIDE GRAVE.</a></h4> +<pre>Unmindful of the roses, + Unmindful of the thorn, +A reaper tired reposes + Among his gathered corn: + So might I, till the morn! + +Cold as the cold Decembers, + Past as the days that set, +While only one remembers + And all the rest forget,-- + But one remembers yet.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_211"><span class="pagenum">[211]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B211">BROTHER BRUIN.</a></h4> +<pre>A dancing Bear grotesque and funny +Earned for his master heaps of money, +Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey, +And cheerful if the day was sunny. +Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood +He tramped, and on some common stood; +There, cottage children circling gaily, +He in their midmost footed daily. +Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle +Were quite enough his brain to puzzle: +But like a philosophic bear +He let alone extraneous care +And danced contented anywhere. + +Still, year on year, and wear and tear, +Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear. +A day came when he scarce could prance, +And when his master looked askance +On dancing Bear who would not dance. + +<a name="II_212"><span class="pagenum">[212]</span></a>To looks succeeded blows; hard blows +Battered his ears and poor old nose. +From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon; +He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon, +Capered in fury fast and faster. +Ah, could he once but hug his master +And perish in one joint disaster! +But deafness, blindness, weakness growing, +Not fury's self could keep him going. +One dark day when the snow was snowing +His cup was brimmed to overflowing: +He tottered, toppled on one side, +Growled once, and shook his head, and died. +The master kicked and struck in vain, +The weary drudge had distanced pain +And never now would wince again. +The master growled; he might have howled +Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled. +So gnawed by rancor and chagrin +One thing remained: he sold the skin. + +What next the man did is not worth +Your notice or my setting forth, +But hearken what befell at last. +His idle working days gone past, +<a name="II_213"><span class="pagenum">[213]</span></a>And not one friend and not one penny +Stored up (if ever he had any +Friends; but his coppers had been many), +All doors stood shut against him but +The workhouse door, which cannot shut. +There he droned on,--a grim old sinner, +Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner, +Unpitied quite, uncared for much +(The rate-payers not favoring such), +Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare; +Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear +Danced back, a haunting memory. +Indeed, I hope so, for you see +If once the hard old heart relented, +The hard old man may have repented.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_214"><span class="pagenum">[214]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B214">"A HELPMEET FOR HIM."</a></h4> +<pre>Woman was made for man's delight,-- + Charm, O woman! Be not afraid! +His shadow by day, his moon by night, + Woman was made. + +Her strength with weakness is overlaid; + Meek compliances veil her might; +Him she stays, by whom she is stayed. + +World-wide champion of truth and right, + Hope in gloom, and in danger aid, +Tender and faithful, ruddy and white, + Woman was made.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_215"><span class="pagenum">[215]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B215">A SONG OF FLIGHT.</a></h4> +<pre>While we slumber and sleep, +The sun leaps up from the deep,-- +Daylight born at the leap,-- +Rapid, dominant, free, +Athirst to bathe in the uttermost sea. + +While we linger at play-- +If the year would stand at May!-- +Winds are up and away, +Over land, over sea, +To their goal, wherever their goal may be. + +It is time to arise, +To race for the promised prize; +The sun flies, the wind flies, +We are strong, we are free, +And home lies beyond the stars and the sea.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_216"><span class="pagenum">[216]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B216">A WINTRY SONNET.</a></h4> +<pre>A robin said: The Spring will never come, + And I shall never care to build again. +A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome, + My sap will never stir for sun or rain. +The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow, + I neither care to wax nor care to wane. +The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago, + Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main. +When springtime came, red Robin built a nest, + And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight. + Gray hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might + Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core. +The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest, + Dimpled his blue,--yet thirsted evermore.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_217"><span class="pagenum">[217]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B217">RESURGAM.</a></h4> +<pre>From depth to height, from height to loftier height, + The climber sets his foot and sets his face, + Tracks lingering sunbeams to their halting-place, +And counts the last pulsations of the light. +Strenuous thro' day and unsurprised by night + He runs a race with Time, and wins the race, + Emptied and stripped of all save only Grace, +Will, Love,--a threefold panoply of might. +Darkness descends for light he toiled to seek; + He stumbles on the darkened mountain-head, + Left breathless in the unbreathable thin air, + Made freeman of the living and the dead,-- +He wots not he has topped the topmost peak, + But the returning sun will find him there.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_218"><span class="pagenum">[218]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B218">TO-DAY'S BURDEN.</a></h4> +<pre>"Arise, depart, for this is not your rest." + Oh, burden of all burdens,--still to arise + And still depart, nor rest in any wise! +Rolling, still rolling thus to east from west, +Earth journeys on her immemorial quest, + Whom a moon chases in no different guise. + Thus stars pursue their courses, and thus flies +The sun, and thus all creatures manifest +Unrest, the common heritage, the ban + Flung broadcast on all humankind,--on all + Who live; for living, all are bound to die. +That which is old, we know that it is man. + These have no rest who sit and dream and sigh, + Nor have those rest who wrestle and who fall.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_219"><span class="pagenum">[219]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B219">"THERE IS A BUDDING MORROW IN MIDNIGHT."</a></h4> +<pre>Wintry boughs against a wintry sky; + Yet the sky is partly blue + And the clouds are partly bright. +Who can tell but sap is mounting high + Out of sight, +Ready to burst through? + +Winter is the mother-nurse of Spring, + Lovely for her daughter's sake. + Not unlovely for her own; +For a future buds in everything + Grown or blown +Or about to break.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_220"><span class="pagenum">[220]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B220">EXULTATE DEO.</a></h4> +<pre>Many a flower hath perfume for its dower, + And many a bird a song, +And harmless lambs milkwhite beside their dams + Frolic along,-- +Perfume and song and whiteness offering praise + In humble, peaceful ways. + +Man's high degree hath will and memory, + Affection and desire; +By loftier ways he mounts of prayer and praise, + Fire unto fire, +Deep unto deep responsive, height to height, + Until he walk in white.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_221"><span class="pagenum">[221]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B221">A HOPE CAROL.</a></h4> +<pre>A night was near, a day was near; + Between a day and night +I heard sweet voices calling clear, + Calling me: +I heard a whirr of wing on wing, + But could not see the sight; +I long to see my birds that sing,-- + I long to see. + +Below the stars, beyond the moon, + Between the night and day, +I heard a rising falling tune + Calling me: +I long to see the pipes and strings + Whereon such minstrels play; +I long to see each face that sings,-- + I long to see.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_222"><span class="pagenum">[222]</span></a>To-day or may be not to-day, + To-night or not to-night; +All voices that command or pray, + Calling me, +Shall kindle in my soul such fire, + And in my eyes such light, +That I shall see that heart's desire + I long to see.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_223"><span class="pagenum">[223]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B223">CHRISTMAS CAROLS.</a></h4> +<h5 align="left">1.</h5> +<pre>Whoso hears a chiming for Christmas at the nighest, + Hears a sound like Angels chanting in their glee, +Hears a sound like palm-boughs waving in the highest, + Hears a sound like ripple of a crystal sea. + +Sweeter than a prayer-bell for a saint in dying, + Sweeter than a death-bell for a saint at rest, +Music struck in Heaven with earth's faint replying, + "Life is good, and death is good, for Christ is Best."</pre> +<h5 align="left">2.</h5> +<pre>A holy, heavenly chime +Rings fulness in of time, +And on His Mother's breast +Our Lord God ever-Blest +Is laid a Babe at rest. + +<a name="II_224"><span class="pagenum">[224]</span></a>Stoop, Spirits unused to stoop, +Swoop, Angels, flying swoop, +Adoring as you gaze, +Uplifting hymns of praise,-- +"Grace to the Full of Grace!" + +The cave is cold and strait +To hold the angelic state. +More strait it is, more cold, +To foster and infold +Its Maker one hour old. + +Thrilled through with awestruck love, +Meek Angels poised above, +To see their God look down. +"What, is there never a Crown +For Him in swaddled gown? + +"How comes He soft and weak +With such a tender cheek, +With such a soft, small hand?-- +The very Hand which spann'd +Heaven when its girth was plann'd. + +<a name="II_225"><span class="pagenum">[225]</span></a>"How comes He with a voice +Which is but baby-noise?-- +That Voice which spake with might: +'Let there be light!' and light +Sprang out before our sight. + +"What need hath He of flesh +Made flawless now afresh? +What need of human heart?-- +Heart that must bleed and smart, +Choosing the better part. + +"But see: His gracious smile +Dismisses us a while +To serve Him in His kin. +Haste we, make haste, begin +To fetch His brethren in." + +Like stars they flash and shoot, +The Shepherds they salute. +"Glory to God" they sing; +"Good news of peace we bring, +For Christ is born a King."</pre> +<pre><a name="II_226"><span class="pagenum">[226]</span></a></pre> +<h5 align="left">3.</h5> +<pre>Lo! newborn Jesus, + Soft and weak and small, +Wrapped in baby's bands +By His Mother's hands, + Lord God of all. + +Lord God of Mary, + Whom His Lips caress +While He rocks to rest +On her milky breast + In helplessness. + +Lord God of shepherds + Flocking through the cold, +Flocking through the dark +To the only Ark, + The only Fold. + +Lord God of all things, + Be they near or far, +Be they high or low; +Lord of storm and snow, + Angel and star. + +<a name="II_227"><span class="pagenum">[227]</span></a>Lord God of all men,-- + My Lord and my God! +Thou who lovest me, +Keep me close to Thee + By staff and rod. + +Lo! newborn Jesus, + Loving great and small, +Love's free Sacrifice, +Opening Arms and Eyes + To one and all.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_228"><span class="pagenum">[228]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B228">A CANDLEMAS DIALOGUE.</a></h4> +<pre>"Love brought Me down; and cannot love make thee +Carol for joy to Me? +Hear cheerful robin carol from his tree, +Who owes not half to Me +I won for thee." + +"Yea, Lord, I hear his carol's wordless voice; +And well may he rejoice +Who hath not heard of death's discordant noise. +So might I too rejoice +With such a voice." + +"True, thou hast compassed death; but hast not thou +The tree of life's own bough? +Am I not Life and Resurrection now? +My Cross balm-bearing bough +For such as thou?" + +<a name="II_229"><span class="pagenum">[229]</span></a>"Ah me, Thy Cross!--but that seems far away; +Thy Cradle-song to-day +I too would raise, and worship Thee and pray: +Not empty, Lord, to-day +Send me away." + +"If thou wilt not go empty, spend thy store; +And I will give thee more, +Yea, make thee ten times richer than before. +Give more and give yet more +Out of thy store." + +"Because Thou givest me Thyself, I will +Thy blessed word fulfil, +Give with both hands, and hoard by giving still; +Thy pleasure to fulfil, +And work Thy Will."</pre> +<pre><a name="II_230"><span class="pagenum">[230]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B230">MARY MAGDALENE AND THE OTHER MARY.</a></h4> +<h5 align="left">A SONG FOR ALL MARIES.</h5> +<pre>Our Master lies asleep and is at rest; + His Heart has ceased to bleed, His Eye to weep. +The sun ashamed has dropt down in the west; + Our Master lies asleep. + + Now we are they who weep, and trembling keep +Vigil, with wrung heart in a sighing breast, + While slow time creeps, and slow the shadows creep. + +Renew Thy youth, as eagle from the nest; + O Master, who hast sown, arise to reap: +No cock-crow yet, no flush on eastern crest; + Our Master lies asleep.</pre> +<pre><a name="II_231"><span class="pagenum">[231]</span></a></pre> +<pre> </pre> +<h4 align="left"><a href="#B231">PATIENCE OF HOPE.</a></h4> +<pre>The flowers that bloom in sun and shade + And glitter in the dew, + The flowers must fade. +The birds that build their nest and sing + When lovely spring is new, + Must soon take wing. + +The sun that rises in his strength + To wake and warm the world, + Must set at length. +The sea that overflows the shore + With billows frothed and curled, + Must ebb once more. + +All come and go, all wax and wane, + O Lord, save only Thou + Who dost remain +The Same to all eternity. + All things which fail us now + We trust to Thee. + +</pre> +<DIV class=poem> +<DIV class=stanza></DIV> +<DIV class=stanza></DIV> +</DIV> +<DIV class=poem> +<DIV class=stanza></DIV> +</DIV> +<DIV class=poem> +<DIV class=stanza></DIV> +</DIV> +<DIV class=poem> +<DIV class=stanza></DIV></DIV> +<DIV class=poem> +<DIV class=stanza></DIV> +</DIV> +<DIV class=poem> +<DIV class=stanza></DIV> +<DIV class=stanza></DIV> +<DIV class=stanza></DIV></DIV> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Christina G. 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Rossetti + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Christina G. Rossetti + +Release Date: September 5, 2006 [EBook #19188] +[Date last updated: September 11, 2006] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins, Jeffrey Johnson and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration] + +POEMS. + +BY + +CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. + +[Illustration: "Golden head by golden head"] + +BOSTON: +LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. +1906. + + * * * * * + + +AUTHOR'S EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED + +1876. + + +University Press: +John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. + + * * * * * + + +TO + +MY MOTHER, + +IN ALL REVERENCE AND LOVE, + +_I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK_. + + + * * * * * + + +THE AUTHOR TO HER AMERICAN READERS. + + +My little book seems scarcely to admit of prefatory words: either it +will speak for itself, or all my additions must fail to speak for it. + +Its reappearance, however, in an American edition, gives me a welcome +opportunity of acknowledging the courtesy and liberality of Messrs. +Roberts Brothers, who have arranged with me and with my kind friend and +publisher, Mr. Macmillan, to bring it before the American public. + + +CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. + +London. + + * * * * * + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +GOBLIN MARKET, ETC. + + Goblin Market + In the Round Tower at Jhansi, June 8, 1857 + Dream-land + At Home + From Sunset to Starrise + Love from the North + Winter Rain + A Dirge + Confluents + Noble Sisters + Spring + The Lambs of Grasmere, 1860 + A Birthday + Remember + After Death + An End + My Dream + Song + The Hour and the Ghost + A Summer Wish + An Apple Gathering + Song + Maude Clare + Echo + Winter: My Secret + Another Spring + A Peal of Bells + Fata Morgana + "No, thank you, John" + May + A Pause of Thought + Twilight Calm + Wife to Husband + Three Seasons + Mirage + Shut out + Sound Sleep + Song + Song + Dead before Death + Bitter for Sweet + "The Master is Come, and Calleth for Thee" + Rest + The First Spring Day + The Convent Threshold + Up-Hill + +DEVOTIONAL PIECES. + + "The Love of Christ which passeth Knowledge" + "A Bruised Reed shall he not Break" + A Better Resurrection + Advent + The Three Enemies + One Certainty + Christian and Jew + Sweet Death + Symbols + "Consider the Lilies of the Field" + The World + A Testimony + Sleep at Sea + From House to Home + Old and New Year Ditties + Amen + Mother Country + +THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS, ETC. + + The Prince's Progress + Maiden-Song + Jessie Cameron + Spring Quiet + The Poor Ghost + A Portrait + Dream-Love + Twice + Songs in a Cornfield + A Year's Windfalls + The Queen of Hearts + One Day + A Bird's-Eye View + "Thy Brother's Blood Crieth" + "To-day for Me" + On the Wing + Consider + Beauty is Vain + Maggie a Lady + What would I give + The Bourne + Summer + Autumn + The Ghost's Petition + Memory + A Royal Princess + Shall I Forget? + Vanity of Vanities + L. E. L. + Life and Death + Bird or Beast? + Eve + Grown and Flown + A Farm Walk + Somewhere or Other + A Chill + Child's Talk in April + Gone for Ever + Under the Rose + Song + By the Sea + Days of Vanity + Enrica, 1865 + Once for All + Autumn Violets + "They Desire a Better Country" + A Green Cornfield + A Bride Song + The Lowest Room + Dead Hope + A Daughter of Eve + Venus' Looking-Glass + Love lies Bleeding + Bird Raptures + My Friend + Twilight Night + A Bird Song + A Smile and a Sigh + +DEVOTIONAL PIECES. + + Amor Mundi + A Christmas Carol + By the Waters of Babylon + Paradise + "I will lift up mine Eyes unto the Hills" + Saints and Angels + "When my Heart is Vexed, I will Complain" + After Communion + A Rose Plant in Jericho + Who shall Deliver Me? + Despised and Rejected + Long Barren + If Only + Dost thou not Care? + Weary in Well-Doing + Martyrs' Song + After this the Judgment + Good Friday + The Lowest Place + +A PAGEANT AND OTHER POEMS. + + The Key-Note + The Months: A Pageant + Pastime + "Italia, io ti saluto!" + Mirrors of Life and Death + A Ballad of Boding + Yet a little while + He and She + Monna Innominata + "Luscious and Sorrowful" + De Profundis + Tempus fugit + Golden Glories + Johnny + "Hollow-sounding and Mysterious" + Maiden May + Till To-morrow + Death-Watches + Touching "Never" + Brandons both + A Life's Parallels + At Last + Golden Silences + In the Willow Shade + Fluttered Wings + A Fisher-Wife + What's in a Name? + Mariana + Memento Mori + "One Foot on Sea, and one on Shore" + Buds and Babies + Boy Johnny + Freaks of Fashion + An October Garden + "Summer is ended" + Passing and Glassing + "I will arise" + A Prodigal Son + Soeur Louise de la Misericorde + An "immurata" Sister + "If Thou sayest, Behold, we knew it not" + The Thread of Life + An Old-World Thicket + "All Thy Works praise Thee, O Lord" + Later Life + "For Thine own Sake, O my God" + Until the Day break + "Of Him that was ready to perish" + "Behold the Man!" + The Descent from the Cross + "It is finished" + An Easter Carol + "Behold a shaking" + All Saints + "Take care of him" + A Martyr + Why? + "Love is strong as Death" + Birchington Churchyard + One Sea-side Grave + Brother Bruin + "A Helpmeet for him" + A Song of Flight + A Wintry Sonnet + Resurgam + To-day's Burden + "There is a Budding Morrow in Midnight" + Exultate Deo + A Hope Carol + Christmas Carols + A Candlemas Dialogue + Mary Magdalene and the other Mary + Patience of Hope + + + + +[Illustration: "_Buy from us with a golden curl_"] + + + + + GOBLIN MARKET. + + + Morning and evening + Maids heard the goblins cry: + "Come buy our orchard fruits, + Come buy, come buy: + Apples and quinces, + Lemons and oranges, + Plump unpecked cherries, + Melons and raspberries, + Bloom-down-cheeked peaches, + Swart-headed mulberries, + Wild free-born cranberries, + Crab-apples, dewberries, + Pine-apples, blackberries, + Apricots, strawberries;-- + All ripe together + In summer weather,-- + Morns that pass by, + Fair eves that fly; + Come buy, come buy: + Our grapes fresh from the vine, + Pomegranates full and fine, + Dates and sharp bullaces, + Rare pears and greengages, + Damsons and bilberries, + Taste them and try: + Currants and gooseberries, + Bright-fire-like barberries, + Figs to fill your mouth, + Citrons from the South, + Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; + Come buy, come buy." + + Evening by evening + Among the brookside rushes, + Laura bowed her head to hear, + Lizzie veiled her blushes: + Crouching close together + In the cooling weather, + With clasping arms and cautioning lips, + With tingling cheeks and finger-tips. + "Lie close," Laura said, + Pricking up her golden head: + "We must not look at goblin men, + We must not buy their fruits: + Who knows upon what soil they fed + Their hungry thirsty roots?" + "Come buy," call the goblins + Hobbling down the glen. + "O," cried Lizzie, "Laura, Laura, + You should not peep at goblin men." + Lizzie covered up her eyes, + Covered close lest they should look; + Laura reared her glossy head, + And whispered like the restless brook: + "Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie, + Down the glen tramp little men. + One hauls a basket, + One bears a plate, + One lugs a golden dish + Of many pounds' weight. + How fair the vine must grow + Whose grapes are so luscious; + How warm the wind must blow + Through those fruit bushes." + "No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no; + Their offers should not charm us, + Their evil gifts would harm us." + She thrust a dimpled finger + In each ear, shut eyes and ran: + Curious Laura chose to linger + Wondering at each merchant man. + One had a cat's face, + One whisked a tail, + One tramped at a rat's pace, + One crawled like a snail, + One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry, + One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry. + She heard a voice like voice of doves + Cooing all together: + They sounded kind and full of loves + In the pleasant weather. + + Laura stretched her gleaming neck + Like a rush-imbedded swan, + Like a lily from the beck, + Like a moonlit poplar branch, + Like a vessel at the launch + When its last restraint is gone. + + Backwards up the mossy glen + Turned and trooped the goblin men, + With their shrill repeated cry, + "Come buy, come buy." + When they reached where Laura was + They stood stock still upon the moss, + Leering at each other, + Brother with queer brother; + Signalling each other, + Brother with sly brother. + One set his basket down, + One reared his plate; + One began to weave a crown + Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown + (Men sell not such in any town); + One heaved the golden weight + Of dish and fruit to offer her: + "Come buy, come buy," was still their cry. + Laura stared but did not stir, + Longed but had no money: + The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste + In tones as smooth as honey, + The cat-faced purr'd, + The rat-paced spoke a word + Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard; + One parrot-voiced and jolly + Cried "Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty Polly";-- + One whistled like a bird. + + But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: + "Good folk, I have no coin; + To take were to purloin: + I have no copper in my purse, + I have no silver either, + And all my gold is on the furze + That shakes in windy weather + Above the rusty heather." + "You have much gold upon your head," + They answered altogether: + "Buy from us with a golden curl." + She clipped a precious golden lock, + She dropped a tear more rare than pearl, + Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: + Sweeter than honey from the rock, + Stronger than man-rejoicing wine, + Clearer than water flowed that juice; + She never tasted such before, + How should it cloy with length of use? + She sucked and sucked and sucked the more + Fruits which that unknown orchard bore; + She sucked until her lips were sore; + Then flung the emptied rinds away, + But gathered up one kernel stone, + And knew not was it night or day + As she turned home alone. + + Lizzie met her at the gate + Full of wise upbraidings: + "Dear, you should not stay so late, + Twilight is not good for maidens; + Should not loiter in the glen + In the haunts of goblin men. + Do you not remember Jeanie, + How she met them in the moonlight, + Took their gifts both choice and many, + Ate their fruits and wore their flowers + Plucked from bowers + Where summer ripens at all hours? + But ever in the noonlight + She pined and pined away; + Sought them by night and day, + Found them no more, but dwindled and grew gray, + Then fell with the first snow, + While to this day no grass will grow + Where she lies low: + I planted daisies there a year ago + That never blow. + You should not loiter so." + "Nay, hush," said Laura: + "Nay, hush, my sister: + I ate and ate my fill, + Yet my mouth waters still; + To-morrow night I will + Buy more,"--and kissed her. + "Have done with sorrow; + I'll bring you plums to-morrow + Fresh on their mother twigs, + Cherries worth getting; + You cannot think what figs + My teeth have met in, + What melons icy-cold + Piled on a dish of gold + Too huge for me to hold, + What peaches with a velvet nap, + Pellucid grapes without one seed: + Odorous indeed must be the mead + Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink, + With lilies at the brink, + And sugar-sweet their sap." + + Golden head by golden head, + Like two pigeons in one nest + Folded in each other's wings, + They lay down in their curtained bed: + Like two blossoms on one stem, + Like two flakes of new-fallen snow, + Like two wands of ivory + Tipped with gold for awful kings. + Moon and stars gazed in at them, + Wind sang to them lullaby, + Lumbering owls forbore to fly, + Not a bat flapped to and fro + Round their rest: + Cheek to cheek and breast to breast + Locked together in one nest. + + Early in the morning + When the first cock crowed his warning, + Neat like bees, as sweet and busy, + Laura rose with Lizzie: + Fetched in honey, milked the cows, + Aired and set to rights the house, + Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat, + Cakes for dainty mouths to eat, + Next churned butter, whipped up cream, + Fed their poultry, sat and sewed; + Talked as modest maidens should: + Lizzie with an open heart, + Laura in an absent dream, + One content, one sick in part; + One warbling for the mere bright day's delight, + One longing for the night. + + At length slow evening came: + They went with pitchers to the reedy brook; + Lizzie most placid in her look, + Laura most like a leaping flame. + They drew the gurgling water from its deep; + Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags, + Then turning homeward said: "The sunset flushes + Those furthest loftiest crags; + Come, Laura, not another maiden lags, + No wilful squirrel wags, + The beasts and birds are fast asleep." + But Laura loitered still among the rushes + And said the bank was steep. + + And said the hour was early still, + The dew not fallen, the wind not chill: + Listening ever, but not catching + The customary cry, + "Come buy, come buy," + With its iterated jingle + Of sugar-baited words: + Not for all her watching + Once discerning even one goblin + Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling; + Let alone the herds + That used to tramp along the glen, + In groups or single, + Of brisk fruit-merchant men. + + Till Lizzie urged: "O Laura, come; + I hear the fruit-call, but I dare not look: + You should not loiter longer at this brook: + Come with me home. + The stars rise, the moon bends her arc, + Each glow-worm winks her spark, + Let us get home before the night grows dark; + For clouds may gather + Though this is summer weather, + Put out the lights and drench us through; + Then if we lost our way what should we do?" + + Laura turned cold as stone + To find her sister heard that cry alone, + That goblin cry, + "Come buy our fruits, come buy." + Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit? + Must she no more such succous pasture find, + Gone deaf and blind? + Her tree of life drooped from the root: + She said not one word in her heart's sore ache; + But peering thro' the dimness, naught discerning, + Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way; + So crept to bed, and lay + Silent till Lizzie slept; + Then sat up in a passionate yearning, + And gnashed her teeth for balked desire, and wept + As if her heart would break. + + Day after day, night after night, + Laura kept watch in vain, + In sullen silence of exceeding pain. + She never caught again the goblin cry: + "Come buy, come buy";-- + She never spied the goblin men + Hawking their fruits along the glen: + But when the noon waxed bright + Her hair grew thin and gray; + She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn + To swift decay, and burn + Her fire away. + + One day remembering her kernel-stone + She set it by a wall that faced the south; + Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root, + Watched for a waxing shoot, + But there came none; + It never saw the sun, + It never felt the trickling moisture run: + While with sunk eyes and faded mouth + She dreamed of melons, as a traveller sees + False waves in desert drouth + With shade of leaf-crowned trees, + And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. + + She no more swept the house, + Tended the fowls or cows, + Fetched honey, kneaded cakes of wheat, + Brought water from the brook: + But sat down listless in the chimney-nook + And would not eat. + + Tender Lizzie could not bear + To watch her sister's cankerous care, + Yet not to share. + She night and morning + Caught the goblins' cry: + "Come buy our orchard fruits, + Come buy, come buy." + Beside the brook, along the glen, + She heard the tramp of goblin men, + The voice and stir + Poor Laura could not hear; + Longed to buy fruit to comfort her, + But feared to pay too dear. + She thought of Jeanie in her grave, + Who should have been a bride; + But who for joys brides hope to have + Fell sick and died + In her gay prime, + In earliest winter-time, + With the first glazing rime, + With the first snow-fall of crisp winter-time. + + Till Laura, dwindling, + Seemed knocking at Death's door: + Then Lizzie weighed no more + Better and worse, + But put a silver penny in her purse, + Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze + At twilight, halted by the brook; + And for the first time in her life + Began to listen and look. + + Laughed every goblin + When they spied her peeping: + Came towards her hobbling, + Flying, running, leaping, + Puffing and blowing, + Chuckling, clapping, crowing, + Clucking and gobbling, + Mopping and mowing, + Full of airs and graces, + Pulling wry faces, + Demure grimaces, + Cat-like and rat-like, + Ratel and wombat-like, + Snail-paced in a hurry, + Parrot-voiced and whistler, + Helter-skelter, hurry-skurry, + Chattering like magpies, + Fluttering like pigeons, + Gliding like fishes,-- + Hugged her and kissed her; + Squeezed and caressed her; + Stretched up their dishes, + Panniers and plates: + "Look at our apples + Russet and dun, + Bob at our cherries, + Bite at our peaches, + Citrons and dates, + Grapes for the asking, + Pears red with basking + Out in the sun, + Plums on their twigs; + Pluck them and suck them, + Pomegranates, figs." + + "Good folk," said Lizzie, + Mindful of Jeanie, + "Give me much and many";-- + Held out her apron, + Tossed them her penny. + "Nay, take a seat with us, + Honor and eat with us," + They answered grinning: + "Our feast is but beginning. + Night yet is early, + Warm and dew-pearly, + Wakeful and starry: + Such fruits as these + No man can carry; + Half their bloom would fly, + Half their dew would dry, + Half their flavor would pass by. + Sit down and feast with us, + Be welcome guest with us, + Cheer you and rest with us." + "Thank you," said Lizzie; "but one waits + At home alone for me: + So, without further parleying, + If you will not sell me any + Of your fruits though much and many, + Give me back my silver penny + I tossed you for a fee." + They began to scratch their pates, + No longer wagging, purring, + But visibly demurring, + Grunting and snarling. + One called her proud, + Cross-grained, uncivil; + Their tones waxed loud, + Their looks were evil. + Lashing their tails + They trod and hustled her, + Elbowed and jostled her, + Clawed with their nails, + Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, + Tore her gown and soiled her stocking, + Twitched her hair out by the roots, + Stamped upon her tender feet, + Held her hands and squeezed their fruits + Against her mouth to make her eat. + + White and golden Lizzie stood, + Like a lily in a flood,-- + Like a rock of blue-veined stone + Lashed by tides obstreperously,-- + Like a beacon left alone + In a hoary roaring sea, + Sending up a golden fire,-- + Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree + White with blossoms honey-sweet + Sore beset by wasp and bee,-- + Like a royal virgin town + Topped with gilded dome and spire + Close beleaguered by a fleet + Mad to tug her standard down. + + One may lead a horse to water, + Twenty cannot make him drink. + Though the goblins cuffed and caught her, + Coaxed and fought her, + Bullied and besought her, + Scratched her, pinched her black as ink, + Kicked and knocked her, + Mauled and mocked her, + Lizzie uttered not a word; + Would not open lip from lip + Lest they should cram a mouthful in; + But laughed in heart to feel the drip + Of juice that syrupped all her face, + And lodged in dimples of her chin, + And streaked her neck which quaked like curd. + At last the evil people, + Worn out by her resistance, + Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit + Along whichever road they took, + Not leaving root or stone or shoot. + Some writhed into the ground, + Some dived into the brook + With ring and ripple, + Some scudded on the gale without a sound, + Some vanished in the distance. + + In a smart, ache, tingle, + Lizzie went her way; + Knew not was it night or day; + Sprang up the bank, tore through the furze, + Threaded copse and dingle, + And heard her penny jingle + Bouncing in her purse,-- + Its bounce was music to her ear. + She ran and ran + As if she feared some goblin man + Dogged her with gibe or curse + Or something worse: + But not one goblin skurried after, + Nor was she pricked by fear; + The kind heart made her windy-paced + That urged her home quite out of breath with haste + And inward laughter. + + She cried "Laura," up the garden, + "Did you miss me? + Come and kiss me. + Never mind my bruises, + Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices + Squeezed from goblin fruits for you, + Goblin pulp and goblin dew. + Eat me, drink me, love me; + Laura, make much of me: + For your sake I have braved the glen + And had to do with goblin merchant men." + + Laura started from her chair, + Flung her arms up in the air, + Clutched her hair: + "Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted + For my sake the fruit forbidden? + Must your light like mine be hidden, + Your young life like mine be wasted, + Undone in mine undoing + And ruined in my ruin, + Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden?" + She clung about her sister, + Kissed and kissed and kissed her: + Tears once again + Refreshed her shrunken eyes, + Dropping like rain + After long sultry drouth; + Shaking with aguish fear, and pain, + She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. + + Her lips began to scorch, + That juice was wormwood to her tongue, + She loathed the feast: + Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung, + Rent all her robe, and wrung + Her hands in lamentable haste, + And beat her breast. + Her locks streamed like the torch + Borne by a racer at full speed, + Or like the mane of horses in their flight, + Or like an eagle when she stems the light + Straight toward the sun, + Or like a caged thing freed, + Or like a flying flag when armies run. + + Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart, + Met the fire smouldering there + And overbore its lesser flame; + She gorged on bitterness without a name: + Ah! fool, to choose such part + Of soul-consuming care! + Sense failed in the mortal strife: + Like the watch-tower of a town + Which an earthquake shatters down, + Like a lightning-stricken mast, + Like a wind-uprooted tree + Spun about, + Like a foam-topped water-spout + Cast down headlong in the sea, + She fell at last; + Pleasure past and anguish past, + Is it death or is it life? + + Life out of death. + That night long Lizzie watched by her, + Counted her pulse's flagging stir, + Felt for her breath, + Held water to her lips, and cooled her face + With tears and fanning leaves: + But when the first birds chirped about their eaves, + And early reapers plodded to the place + Of golden sheaves, + And dew-wet grass + Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass, + And new buds with new day + Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream, + Laura awoke as from a dream, + Laughed in the innocent old way, + Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice; + Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of gray, + Her breath was sweet as May, + And light danced in her eyes. + + Days, weeks, months, years + Afterwards, when both were wives + With children of their own; + Their mother-hearts beset with fears, + Their lives bound up in tender lives; + Laura would call the little ones + And tell them of her early prime, + Those pleasant days long gone + Of not-returning time: + Would talk about the haunted glen, + The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men, + Their fruits like honey to the throat, + But poison in the blood; + (Men sell not such in any town;) + Would tell them how her sister stood + In deadly peril to do her good, + And win the fiery antidote: + Then joining hands to little hands + Would bid them cling together, + "For there is no friend like a sister, + In calm or stormy weather, + To cheer one on the tedious way, + To fetch one if one goes astray, + To lift one if one totters down, + To strengthen whilst one stands." + + + + IN THE ROUND TOWER AT JHANSI, + + June 8, 1857. + + + A hundred, a thousand to one; even so; + Not a hope in the world remained: + The swarming, howling wretches below + Gained and gained and gained. + + Skene looked at his pale young wife:-- + "Is the time come?"--"The time is come!"-- + Young, strong, and so full of life: + The agony struck them dumb. + + Close his arm about her now, + Close her cheek to his, + Close the pistol to her brow-- + God forgive them this! + + "Will it hurt much?"--"No, mine own: + I wish I could bear the pang for both." + "I wish I could bear the pang alone: + Courage, dear, I am not loth." + + Kiss and kiss: "It is not pain + Thus to kiss and die. + One kiss more."--"And yet one again."-- + "Good by."--"Good by." + + +Note.--I retain this little poem, not as historically accurate, but as +written and published before I heard the supposed facts of its first +verse contradicted. + + + + DREAM-LAND. + + + Where sunless rivers weep + Their waves into the deep, + She sleeps a charmed sleep: + Awake her not. + Led by a single star, + She came from very far + To seek where shadows are + Her pleasant lot. + + She left the rosy morn, + She left the fields of corn, + For twilight cold and lorn + And water springs. + Through sleep, as through a veil, + She sees the sky look pale, + And hears the nightingale + That sadly sings. + + Rest, rest, a perfect rest + Shed over brow and breast; + Her face is toward the west, + The purple land. + She cannot see the grain + Ripening on hill and plain; + She cannot feel the rain + Upon her hand. + + Rest, rest, forevermore + Upon a mossy shore; + Rest, rest at the heart's core + Till time shall cease: + Sleep that no pain shall wake, + Night that no morn shall break, + Till joy shall overtake + Her perfect peace. + + + + AT HOME. + + + When I was dead, my spirit turned + To seek the much-frequented house + I passed the door, and saw my friends + Feasting beneath green orange-boughs; + From hand to hand they pushed the wine, + They sucked the pulp of plum and peach; + They sang, they jested, and they laughed, + For each was loved of each. + + I listened to their honest chat: + Said one: "To-morrow we shall be + Plod plod along the featureless sands, + And coasting miles and miles of sea." + Said one: "Before the turn of tide + We will achieve the eyrie-seat." + Said one: "To-morrow shall be like + To-day, but much more sweet." + + "To-morrow," said they, strong with hope, + And dwelt upon the pleasant way: + "To-morrow," cried they, one and all, + While no one spoke of yesterday. + Their life stood full at blessed noon; + I, only I, had passed away: + "To-morrow and to-day," they cried; + I was of yesterday. + + I shivered comfortless, but cast + No chill across the table-cloth; + I, all-forgotten, shivered, sad + To stay, and yet to part how loth: + I passed from the familiar room, + I who from love had passed away, + Like the remembrance of a guest + That tarrieth but a day. + + + + FROM SUNSET TO STAR RISE. + + + Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not: + I am no summer friend, but wintry cold, + A silly sheep benighted from the fold, + A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. + Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot, + Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold; + Lest you with me should shiver on the wold, + Athirst and hungering on a barren spot. + + For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge, + I live alone, I look to die alone: + Yet sometimes when a wind sighs through the sedge, + Ghosts of my buried years and friends come back, + My heart goes sighing after swallows flown + On sometime summer's unreturning track. + + + + LOVE FROM THE NORTH. + + + I had a love in soft south land, + Beloved through April far in May; + He waited on my lightest breath, + And never dared to say me nay. + + He saddened if my cheer was sad, + But gay he grew if I was gay; + We never differed on a hair, + My yes his yes, my nay his nay. + + The wedding hour was come, the aisles + Were flushed with sun and flowers that day; + I pacing balanced in my thoughts,-- + "It's quite too late to think of nay."-- + + My bridegroom answered in his turn, + Myself had almost answered "yea": + When through the flashing nave I heard. + A struggle and resounding "nay." + + Bridemaids and bridegroom shrank in fear, + But I stood high who stood at bay: + "And if I answer yea, fair Sir, + What man art thou to bar with nay?" + + He was a strong man from the north, + Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous gray: + "Put yea by for another time + In which I will not say thee nay." + + He took me in his strong white arms, + He bore me on his horse away + O'er crag, morass, and hair-breadth pass, + But never asked me yea or nay. + + He made me fast with book and bell, + With links of love he makes me stay; + Till now I've neither heart nor power + Nor will nor wish to say him nay. + + + + WINTER RAIN. + + + Every valley drinks, + Every dell and hollow: + Where the kind rain sinks and sinks, + Green of Spring will follow. + + Yet a lapse of weeks + Buds will burst their edges, + Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks, + In the woods and hedges; + + Weave a bower of love + For birds to meet each other, + Weave a canopy above + Nest and egg and mother. + + But for fattening rain + We should have no flowers, + Never a bud or leaf again + But for soaking showers; + + Never a mated bird + In the rocking tree-tops, + Never indeed a flock or herd + To graze upon the lea-crops. + + Lambs so woolly white, + Sheep the sun-bright leas on, + They could have no grass to bite + But for rain in season. + + We should find no moss + In the shadiest places, + Find no waving meadow-grass + Pied with broad-eyed daisies; + + But miles of barren sand, + With never a son or daughter, + Not a lily on the land, + Or lily on the water. + + + + A DIRGE. + + + Why were you born when the snow was falling? + You should have come to the cuckoo's calling, + Or when grapes are green in the cluster, + Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster + For their far off flying + From summer dying. + + Why did you die when the lambs were cropping? + You should have died at the apples' dropping, + When the grasshopper comes to trouble, + And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble, + And all winds go sighing + For sweet things dying. + + + + CONFLUENTS + + + As rivers seek the sea, + Much more deep than they, + So my soul seeks thee + Far away: + As running rivers moan + On their course alone + So I moan + Left alone. + + As the delicate rose + To the sun's sweet strength + Doth herself unclose, + Breadth and length: + So spreads my heart to thee + Unveiled utterly, + I to thee + Utterly. + + As morning dew exhales + Sunwards pure and free, + So my spirit fails + After thee: + As dew leaves not a trace + On the green earth's face; + I, no trace + On thy face. + + Its goal the river knows, + Dewdrops find a way, + Sunlight cheers the rose + In her day: + Shall I, lone sorrow past, + Find thee at the last? + Sorrow past, + Thee at last? + + + + NOBLE SISTERS. + + + "Now did you mark a falcon, + Sister dear, sister dear, + Flying toward my window + In the morning cool and clear? + With jingling bells about her neck, + But what beneath her wing? + It may have been a ribbon, + Or it may have been a ring."-- + "I marked a falcon swooping + At the break of day: + And for your love, my sister dove, + I 'frayed the thief away."-- + + "Or did you spy a ruddy hound, + Sister fair and tall, + Went snuffing round my garden bound, + Or crouched by my bower wall? + With a silken leash about his neck; + But in his mouth may be + A chain of gold and silver links, + Or a letter writ to me."-- + "I heard a hound, high-born sister, + Stood baying at the moon: + I rose and drove him from your wall + Lest you should wake too soon."-- + + "Or did you meet a pretty page + Sat swinging on the gate; + Sat whistling, whistling like a bird, + Or may be slept too late: + With eaglets broidered on his cap, + And eaglets on his glove? + If you had turned his pockets out, + You had found some pledge of love."-- + "I met him at this daybreak, + Scarce the east was red: + Lest the creaking gate should anger you, + I packed him home to bed."-- + + "O patience, sister. Did you see + A young man tall and strong, + Swift-footed to uphold the right + And to uproot the wrong, + Come home across the desolate sea + To woo me for his wife? + And in his heart my heart is locked, + And in his life my life."-- + "I met a nameless man, sister, + Who loitered round our door: + I said: Her husband loves her much. + And yet she loves him more."-- + + "Fie, sister, fie, a wicked lie, + A lie, a wicked lie; + I have none other love but him, + Nor will have till I die. + And you have turned him from our door, + And stabbed him with a lie: + I will go seek him thro' the world + In sorrow till I die."-- + "Go seek in sorrow, sister, + And find in sorrow too: + If thus you shame our father's name + My curse go forth with you." + + + + SPRING. + + + Frost-locked all the winter, + Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, + What shall make their sap ascend + That they may put forth shoots? + Tips of tender green, + Leaf, or blade, or sheath; + Telling of the hidden life + That breaks forth underneath, + Life nursed in its grave by Death. + + Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly, + Drips the soaking rain, + By fits looks down the waking sun: + Young grass springs on the plain; + Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees; + Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, + Swollen with sap, put forth their shoots; + Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane; + Birds sing and pair again. + + There is no time like Spring, + When life's alive in everything, + Before new nestlings sing, + Before cleft swallows speed their journey back + Along the trackless track,-- + God guides their wing, + He spreads their table that they nothing lack,-- + Before the daisy grows a common flower, + Before the sun has power + To scorch the world up in his noontide hour. + + There is no time like Spring, + Like Spring that passes by; + There is no life like Spring-life born to die,-- + Piercing the sod, + Clothing the uncouth clod, + Hatched in the nest, + Fledged on the windy bough, + Strong on the wing: + There is no time like Spring that passes by, + Now newly born, and now + Hastening to die. + + + + THE LAMBS OF GRASMERE, 1860. + + + The upland flocks grew starved and thinned: + Their shepherds scarce could feed the lambs + Whose milkless mothers butted them, + Or who were orphaned of their dams. + The lambs athirst for mother's milk + Filled all the place with piteous sounds: + Their mothers' bones made white for miles + The pastureless wet pasture grounds. + + Day after day, night after night, + From lamb to lamb the shepherds went, + With teapots for the bleating mouths + Instead of nature's nourishment. + The little shivering gaping things + Soon knew the step that brought them aid, + And fondled the protecting hand, + And rubbed it with a woolly head. + + Then, as the days waxed on to weeks, + It was a pretty sight to see + These lambs with frisky heads and tails + Skipping and leaping on the lea, + Bleating in tender, trustful tones, + Resting on rocky crag or mound, + And following the beloved feet + That once had sought for them and found. + + These very shepherds of their flocks, + These loving lambs so meek to please, + Are worthy of recording words + And honor in their due degrees: + So I might live a hundred years, + And roam from strand to foreign strand, + Yet not forget this flooded spring + And scarce-saved lambs of Westmoreland. + + + + A BIRTHDAY. + + + My heart is like a singing bird + Whose nest is in a watered shoot; + My heart is like an apple-tree + Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; + My heart is like a rainbow shell + That paddles in a halcyon sea; + My heart is gladder than all these + Because my love is come to me. + + Raise me a dais of silk and down; + Hang it with vair and purple dyes; + Carve it in doves and pomegranates, + And peacocks with a hundred eyes; + Work it in gold and silver grapes, + In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; + Because the birthday of my life + Is come, my love is come to me. + + + + REMEMBER. + + SONNET. + + + Remember me when I am gone away, + Gone far away into the silent land; + When you can no more hold me by the hand, + Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. + Remember me when no more, day by day, + You tell me of our future that you planned: + Only remember me; you understand + It will be late to counsel then or pray. + Yet if you should forget me for a while + And afterwards remember, do not grieve: + For if the darkness and corruption leave + A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, + Better by far you should forget and smile + Than that you should remember and be sad. + + + + AFTER DEATH. + + SONNET. + + + The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept + And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may + Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, + Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. + He leaned above me, thinking that I slept + And could not hear him; but I heard him say: + "Poor child, poor child": and as he turned away + Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. + He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold + That hid my face, or take my hand in his, + Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: + He did not love me living; but once dead + He pitied me; and very sweet it is + To know he still is warm though I am cold. + + + + AN END. + + + Love, strong as Death, is dead. + Come, let us make his bed + Among the dying flowers: + A green turf at his head; + And a stone at his feet, + Whereon we may sit + In the quiet evening hours. + + He was born in the Spring, + And died before the harvesting: + On the last warm summer day + He left us; he would not stay + For autumn twilight, cold and gray. + Sit we by his grave, and sing + He is gone away. + + To few chords and sad and low + Sing we so: + Be our eyes fixed on the grass + Shadow-veiled as the years pass, + While we think of all that was + In the long ago. + + + + MY DREAM. + + + Hear now a curious dream I dreamed last night, + Each word whereof is weighed and sifted truth. + + I stood beside Euphrates while it swelled + Like overflowing Jordan in its youth: + It waxed and colored sensibly to sight, + Till out of myriad pregnant waves there welled + Young crocodiles, a gaunt blunt-featured crew, + Fresh-hatched perhaps and daubed with birthday dew. + The rest if I should tell, I fear my friend, + My closest friend, would deem the facts untrue; + And therefore it were wisely left untold; + Yet if you will, why, hear it to the end. + + Each crocodile was girt with massive gold + And polished stones, that with their wearers grew: + But one there was who waxed beyond the rest, + Wore kinglier girdle and a kingly crown, + Whilst crowns and orbs and sceptres starred his breast. + All gleamed compact and green with scale on scale, + But special burnishment adorned his mail, + And special terror weighed upon his frown; + His punier brethren quaked before his tail, + Broad as a rafter, potent as a flail. + So he grew lord and master of his kin: + But who shall tell the tale of all their woes? + An execrable appetite arose, + He battened on them, crunched, and sucked them in. + He knew no law, he feared no binding law, + But ground them with inexorable jaw: + The luscious fat distilled upon his chin, + Exuded from his nostrils and his eyes, + While still like hungry death he fed his maw; + Till every minor crocodile being dead + And buried too, himself gorged to the full, + He slept with breath oppressed and unstrung claw. + O marvel passing strange which next I saw: + In sleep he dwindled to the common size, + And all the empire faded from his coat. + Then from far off a winged vessel came, + Swift as a swallow, subtle as a flame: + I know not what it bore of freight or host, + But white it was as an avenging ghost. + It levelled strong Euphrates in its course; + Supreme yet weightless as an idle mote + It seemed to tame the waters without force + Till not a murmur swelled or billow beat: + Lo, as the purple shadow swept the sands, + The prudent crocodile rose on his feet + And shed appropriate tears and wrung his hands. + + What can it mean? you ask. I answer not + For meaning, but myself must echo, What? + And tell it as I saw it on the spot. + + + + SONG. + + + O roses for the flush of youth, + And laurel for the perfect prime; + But pluck an ivy branch for me + Grown old before my time. + + O violets for the grave of youth, + And bay for those dead in their prime; + Give me the withered leaves I chose + Before in the old time. + + + + THE HOUR AND THE GHOST. + + + BRIDE. + + O love, love, hold me fast,-- + He draws me away from thee; + I cannot stem the blast, + Nor the cold strong sea: + Far away a light shines + Beyond the hills and pines; + It is lit for me. + + BRIDEGROOM. + + I have thee close, my dear, + No terror can come near; + Only far off the northern light shines clear. + + GHOST. + + Come with me, fair and false, + To our home, come home. + It is my voice that calls: + Once thou wast not afraid + When I wooed, and said, + "Come, our nest is newly made,"-- + Now cross the tossing foam. + + BRIDE. + + Hold me one moment longer, + He taunts me with the past, + His clutch is waxing stronger, + Hold me fast, hold me fast. + He draws me from thy heart, + And I cannot withhold: + He bids my spirit depart + With him into the cold:-- + O bitter vows of old! + + BRIDEGROOM. + + Lean on me, hide thine eyes: + Only ourselves, earth and skies, + Are present here: be wise. + + GHOST. + + Lean on me, come away, + I will guide and steady: + Come, for I will not stay: + Come, for house and bed are ready. + Ah, sure bed and house, + For better and worse, for life and death: + Goal won with shortened breath: + Come, crown our vows. + + BRIDE. + + One moment, one more word, + While my heart beats still, + While my breath is stirred + By my fainting will. + O friend forsake me not, + Forget not as I forgot: + But keep thy heart for me, + Keep thy faith true and bright; + Through the lone cold winter night + Perhaps I may come to thee. + + BRIDEGROOM. + + Nay, peace, my darling, peace: + Let these dreams and terrors cease: + Who spoke of death or change or aught but ease? + + GHOST. + + O fair frail sin, + O poor harvest gathered in! + Thou shalt visit him again + To watch his heart grow cold; + To know the gnawing pain + I knew of old; + To see one much more fair + Fill up the vacant chair, + Fill his heart, his children bear:-- + While thou and I together + In the outcast weather + Toss and howl and spin. + + + + A SUMMER WISH. + + + Live all thy sweet life through + Sweet Rose, dew-sprent, + Drop down thine evening dew + To gather it anew + When day is bright: + I fancy thou wast meant + Chiefly to give delight. + + Sing in the silent sky, + Glad soaring bird; + Sing out thy notes on high + To sunbeam straying by + Or passing cloud; + Heedless if thou art heard + Sing thy full song aloud. + + O that it were with me + As with the flower; + Blooming on its own tree + For butterfly and bee + Its summer morns: + That I might bloom mine hour + A rose in spite of thorns. + + O that my work were done + As birds' that soar + Rejoicing in the sun: + That when my time is run + And daylight too, + I so might rest once more + Cool with refreshing dew. + + + + AN APPLE GATHERING. + + + I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple-tree, + And wore them all that evening in my hair: + Then in due season when I went to see + I found no apples there. + + With dangling basket all along the grass + As I had come I went the selfsame track: + My neighbors mocked me while they saw me pass + So empty-handed back. + + Lilian and Lilias smiled in trudging by, + Their heaped-up basket teased me like a jeer; + Sweet-voiced they sang beneath the sunset sky, + Their mother's home was near. + + Plump Gertrude passed me with her basket full, + A stronger hand than hers helped it along; + A voice talked with her through the shadows cool + More sweet to me than song. + + Ah, Willie, Willie, was my love less worth + Than apples with their green leaves piled above? + I counted rosiest apples on the earth + Of far less worth than love. + + So once it was with me you stooped to talk + Laughing and listening in this very lane: + To think that by this way we used to walk + We shall not walk again! + + I let my neighbors pass me, ones and twos + And groups; the latest said the night grew chill, + And hastened: but I loitered, while the dews + Fell fast I loitered still. + + + + SONG. + + + Two doves upon the selfsame branch, + Two lilies on a single stem, + Two butterflies upon one flower:-- + O happy they who look on them. + + Who look upon them hand in hand + Flushed in the rosy summer light; + Who look upon them hand in hand + And never give a thought to night. + + + + MAUDE CLARE. + + + Out of the church she followed them + With a lofty step and mien: + His bride was like a village maid, + Maude Clare was like a queen. + + "Son Thomas," his lady mother said, + With smiles, almost with tears: + "May Nell and you but live as true + As we have done for years; + + "Your father thirty years ago + Had just your tale to tell; + But he was not so pale as you, + Nor I so pale as Nell." + + My lord was pale with inward strife, + And Nell was pale with pride; + My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare + Or ever he kissed the bride. + + "Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord, + Have brought my gift," she said: + "To bless the hearth, to bless the board, + To bless the marriage-bed. + + "Here's my half of the golden chain + You wore about your neck, + That day we waded ankle-deep + For lilies in the beck: + + "Here's my half of the faded leaves + We plucked from budding bough, + With feet amongst the lily-leaves,-- + The lilies are budding now." + + He strove to match her scorn with scorn, + He faltered in his place: + "Lady," he said,--"Maude Clare," he said,-- + "Maude Clare":--and hid his face. + + She turned to Nell: "My Lady Nell, + I have a gift for you; + Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone, + Or, were it flowers, the dew. + + "Take my share of a fickle heart, + Mine of a paltry love: + Take it or leave it as you will, + I wash my hands thereof." + + "And what you leave," said Nell, "I'll take, + And what you spurn, I'll wear; + For he's my lord for better and worse, + And him I love, Maude Clare. + + "Yea, though you're taller by the head, + More wise, and much more fair; + I'll love him till he loves me best, + Me best of all, Maude Clare." + + + + ECHO. + + + Come to me in the silence of the night; + Come in the speaking silence of a dream; + Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright + As sunlight on a stream; + Come back in tears, + O memory, hope, love of finished years. + + O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet, + Whose wakening should have been in Paradise, + Where souls brimful of love abide and meet; + Where thirsting longing eyes + Watch the slow door + That opening, letting in, lets out no more. + + Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live + My very life again though cold in death: + Come back to me in dreams, that I may give + Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: + Speak low, lean low, + As long ago, my love, how long ago! + + + + WINTER: MY SECRET. + + + I tell my secret? No indeed, not I: + Perhaps some day, who knows? + But not to-day; it froze, and blows, and snows, + And you're too curious: fie! + You want to hear it? well: + Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell. + + Or, after all, perhaps there's none: + Suppose there is no secret after all, + But only just my fun. + To-day's a nipping day, a biting day; + In which one wants a shawl, + A veil, a cloak, and other wraps: + I cannot ope to every one who taps, + And let the draughts come whistling through my hall; + Come bounding and surrounding me, + Come buffeting, astounding me, + Nipping and clipping through my wraps and all. + I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows + His nose to Russian snows + To be pecked at by every wind that blows? + You would not peck? I thank you for good-will, + Believe, but leave that truth untested still. + + Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trust + March with its peck of dust, + Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers, + Nor even May, whose flowers + One frost may wither through the sunless hours. + + Perhaps some languid summer day, + When drowsy birds sing less and less, + And golden fruit is ripening to excess, + If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud, + And the warm wind is neither still nor loud, + Perhaps my secret I may say, + Or you may guess. + + + + ANOTHER SPRING. + + + If I might see another Spring + I'd not plant summer flowers and wait: + I'd have my crocuses at once, + My leafless pink mezereons, + My chill-veined snowdrops, choicer yet + My white or azure violet, + Leaf-nested primrose; anything + To blow at once not late. + + If I might see another Spring + I'd listen to the daylight birds + That build their nests and pair and sing, + Nor wait for mateless nightingale; + I'd listen to the lusty herds, + The ewes with lambs as white as snow, + I'd find out music in the hail + And all the winds that blow. + + If I might see another Spring-- + O stinging comment on my past + That all my past results in "if"-- + If I might see another Spring + I'd laugh to-day, to-day is brief; + I would not wait for anything: + I'd use to-day that cannot last, + Be glad to-day and sing. + + + + A PEAL OF BELLS. + + + Strike the bells wantonly, + Tinkle tinkle well; + Bring me wine, bring me flowers, + Ring the silver bell. + All my lamps burn scented oil, + Hung on laden orange-trees, + Whose shadowed foliage is the foil + To golden lamps and oranges. + Heap my golden plates with fruit, + Golden fruit, fresh-plucked and ripe; + Strike the bells and breathe the pipe; + Shut out showers from summer hours; + Silence that complaining lute; + Shut out thinking, shut out pain, + From hours that cannot come again. + + Strike the bells solemnly, + Ding dong deep: + My friend is passing to his bed, + Fast asleep; + There's plaited linen round his head, + While foremost go his feet,-- + His feet that cannot carry him. + My feast's a show, my lights are dim; + Be still, your music is not sweet,-- + There is no music more for him: + His lights are out, his feast is done; + His bowl that sparkled to the brim + Is drained, is broken, cannot hold; + My blood is chill, his blood is cold; + His death is full, and mine begun. + + + + FATA MORGANA. + + + A blue-eyed phantom far before + Is laughing, leaping toward the sun; + Like lead I chase it evermore, + I pant and run. + + It breaks the sunlight bound on bound; + Goes singing as it leaps along + To sheep-bells with a dreamy sound + A dreamy song. + + I laugh, it is so brisk and gay; + It is so far before, I weep: + I hope I shall lie down some day, + Lie down and sleep. + + + + "NO, THANK YOU, JOHN." + + + I never said I loved you, John: + Why will you tease me, day by day, + And wax a weariness to think upon + With always "do" and "pray"? + + You know I never loved you, John; + No fault of mine made me your toast: + Why will you haunt me with a face as wan + As shows an hour-old ghost? + + I dare say Meg or Moll would take + Pity upon you, if you'd ask: + And pray don't remain single for my sake + Who can't perform that task. + + I have no heart?--Perhaps I have not; + But then you're mad to take offence + That I don't give you what I have not got: + Use your own common sense. + + Let bygones be bygones: + Don't call me false, who owed not to be true: + I'd rather answer "No" to fifty Johns + Than answer "Yes" to you. + + Let's mar our pleasant days no more, + Song-birds of passage, days of youth: + Catch at to-day, forget the days before: + I'll wink at your untruth. + + Let us strike hands as hearty friends; + No more, no less: and friendship's good: + Only don't keep in view ulterior ends, + And points not understood + + In open treaty. Rise above + Quibbles and shuffling off and on: + Here's friendship for you if you like; but love,-- + No, thank you, John. + + + + MAY. + + + I cannot tell you how it was; + But this I know: it came to pass + Upon a bright and breezy day + When May was young; ah, pleasant May! + As yet the poppies were not born + Between the blades of tender corn; + The last eggs had not hatched as yet, + Nor any bird foregone its mate. + + I cannot tell you what it was; + But this I know: it did but pass. + It passed away with sunny May, + With all sweet things it passed away, + And left me old, and cold, and gray. + + + + A PAUSE OF THOUGHT. + + + I looked for that which is not, nor can be, + And hope deferred made my heart sick in truth + But years must pass before a hope of youth + Is resigned utterly. + + I watched and waited with a steadfast will: + And though the object seemed to flee away + That I so longed for, ever day by day + I watched and waited still. + + Sometimes I said: This thing shall be no more; + My expectation wearies and shall cease; + I will resign it now and be at peace: + Yet never gave it o'er. + + Sometimes I said: It is an empty name + I long for; to a name why should I give + The peace of all the days I have to live?-- + Yet gave it all the same. + + Alas, thou foolish one! alike unfit + For healthy joy and salutary pain: + Thou knowest the chase useless, and again + Turnest to follow it. + + + + TWILIGHT CALM. + + + O pleasant eventide! + Clouds on the western side + Grow gray and grayer, hiding the warm sun: + The bees and birds, their happy labors done, + Seek their close nests and bide. + + Screened in the leafy wood + The stock-doves sit and brood: + The very squirrel leaps from bough to bough + But lazily; pauses; and settles now + Where once he stored his food. + + One by one the flowers close, + Lily and dewy rose + Shutting their tender petals from the moon: + The grasshoppers are still; but not so soon + Are still the noisy crows. + + The dormouse squats and eats + Choice little dainty bits + Beneath the spreading roots of a broad lime; + Nibbling his fill he stops from time to time + And listens where he sits. + + From far the lowings come + Of cattle driven home: + From farther still the wind brings fitfully + The vast continual murmur of the sea, + Now loud, now almost dumb. + + The gnats whirl in the air, + The evening gnats; and there + The owl opes broad his eyes and wings to sail + For prey; the bat wakes; and the shell-less snail + Comes forth, clammy and bare. + + Hark! that's the nightingale, + Telling the self-same tale + Her song told when this ancient earth was young: + So echoes answered when her song was sung + In the first wooded vale. + + We call it love and pain + The passion of her strain; + And yet we little understand or know: + Why should it not be rather joy that so + Throbs in each throbbing vein? + + In separate herds the deer + Lie; here the bucks, and here + The does, and by its mother sleeps the fawn: + Through all the hours of night until the dawn + They sleep, forgetting fear. + + The hare sleeps where it lies, + With wary half-closed eyes; + The cock has ceased to crow, the hen to cluck: + Only the fox is out, some heedless duck + Or chicken to surprise. + + Remote, each single star + Comes out, till there they are + All shining brightly: how the dews fall damp! + While close at hand the glow-worm lights her lamp + Or twinkles from afar. + + But evening now is done + As much as if the sun + Day-giving had arisen in the east: + For night has come; and the great calm has ceased, + The quiet sands have run. + + + + WIFE TO HUSBAND. + + + Pardon the faults in me, + For the love of years ago: + Good by. + I must drift across the sea, + I must sink into the snow, + I must die. + + You can bask in this sun, + You can drink wine, and eat: + Good by. + I must gird myself and run, + Though with unready feet: + I must die. + + Blank sea to sail upon, + Cold bed to sleep in: + Good by. + While you clasp, I must be gone + For all your weeping: + I must die. + + A kiss for one friend, + And a word for two,-- + Good by:-- + A lock that you must send, + A kindness you must do: + I must die. + + Not a word for you, + Not a lock or kiss, + Good by. + We, one, must part in two: + Verily death is this: + I must die. + + + + THREE SEASONS. + + + "A cup for hope!" she said, + In springtime ere the bloom was old: + The crimson wine was poor and cold + By her mouth's richer red. + + "A cup for love!" how low, + How soft the words; and all the while + Her blush was rippling with a smile + Like summer after snow. + + "A cup for memory!" + Cold cup that one must drain alone: + While autumn winds are up and moan + Across the barren sea. + + Hope, memory, love: + Hope for fair morn, and love for day, + And memory for the evening gray + And solitary dove. + + + + MIRAGE. + + + The hope I dreamed of was a dream, + Was but a dream; and now I wake + Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old, + For a dream's sake. + + I hang my harp upon a tree, + A weeping willow in a lake; + I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt + For a dream's sake. + + Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart; + My silent heart, lie still and break: + Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed + For a dream's sake. + + + + SHUT OUT. + + + The door was shut. I looked between + Its iron bars; and saw it lie, + My garden, mine, beneath the sky, + Pied with all flowers bedewed and green: + + From bough to bough the song-birds crossed, + From flower to flower the moths and bees; + With all its nests and stately trees + It had been mine, and it was lost. + + A shadowless spirit kept the gate, + Blank and unchanging like the grave. + I peering through said: "Let me have + Some buds to cheer my outcast state." + + He answered not. "Or give me, then, + But one small twig from shrub or tree; + And bid my home remember me + Until I come to it again." + + The spirit was silent; but he took + Mortar and stone to build a wall; + He left no loophole great or small + Through which my straining eyes might look: + + So now I sit here quite alone + Blinded with tears; nor grieve for that, + For naught is left worth looking at + Since my delightful land is gone. + + A violet bed is budding near, + Wherein a lark has made her nest: + And good they are, but not the best; + And dear they are, but not so dear. + + + + SOUND SLEEP. + + + Some are laughing, some are weeping; + She is sleeping, only sleeping. + Round her rest wild flowers are creeping; + There the wind is heaping, heaping + Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping, + By the cornfields ripe for reaping. + + There are lilies, and there blushes + The deep rose, and there the thrushes + Sing till latest sunlight flushes + In the west; a fresh wind brushes + Through the leaves while evening hushes. + + There by day the lark is singing + And the grass and weeds are springing: + There by night the bat is winging; + There forever winds are bringing + Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing. + + Night and morning, noon and even, + Their sound fills her dreams with Heaven: + The long strife at length is striven: + Till her grave-bands shall be riven + Such is the good portion given + To her soul at rest and shriven. + + + + SONG. + + + She sat and sang alway + By the green margin of a stream, + Watching the fishes leap and play + Beneath the glad sunbeam. + + I sat and wept alway + Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam, + Watching the blossoms of the May + Weep leaves into the stream. + + I wept for memory; + She sang for hope that is so fair: + My tears were swallowed by the sea; + Her songs died on the air. + + + + SONG. + + + When I am dead, my dearest, + Sing no sad songs for me; + Plant thou no roses at my head, + Nor shady cypress-tree: + Be the green grass above me + With showers and dewdrops wet; + And if thou wilt, remember, + And if thou wilt, forget. + + I shall not see the shadows, + I shall not feel the rain; + I shall not hear the nightingale + Sing on, as if in pain: + And dreaming through the twilight + That doth not rise nor set, + Haply I may remember, + And haply may forget. + + + + DEAD BEFORE DEATH. + + SONNET. + + + Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold! + With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes: + Changed, yet the same; much knowing, little wise; + _This_ was the promise of the days of old! + Grown hard and stubborn in the ancient mould, + Grown rigid in the sham of lifelong lies: + We hoped for better things as years would rise, + But it is over as a tale once told. + All fallen the blossom that no fruitage bore, + All lost the present and the future time, + All lost, all lost, the lapse that went before: + So lost till death shut-to the opened door, + So lost from chime to everlasting chime, + So cold and lost forever evermore. + + + + BITTER FOR SWEET. + + + Summer is gone with all its roses, + Its sun and perfumes and sweet flowers, + Its warm air and refreshing showers: + And even Autumn closes. + + Yea, Autumn's chilly self is going, + And winter comes which is yet colder; + Each day the hoar-frost waxes bolder + And the last buds cease blowing. + + + + "THE MASTER IS COME, AND CALLETH + FOR THEE." + + + Who calleth?--Thy Father calleth, + Run, O Daughter, to wait on Him: + He Who chasteneth but for a season + Trims thy lamp that it burn not dim. + + Who calleth?--Thy Master calleth, + Sit, Disciple, and learn of Him: + He Who teacheth wisdom of Angels + Makes thee wise as the Cherubim, + + Who calleth?--Thy Monarch calleth, + Rise, O Subject, and follow Him: + He is stronger than Death or Devil, + Fear not thou if the foe be grim. + + Who calleth?--Thy Lord God calleth. + Fall, O Creature, adoring Him: + He is jealous, thy God Almighty, + Count not dear to thee life or limb. + + Who calleth?--Thy Bridegroom calleth, + Soar, O Bride, with the Seraphim: + He Who loves thee as no man loveth, + Bids thee give up thy heart to Him. + + + + REST. + + SONNET. + + + O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes; + Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth; + Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth + With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs. + She hath no questions, she hath no replies, + Hushed in and curtained with a blessed dearth + Of all that irked her from the hour of birth; + With stillness that is almost Paradise. + Darkness more clear than noonday holdeth her, + Silence more musical than any song; + Even her very heart has ceased to stir: + Until the morning of Eternity + Her rest shall not begin nor end, but be; + And when she wakes she will not think it long. + + + + THE FIRST SPRING DAY. + + + I wonder if the sap is stirring yet, + If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, + If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun + And crocus fires are kindling one by one: + Sing, robin, sing! + I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring. + + I wonder if the spring-tide of this year + Will bring another Spring both lost and dear; + If heart and spirit will find out their Spring, + Or if the world alone will bud and sing: + Sing, hope, to me! + Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory. + + The sap will surely quicken soon or late, + The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate; + So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom, + Or in this world, or in the world to come: + Sing, voice of Spring! + Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing. + + + + THE CONVENT THRESHOLD. + + + There's blood between us, love, my love, + There's father's blood, there's brother's blood; + And blood's a bar I cannot pass: + I choose the stairs that mount above, + Stair after golden skyward stair, + To city and to sea of glass. + My lily feet are soiled with mud, + With scarlet mud which tells a tale + Of hope that was, of guilt that was, + Of love that shall not yet avail; + Alas, my heart, if I could bare + My heart, this self-same stain is there: + I seek the sea of glass and fire + To wash the spot, to burn the snare; + Lo, stairs are meant to lift us higher: + Mount with me, mount the kindled stair. + + Your eyes look earthward, mine look up. + I see the far-off city grand, + Beyond the hills a watered land, + Beyond the gulf a gleaming strand + Of mansions where the righteous sup; + Who sleep at ease among their trees, + Or wake to sing a cadenced hymn + With Cherubim and Seraphim; + They bore the Cross, they drained the cup, + Racked, roasted, crushed, wrenched limb from limb, + They the offscouring of the world: + The heaven of starry heavens unfurled, + The sun before their face is dim. + + You looking earthward, what see you? + Milk-white, wine-flushed among the vines, + Up and down leaping, to and fro, + Most glad, most full, made strong with wines, + Blooming as peaches pearled with dew, + Their golden windy hair afloat, + Love-music warbling in their throat, + Young men and women come and go. + + You linger, yet the time is short: + Flee for your life, gird up your strength + To flee: the shadows stretched at length + Show that day wanes, that night draws nigh; + Flee to the mountain, tarry not. + Is this a time for smile and sigh, + For songs among the secret trees + Where sudden bluebirds nest and sport? + The time is short and yet you stay: + To-day, while it is called to-day, + Kneel, wrestle, knock, do violence, pray; + To-day is short, to-morrow nigh: + Why will you die? why will you die? + + You sinned with me a pleasant sin: + Repent with me, for I repent. + Woe's me the lore I must unlearn! + Woe's me that easy way we went, + So rugged when I would return! + How long until my sleep begin, + How long shall stretch these nights and days? + Surely, clean Angels cry, she prays; + She laves her soul with tedious tears: + How long must stretch these years and years? + + I turn from you my cheeks and eyes, + My hair which you shall see no more,-- + Alas for joy that went before, + For joy that dies, for love that dies. + Only my lips still turn to you, + My livid lips that cry, Repent! + O weary life, O weary Lent, + O weary time whose stars are few! + + How should I rest in Paradise, + Or sit on steps of Heaven alone? + If Saints and Angels spoke of love + Should I not answer from my throne? + Have pity upon me, ye my friends, + For I have heard the sound thereof: + Should I not turn with yearning eyes, + Turn earthwards with a pitiful pang? + O save me from a pang in Heaven! + By all the gifts we took and gave, + Repent, repent, and be forgiven: + This life is long, but yet it ends; + Repent and purge your soul and save: + No gladder song the morning stars + Upon their birthday morning sang + Than Angels sing when one repents. + + I tell you what I dreamed last night: + A spirit with transfigured face + Fire-footed clomb an infinite space. + I heard his hundred pinions clang, + Heaven-bells rejoicing rang and rang, + Heaven-air was thrilled with subtle scents, + Worlds spun upon their rushing cars: + He mounted shrieking: "Give me light!" + Still light was poured on him, more light; + Angels, Archangels he outstripped, + Exultant in exceeding might, + And trod the skirts of Cherubim. + Still "Give me light," he shrieked; and dipped + + His thirsty face, and drank a sea, + Athirst with thirst it could not slake. + I saw him, drunk with knowledge, take + From aching brows the aureole crown,-- + His locks writhed like a cloven snake,-- + He left his throne to grovel down + And lick the dust of Seraphs' feet: + For what is knowledge duly weighed? + Knowledge is strong, but love is sweet; + Yea, all the progress he had made + Was but to learn that all is small + Save love, for love is all in all. + + I tell you what I dreamed last night: + It was not dark, it was not light, + Cold dews had drenched my plenteous hair + Through clay; you came to seek me there. + And "Do you dream of me?" you said. + My heart was dust that used to leap + To you; I answered half asleep: + "My pillow is damp, my sheets are red, + There's a leaden tester to my bed: + Find you a warmer playfellow, + A warmer pillow for your head, + A kinder love to love than mine." + You wrung your hands; while I like lead + Crushed downwards through the sodden earth: + You smote your hands but not in mirth, + And reeled but were not drunk with wine. + + For all night long I dreamed of you: + I woke and prayed against my will, + Then slept to dream of you again. + At length I rose and knelt and prayed: + I cannot write the words I said, + My words were slow, my tears were few; + But through the dark my silence spoke + Like thunder. When this morning broke, + My face was pinched, my hair was gray, + And frozen blood was on the sill + Where stifling in my struggle I lay. + + If now you saw me you would say: + Where is the face I used to love? + And I would answer: Gone before; + It tarries veiled in Paradise. + When once the morning star shall rise, + When earth with shadow flees away + And we stand safe within the door, + Then you shall lift the veil thereof. + Look up, rise up: for far above + Our palms are grown, our place is set; + There we shall meet as once we met, + And love with old familiar love. + + + + UP-HILL. + + + Does the road wind up-hill all the way? + Yes, to the very end. + Will the day's journey take the whole long day? + From morn to night, my friend. + + But is there for the night a resting-place? + A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. + May not the darkness hide it from my face? + You cannot miss that inn. + + Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? + Those who have gone before. + Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? + They will not keep you standing at that door. + + Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? + Of labor you shall find the sum. + Will there be beds for me and all who seek? + Yea, beds for all who come. + + + + +DEVOTIONAL PIECES. + + + + + "THE LOVE OF CHRIST WHICH PASSETH KNOWLEDGE." + + + I bore with thee long weary days and nights, + Through many pangs of heart, through many tears; + I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights, + For three and thirty years. + + Who else had dared for thee what I have dared? + I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above; + I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared: + Give thou Me love for love. + + For thee I thirsted in the daily drouth, + For thee I trembled in the nightly frost: + Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth: + Why wilt thou still be lost? + + I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced: + Men only marked upon My shoulders borne + The branding cross; and shouted hungry-voiced, + Or wagged their heads in scorn. + + Thee did nails grave upon My hands, thy name + Did thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine eyes: + I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame; + I, God, Priest, Sacrifice. + + A thief upon My right hand and My left; + Six hours alone, athirst, in misery: + At length in death one smote My heart and cleft + A hiding-place for thee. + + Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of down + More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep: + So did I win a kingdom,--share My crown; + A harvest,--come and reap. + + + + "A BRUISED REED SHALL HE NOT BREAK." + + + I will accept thy will to do and be, + Thy hatred and intolerance of sin, + Thy will at least to love, that burns within + And thirsteth after Me: + So will I render fruitful, blessing still + The germs and small beginnings in thy heart, + Because thy will cleaves to the better part.-- + Alas, I cannot will. + + Dost not thou will, poor soul? Yet I receive + The inner unseen longings of the soul; + I guide them turning towards Me; I control + And charm hearts till they grieve: + If thou desire, it yet shall come to pass, + Though thou but wish indeed to choose My love; + For I have power in earth and heaven above.-- + I cannot wish, alas! + + What, neither choose nor wish to choose? and yet + I still must strive to win thee and constrain: + For thee I hung upon the cross in pain, + How then can I forget? + If thou as yet dost neither love, nor hate, + Nor choose, nor wish,--resign thyself, be still + Till I infuse love, hatred, longing, will.-- + I do not deprecate. + + + + A BETTER RESURRECTION. + + + I have no wit, no words, no tears; + My heart within me like a stone + Is numbed too much for hopes or fears; + Look right, look left, I dwell alone; + I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief + No everlasting hills I see; + My life is in the falling leaf: + O Jesus, quicken me! + + My life is like a faded leaf, + My harvest dwindled to a husk; + Truly my life is void and brief + And tedious in the barren dusk; + My life is like a frozen thing, + No bud nor greenness can I see: + Yet rise it shall,--the sap of Spring; + O Jesus, rise in me! + + My life is like a broken bowl, + A broken bowl that cannot hold + One drop of water for my soul + Or cordial in the searching cold; + Cast in the fire the perished thing, + Melt and remould it, till it be + A royal cup for Him my King: + O Jesus, drink of me! + + + + ADVENT. + + + This Advent moon shines cold and clear, + These Advent nights are long; + Our lamps have burned year after year, + And still their flame is strong. + "Watchman, what of the night?" we cry, + Heart-sick with hope deferred: + "No speaking signs are in the sky," + Is still the watchman's word. + + The Porter watches at the gate, + The servants watch within; + The watch is long betimes and late, + The prize is slow to win. + "Watchman, what of the night?" but still + His answer sounds the same: + "No daybreak tops the utmost hill, + Nor pale our lamps of flame." + + One to another hear them speak, + The patient virgins wise: + "Surely He is not far to seek,"-- + "All night we watch and rise." + "The days are evil looking back, + The coming days are dim; + Yet count we not His promise slack, + But watch and wait for Him." + + One with another, soul with soul, + They kindle fire from fire: + "Friends watch us who have touched the goal." + "They urge us, come up higher." + "With them shall rest our waysore feet, + With them is built our home, + With Christ." "They sweet, but He most sweet, + Sweeter than honeycomb." + + There no more parting, no more pain, + The distant ones brought near, + The lost so long are found again, + Long lost but longer dear: + Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, + Nor heart conceived that rest, + With them our good things long deferred, + With Jesus Christ our Best. + + We weep because the night is long, + We laugh, for day shall rise, + We sing a slow contented song + And knock at Paradise. + Weeping we hold Him fast Who wept + For us,--we hold Him fast; + And will not let Him go except + He bless us first or last. + + Weeping we hold Him fast to-night; + We will not let Him go + Till daybreak smite our wearied sight, + And summer smite the snow: + Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove + Shall coo the livelong day; + Then He shall say, "Arise, My love, + My fair one, come away." + + + + THE THREE ENEMIES. + + + THE FLESH. + + "Sweet, thou art pale." + "More pale to see, + Christ hung upon the cruel tree + And bore His Father's wrath for me." + + "Sweet, thou art sad." + "Beneath a rod + More heavy, Christ for my sake trod + The winepress of the wrath of God." + + "Sweet, thou art weary." + "Not so Christ: + Whose mighty love of me sufficed + For Strength, Salvation, Eucharist." + + "Sweet, thou art footsore." + "If I bleed, + His feet have bled: yea, in my need + His Heart once bled for mine indeed." + + + THE WORLD. + + "Sweet, thou art young." + "So He was young + Who for my sake in silence hung + Upon the Cross with Passion wrung." + + "Look, thou art fair." + "He was more fair + Than men, Who deigned for me to wear + A visage marred beyond compare." + + "And thou hast riches." + "Daily bread: + All else is His; Who living, dead, + For me lacked where to lay His Head." + + "And life is sweet." + "It was not so + To Him, Whose Cup did overflow + With mine unutterable woe." + + + THE DEVIL. + + "Thou drinkest deep." + "When Christ would sup + He drained the dregs from out my cup: + So how should I be lifted up?" + + "Thou shalt win Glory." + "In the skies, + Lord Jesus, cover up mine eyes + Lest they should look on vanities." + + "Thou shalt have Knowledge." + "Helpless dust, + In Thee, O Lord, I put my trust: + Answer Thou for me, Wise and Just." + + "And Might." + "Get thee behind me. Lord, + Who hast redeemed and not abhorred + My soul, O keep it by Thy Word." + + + + ONE CERTAINTY. + + SONNET. + + + Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith, + All things are vanity. The eye and ear + Cannot be filled with what they see and hear. + Like early dew, or like the sudden breath + Of wind, or like the grass that withereth, + Is man, tossed to and fro by hope and fear: + So little joy hath he, so little cheer, + Till all things end in the long dust of death. + To-day is still the same as yesterday, + To-morrow also even as one of them; + And there is nothing new under the sun: + Until the ancient race of Time be run, + The old thorns shall grow out of the old stem, + And morning shall be cold, and twilight gray. + + + + CHRISTIAN AND JEW. + + A DIALOGUE. + + + "O happy happy land! + Angels like rushes stand + About the wells of light."-- + "Alas, I have not eyes for this fair sight: + Hold fast my hand."-- + + "As in a soft wind, they + Bend all one blessed way, + Each bowed in his own glory, star with star."-- + "I cannot see so far, + Here shadows are."-- + + "White-winged the cherubim, + Yet whiter seraphim, + Glow white with intense fire of love."-- + "Mine eyes are dim: + I look in vain above, + And miss their hymn."-- + + "Angels, Archangels cry + One to other ceaselessly + (I hear them sing) + One 'Holy, Holy, Holy,' to their King."-- + "I do not hear them, I."-- + + "Joy to thee, Paradise,-- + Garden and goal and nest! + Made green for wearied eyes; + Much softer than the breast + Of mother-dove clad in a rainbow's dyes. + + "All precious souls are there + Most safe, elect by grace, + All tears are wiped forever from their face: + Untired in prayer + They wait and praise, + Hidden for a little space. + + "Boughs of the Living Vine, + They spread in summer shine + Green leaf with leaf: + Sap of the Royal Vine, it stirs like wine + In all both less and chief. + + "Sing to the Lord, + All spirits of all flesh, sing; + For He hath not abhorred + Our low estate nor scorned our offering: + Shout to our King."-- + + "But Zion said: + My Lord forgetteth me. + Lo, she hath made her bed + In dust; forsaken weepeth she + Where alien rivers swell the sea. + + "She laid her body as the ground, + Her tender body as the ground to those + Who passed; her harpstrings cannot sound + In a strange land; discrowned + She sits, and drunk with woes."-- + + "O drunken not with wine, + Whose sins and sorrows have fulfilled the sum,-- + Be not afraid, arise, be no more dumb; + Arise, shine, + For thy light is come."-- + + "Can these bones live?"-- + "God knows: + The prophet saw such clothed with flesh and skin + A wind blew on them and life entered in; + They shook and rose. + Hasten the time, O Lord, blot out their sin, + Let life begin." + + + + SWEET DEATH. + + + The sweetest blossoms die. + And so it was that, going day by day + Unto the church to praise and pray, + And crossing the green churchyard thoughtfully, + I saw how on the graves the flowers + Shed their fresh leaves in showers, + And how their perfume rose up to the sky + Before it passed away. + + The youngest blossoms die. + They die and fall and nourish the rich earth + From which they lately had their birth; + Sweet life, but sweeter death that passeth by + And is as though it had not been:-- + All colors turn to green; + The bright hues vanish and the odors fly, + The grass hath lasting worth. + + And youth and beauty die. + So be it, O my God, Thou God of truth: + Better than beauty and than youth + Are Saints and Angels, a glad company; + And Thou, O Lord, our Rest and Ease, + Art better far than these. + Why should we shrink from our full harvest? why + Prefer to glean with Ruth? + + + + SYMBOLS. + + + I watched a rosebud very long + Brought on by dew and sun and shower, + Waiting to see the perfect flower: + Then, when I thought it should be strong, + It opened at the matin hour + And fell at even-song. + + I watched a nest from day to day, + A green nest full of pleasant shade, + Wherein three speckled eggs were laid: + But when they should have hatched in May, + The two old birds had grown afraid + Or tired, and flew away. + + Then in my wrath I broke the bough + That I had tended so with care, + Hoping its scent should fill the air; + I crushed the eggs, not heeding how + Their ancient promise had been fair: + I would have vengeance now. + + But the dead branch spoke from the sod, + And the eggs answered me again: + Because we failed dost thou complain? + Is thy wrath just? And what if God, + Who waiteth for thy fruits in vain, + Should also take the rod? + + + + "CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELD." + + + Flowers preach to us if we will hear:-- + The rose saith in the dewy morn, + I am most fair; + Yet all my loveliness is born + Upon a thorn. + The poppy saith amid the corn: + Let but my scarlet head appear + And I am held in scorn; + Yet juice of subtle virtue lies + Within my cup of curious dyes. + The lilies say: Behold how we + Preach without words of purity. + The violets whisper from the shade + Which their own leaves have made: + Men scent our fragrance on the air, + Yet take no heed + Of humble lessons we would read. + + But not alone the fairest flowers: + The merest grass + Along the roadside where we pass, + Lichen and moss and sturdy weed, + Tell of His love who sends the dew, + The rain and sunshine too, + To nourish one small seed. + + + + THE WORLD. + + SONNET. + + + By day she wooes me, soft, exceeding fair: + But all night as the moon so changeth she; + Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosy, + And subtle serpents gliding in her hair. + By day she wooes me to the outer air, + Ripe fruits, sweet flowers, and full satiety: + But through the night, a beast she grins at me, + A very monster void of love and prayer. + By day she stands a lie: by night she stands, + In all the naked horror of the truth, + With pushing horns and clawed and clutching hands. + Is this a friend indeed; that I should sell + My soul to her, give her my life and youth, + Till my feet, cloven too, take hold on hell? + + + + A TESTIMONY. + + + I said of laughter, it is vain. + Of mirth I said, what profits it? + Therefore I found a book, and writ + Therein how ease and also pain, + How health and sickness, every one + Is vanity beneath the sun. + + Man walks in a vain shadow; he + Disquieteth himself in vain. + The things that were shall be again. + The rivers do not fill the sea, + But turn back to their secret source; + The winds too turn upon their course. + + Our treasures moth and rust corrupt, + Or thieves break through and steal, or they + Make themselves wings and fly away. + One man made merry as he supped, + Nor guessed how when that night grew dim + His soul would be required of him. + + We build our houses on the sand, + Comely withoutside and within; + But when the winds and rains begin + To beat on them, they cannot stand; + They perish, quickly overthrown, + Loose from the very basement stone. + + All things are vanity, I said,-- + Yea, vanity of vanities. + The rich man dies; and the poor dies; + The worm feeds sweetly on the dead. + Whate'er thou lackest, keep this trust: + All in the end shall have but dust: + + The one inheritance, which best + And worst alike shall find and share: + The wicked cease from troubling there, + And there the weary be at rest; + There all the wisdom of the wise + Is vanity of vanities. + + Man flourishes as a green leaf, + And as a leaf doth pass away; + Or, as a shade that cannot stay + And leaves no track, his course is brief: + Yet man doth hope and fear and plan + Till he is dead:--O foolish man! + + Our eyes cannot be satisfied + With seeing, nor our ears be filled + With hearing: yet we plant and build + And buy and make our borders wide; + We gather wealth, we gather care, + But know not who shall be our heir. + + Why should we hasten to arise + So early, and so late take rest? + Our labor is not good; our best + Hopes fade; our heart is stayed on lies: + Verily, we sow wind; and we + Shall reap the whirlwind, verily. + + He who hath little shall not lack; + He who hath plenty shall decay: + Our fathers went; we pass away; + Our children follow on our track: + So generations fail, and so + They are renewed and come and go. + + The earth is fattened with our dead; + She swallows more and doth not cease: + Therefore her wine and oil increase + And her sheaves are not numbered; + Therefore her plants are green, and all + Her pleasant trees lusty and tall. + + Therefore the maidens cease to sing, + And the young men are very sad; + Therefore the sowing is not glad, + And mournful is the harvesting. + Of high and low, of great and small, + Vanity is the lot of all. + + A King dwelt in Jerusalem; + He was the wisest man on earth; + He had all riches from his birth, + And pleasures till he tired of them; + Then, having tested all things, he + Witnessed that all are vanity. + + + + SLEEP AT SEA. + + + Sound the deep waters:-- + Who shall sound that deep?-- + Too short the plummet, + And the watchmen sleep. + Some dream of effort + Up a toilsome steep; + Some dream of pasture grounds + For harmless sheep. + + White shapes flit to and fro + From mast to mast; + They feel the distant tempest + That nears them fast: + Great rocks are straight ahead, + Great shoals not past; + They shout to one another + Upon the blast. + + O, soft the streams drop music + Between the hills, + And musical the birds' nests + Beside those rills: + The nests are types of home + Love-hidden from ills, + The nests are types of spirits + Love-music fills. + + So dream the sleepers, + Each man in his place; + The lightning shows the smile + Upon each face: + The ship is driving, driving, + It drives apace: + And sleepers smile, and spirits + Bewail their case. + + The lightning glares and reddens + Across the skies; + It seems but sunset + To those sleeping eyes. + When did the sun go down + On such a wise? + From such a sunset + When shall day arise? + + "Wake," call the spirits: + But to heedless ears; + They have forgotten sorrows + And hopes and fears; + They have forgotten perils + And smiles and tears; + Their dream has held them long, + Long years and years. + + "Wake," call the spirits again: + But it would take + A louder summons + To bid them awake. + Some dream of pleasure + For another's sake; + Some dream, forgetful + Of a lifelong ache. + + One by one slowly, + Ah, how sad and slow! + Wailing and praying + The spirits rise and go: + Clear stainless spirits, + White,--as white as snow; + Pale spirits, wailing + For an overthrow. + + One by one flitting, + Like a mournful bird + Whose song is tired at last + For no mate heard. + The loving voice is silent, + The useless word; + One by one flitting, + Sick with hope deferred. + + Driving and driving, + The ship drives amain: + While swift from mast to mast + Shapes flit again, + Flit silent as the silence + Where men lie slain; + Their shadow cast upon the sails + Is like a stain. + + No voice to call the sleepers, + No hand to raise: + They sleep to death in dreaming + Of length of days. + Vanity of vanities, + The Preacher says: + Vanity is the end + Of all their ways. + + + + FROM HOUSE TO HOME. + + + The first was like a dream through summer heat, + The second like a tedious numbing swoon, + While the half-frozen pulses lagged to beat + Beneath a winter moon. + + "But," says my friend, "what was this thing and where?" + It was a pleasure-place within my soul; + An earthly paradise supremely fair + That lured me from the goal. + + The first part was a tissue of hugged lies; + The second was its ruin fraught with pain: + Why raise the fair delusion to the skies + But to be dashed again? + + My castle stood of white transparent glass + Glittering and frail with many a fretted spire, + But when the summer sunset came to pass + It kindled into fire. + + My pleasaunce was an undulating green, + Stately with trees whose shadows slept below, + With glimpses of smooth garden-beds between, + Like flame or sky or snow. + + Swift squirrels on the pastures took their ease, + With leaping lambs safe from the unfeared knife; + All singing-birds rejoicing in those trees + Fulfilled their careless life. + + Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nestled there; + My trees were full of songs and flowers and fruit, + Their branches spread a city to the air, + And mice lodged in their root. + + My heath lay farther off, where lizards lived + In strange metallic mail, just spied and gone; + Like darted lightnings here and there perceived + But nowhere dwelt upon. + + Frogs and fat toads were there to hop or plod + And propagate in peace, an uncouth crew, + Where velvet-headed rushes rustling nod + And spill the morning dew. + + All caterpillars throve beneath my rule, + With snails and slugs in corners out of sight; + I never marred the curious sudden stool + That perfects in a night. + + Safe in his excavated gallery + The burrowing mole groped on from year to year; + No harmless hedgehog curled because of me + His prickly back for fear. + + Ofttimes one like an angel walked with me, + With spirit-discerning eyes like flames of fire, + But deep as the unfathomed endless sea + Fulfilling my desire: + + And sometimes like a snowdrift he was fair, + And sometimes like a sunset glorious red, + And sometimes he had wings to scale the air + With aureole round his head. + + We sang our songs together by the way, + Calls and recalls and echoes of delight; + So communed we together all the day, + And so in dreams by night. + + I have no words to tell what way we walked, + What unforgotten path now closed and sealed; + I have no words to tell all things we talked, + All things that he revealed: + + This only can I tell: that hour by hour + I waxed more feastful, lifted up and glad; + I felt no thorn-prick when I plucked a flower, + Felt not my friend was sad. + + "To-morrow," once I said to him with smiles: + "To-night," he answered gravely and was dumb, + But pointed out the stones that numbered miles + And miles and miles to come. + + "Not so," I said: "to-morrow shall be sweet; + To-night is not so sweet as coming days." + Then first I saw that he had turned his feet, + Had turned from me his face: + + Running and flying miles and miles he went, + But once looked back to beckon with his hand + And cry: "Come home, O love, from banishment: + Come to the distant land." + + That night destroyed me like an avalanche; + One night turned all my summer back to snow: + Next morning not a bird upon my branch, + Not a lamb woke below,-- + + No bird, no lamb, no living breathing thing; + No squirrel scampered on my breezy lawn, + No mouse lodged by his hoard: all joys took wing + And fled before that dawn. + + Azure and sun were starved from heaven above, + No dew had fallen, but biting frost lay hoar: + O love, I knew that I should meet my love, + Should find my love no more. + + "My love no more," I muttered, stunned with pain: + I shed no tear, I wrung no passionate hand, + Till something whispered: "You shall meet again, + Meet in a distant land." + + Then with a cry like famine I arose, + I lit my candle, searched from room to room, + Searched up and down; a war of winds that froze + Swept through the blank of gloom. + + I searched day after day, night after night; + Scant change there came to me of night or day: + "No more," I wailed, "no more"; and trimmed my light, + And gnashed, but did not pray, + + Until my heart broke and my spirit broke: + Upon the frost-bound floor I stumbled, fell, + And moaned: "It is enough: withhold the stroke. + Farewell, O love, farewell." + + Then life swooned from me. And I heard the song + Of spheres and spirits rejoicing over me: + One cried: "Our sister, she hath suffered long."-- + One answered: "Make her see."-- + + One cried: "O blessed she who no more pain, + Who no more disappointment shall receive."-- + One answered: "Not so: she must live again; + Strengthen thou her to live." + + So, while I lay entranced, a curtain seemed + To shrivel with crackling from before my face, + Across mine eyes a waxing radiance beamed + And showed a certain place. + + I saw a vision of a woman, where + Night and new morning strive for domination; + Incomparably pale, and almost fair, + And sad beyond expression. + + Her eyes were like some fire-enshrining gem, + Were stately like the stars, and yet were tender, + Her figure charmed me like a windy stem + Quivering and drooped and slender. + + I stood upon the outer barren ground, + She stood on inner ground that budded flowers; + While circling in their never-slackening round + Danced by the mystic hours. + + But every flower was lifted on a thorn, + And every thorn shot upright from its sands + To gall her feet; hoarse laughter pealed in scorn + With cruel clapping hands. + + She bled and wept, yet did not shrink; her strength + Was strung up until daybreak of delight: + She measured measureless sorrow toward its length, + And breadth, and depth, and height. + + Then marked I how a chain sustained her form, + A chain of living links not made nor riven: + It stretched sheer up through lightning, wind, and storm, + And anchored fast in heaven. + + One cried: "How long? yet founded on the Rock + She shall do battle, suffer, and attain."-- + One answered: "Faith quakes in the tempest shock: + Strengthen her soul again." + + I saw a cup sent down and come to her + Brimful of loathing and of bitterness: + She drank with livid lips that seemed to stir + The depth, not make it less. + + But as she drank I spied a hand distil + New wine and virgin honey; making it + First bitter-sweet, then sweet indeed, until + She tasted only sweet. + + Her lips and cheeks waxed rosy-fresh and young; + Drinking she sang: "My soul shall nothing want"; + And drank anew: while soft a song was sung, + A mystical slow chant. + + One cried: "The wounds are faithful of a friend: + The wilderness shall blossom as a rose."-- + One answered: "Rend the veil, declare the end, + Strengthen her ere she goes." + + Then earth and heaven were rolled up like a scroll; + Time and space, change and death, had passed away; + Weight, number, measure, each had reached its whole: + The day had come, that day. + + Multitudes--multitudes--stood up in bliss, + Made equal to the angels, glorious, fair; + With harps, palms, wedding-garments, kiss of peace, + And crowned and haloed hair. + + They sang a song, a new song in the height, + Harping with harps to Him Who is Strong and True: + They drank new wine, their eyes saw with new light, + Lo, all things were made new. + + Tier beyond tier they rose and rose and rose + So high that it was dreadful, flames with flames: + No man could number them, no tongue disclose + Their secret sacred names. + + As though one pulse stirred all, one rush of blood + Fed all, one breath swept through them myriad voiced, + They struck their harps, cast down their crowns, they stood + And worshipped and rejoiced. + + Each face looked one way like a moon new-lit, + Each face looked one way towards its Sun of Love; + Drank love and bathed in love and mirrored it + And knew no end thereof. + + Glory touched glory on each blessed head, + Hands locked dear hands never to sunder more: + These were the new-begotten from the dead + Whom the great birthday bore. + + Heart answered heart, soul answered soul at rest, + Double against each other, filled, sufficed: + All loving, loved of all; but loving best + And best beloved of Christ. + + I saw that one who lost her love in pain, + Who trod on thorns, who drank the loathsome cup; + The lost in night, in day was found again; + The fallen was lifted up. + + They stood together in the blessed noon, + They sang together through the length of days; + Each loving face bent Sunwards like a moon + New-lit with love and praise. + + Therefore, O friend, I would not if I might + Rebuild my house of lies, wherein I joyed + One time to dwell: my soul shall walk in white, + Cast down but not destroyed. + + Therefore in patience I possess my soul; + Yea, therefore as a flint I set my face, + To pluck down, to build up again the whole-- + But in a distant place. + + These thorns are sharp, yet I can tread on them; + This cup is loathsome, yet He makes it sweet; + My face is steadfast toward Jerusalem, + My heart remembers it. + + I lift the hanging hands, the feeble knees-- + I, precious more than seven times molten gold-- + Until the day when from His storehouses + God shall bring new and old; + + Beauty for ashes, oil of joy for grief, + Garment of praise for spirit of heaviness: + Although to-day I fade as doth a leaf, + I languish and grow less. + + Although to-day He prunes my twigs with pain, + Yet doth His blood nourish and warm my root: + To-morrow I shall put forth buds again, + And clothe myself with fruit. + + Although to-day I walk in tedious ways, + To-day His staff is turned into a rod, + Yet will I wait for Him the appointed days + And stay upon my God. + + + + OLD AND NEW YEAR DITTIES. + + + 1. + + New Year met me somewhat sad: + Old Year leaves me tired, + Stripped of favorite things I had, + Balked of much desired: + Yet farther on my road to-day, + God willing, farther on my way. + + New Year coming on apace + What have you to give me? + Bring you scathe, or bring you grace, + Face me with an honest face; + You shall not deceive me: + Be it good or ill, be it what you will, + It needs shall help me on my road, + My rugged way to heaven, please God. + + + 2. + + Watch with me, men, women, and children dear, + You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear, + Watch with me this last vigil of the year. + Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme; + Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream; + Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart. + + Watch with me, blessed spirits, who delight + All through the holy night to walk in white, + Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight. + I know not if they watch with me: I know + They count this eve of resurrection slow, + And cry, "How long?" with urgent utterance strong. + + Watch with me, Jesus, in my loneliness: + Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes; + Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless. + Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night; + To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight: + I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord, my God, art mine. + + + 3. + + Passing away, saith the World, passing away: + Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day: + Thy life never continueth in one stay. + Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to gray + That hath won neither laurel nor bay? + I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May: + Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay + On my bosom for aye. + Then I answered: Yea. + + Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away: + With its burden of fear and hope, of labor and play; + Hearken what the past doth witness and say: + Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array, + A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay. + At midnight, at cock-crow, at morning, one certain day + Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay: + Watch thou and pray. + Then I answered: Yea. + + Passing away, saith my God, passing away: + Winter passeth after the long delay: + New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray, + Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May. + Though I tarry, wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray. + Arise, come away, night is past, and lo it is day, + My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say. + Then I answered: Yea. + + + + AMEN. + + + It is over. What is over? + Nay, how much is over truly!-- + Harvest days we toiled to sow for; + Now the sheaves are gathered newly, + Now the wheat is garnered duly. + + It is finished. What is finished? + Much is finished known or unknown: + Lives are finished; time diminished; + Was the fallow field left unsown? + Will these buds be always unblown? + + It suffices. What suffices? + All suffices reckoned rightly: + Spring shall bloom where now the ice is, + Roses make the bramble sightly, + And the quickening sun shine brightly, + And the latter wind blow lightly, + And my garden teem with spices. + + + + MOTHER COUNTRY. + + + Oh what is that country + And where can it be, + Not mine own country, + But dearer far to me? + Yet mine own country, + If I one day may see + Its spices and cedars, + Its gold and ivory. + + As I lie dreaming + It rises, that land; + There rises before me + Its green golden strand, + With the bowing cedars + And the shining sand; + It sparkles and flashes + Like a shaken brand. + + Do angels lean nearer + While I lie and long? + I see their soft plumage + And catch their windy song, + Like the rise of a high tide + Sweeping full and strong; + I mark the outskirts + Of their reverend throng. + + Oh what is a king here, + Or what is a boor? + Here all starve together, + All dwarfed and poor; + Here Death's hand knocketh + At door after door, + He thins the dancers + From the festal floor. + + Oh what is a handmaid, + Or what is a queen? + All must lie down together + Where the turf is green, + The foulest face hidden, + The fairest not seen; + Gone as if never + They had breathed or been. + + Gone from sweet sunshine + Underneath the sod, + Turned from warm flesh and blood + To senseless clod; + Gone as if never + They had toiled or trod, + Gone out of sight of all + Except our God. + + Shut into silence + From the accustomed song + Shut into solitude + From all earth's throng, + Run down though swift of foot, + Thrust down though strong; + Life made an end of, + Seemed it short or long. + + Life made an end of, + Life but just begun; + Life finished yesterday, + Its last sand run; + Life new-born with the morrow + Fresh as the sun: + While done is done for ever; + Undone, undone. + + And if that life is life, + This is but a breath, + The passage of a dream + And the shadow of death; + But a vain shadow + If one considereth; + Vanity of vanities, + As the Preacher saith. + + + + + [Illustration: _The long hours go and come and go_] + + + + +THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS, ETC. + + + + + THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS. + + + Till all sweet gums and juices flow, + Till the blossom of blossoms blow, + The long hours go and come and go, + The bride she sleepeth, waketh, sleepeth, + Waiting for one whose coming is slow:-- + Hark! the bride weepeth. + + "How long shall I wait, come heat come rime?"-- + "Till the strong Prince comes, who must come in time," + Her women say. "There's a mountain to climb, + A river to ford. Sleep, dream and sleep: + Sleep," they say: "we've muffled the chime, + Better dream than weep." + + In his world-end palace the strong Prince sat, + Taking his ease on cushion and mat, + Close at hand lay his staff and his hat + "When wilt thou start? the bride waits, O youth."-- + "Now the moon's at full; I tarried for that, + Now I start in truth. + + "But tell me first, true voice of my doom, + Of my veiled bride in her maiden bloom; + Keeps she watch through glare and through gloom, + Watch for me asleep and awake?"-- + "Spell-bound she watches in one white room, + And is patient for thy sake. + + "By her head lilies and rosebuds grow; + The lilies droop,--will the rosebuds blow? + The silver slim lilies hang the head low; + Their stream is scanty, their sunshine rare; + Let the sun blaze out, and let the stream flow, + They will blossom and wax fair. + + "Red and white poppies grow at her feet, + The blood-red wait for sweet summer heat, + Wrapped in bud-coats hairy and neat; + But the white buds swell; one day they will burst, + Will open their death-cups drowsy and sweet,-- + Which will open the first?" + + Then a hundred sad voices lifted a wail, + And a hundred glad voices piped on the gale: + "Time is short, life is short," they took up the tale: + "Life is sweet, love is sweet, use to-day while you may; + Love is sweet, and to-morrow may fail; + Love is sweet, use to-day." + + While the song swept by, beseeching and meek, + Up rose the Prince with a flush on his cheek, + Up he rose to stir and to seek, + Going forth in the joy of his strength; + Strong of limb, if of purpose weak, + Starting at length. + + Forth he set in the breezy morn, + Across green fields of nodding corn, + As goodly a Prince as ever was born, + Carolling with the carolling lark;-- + Sure his bride will be won and worn, + Ere fall of the dark. + + So light his step, so merry his smile, + A milkmaid loitered beside a stile, + Set down her pail and rested awhile, + A wave-haired milkmaid, rosy and white; + The Prince, who had journeyed at least a mile, + Grew athirst at the sight. + + "Will you give me a morning draught?"-- + "You're kindly welcome," she said, and laughed. + He lifted the pail, new milk he quaffed; + Then wiping his curly black beard like silk: + "Whitest cow that ever was calved + Surely gave you this milk." + + Was it milk now, or was it cream? + Was she a maid, or an evil dream? + Her eyes began to glitter and gleam; + He would have gone, but he stayed instead; + Green they gleamed as he looked in them: + "Give me my fee," she said.-- + + "I will give you a jewel of gold."-- + "Not so; gold is heavy and cold."-- + "I will give you a velvet fold + Of foreign work your beauty to deck."-- + "Better I like my kerchief rolled + Light and white round my neck."-- + + "Nay," cried he, "but fix your own fee."-- + She laughed, "You may give the full moon to me; + Or else sit under this apple-tree + Here for one idle day by my side; + After that I'll let you go free, + And the world is wide." + + Loath to stay, but to leave her slack, + He half turned away, then he quite turned back: + For courtesy's sake he could not lack + To redeem his own royal pledge; + Ahead, too, the windy heaven lowered black + With a fire-cloven edge. + + So he stretched his length in the apple-tree shade, + Lay and laughed and talked to the maid, + Who twisted her hair in a cunning braid, + And writhed it in shining serpent-coils, + And held him a day and night fast laid + In her subtle toils. + + At the death of night and the birth of day, + When the owl left off his sober play, + And the bat hung himself out of the way, + Woke the song of mavis and merle, + And heaven put off its hodden gray + For mother-o'-pearl. + + Peeped up daisies here and there, + Here, there, and everywhere; + Rose a hopeful lark in the air, + Spreading out towards the sun his breast; + While the moon set solemn and fair + Away in the west. + + "Up, up, up," called the watchman lark, + In his clear reveillee: "Hearken, O hark! + Press to the high goal, fly to the mark. + Up, O sluggard, new morn is born; + If still asleep when the night falls dark, + Thou must wait a second morn." + + "Up, up, up," sad glad voices swelled: + "So the tree falls and lies as it's felled. + Be thy bands loosed, O sleeper, long held + In sweet sleep whose end is not sweet. + Be the slackness girt and the softness quelled + And the slowness fleet." + + Off he set. The grass grew rare, + A blight lurked in the darkening air, + The very moss grew hueless and spare, + The last daisy stood all astunt; + Behind his back the soil lay bare, + But barer in front. + + A land of chasm and rent, a land + Of rugged blackness on either hand: + If water trickled, its track was tanned + With an edge of rust to the chink; + If one stamped on stone or on sand + It returned a clink. + + A lifeless land, a loveless land, + Without lair or nest on either hand: + Only scorpions jerked in the sand, + Black as black iron, or dusty pale; + From point to point sheer rock was manned + By scorpions in mail. + + A land of neither life nor death, + Where no man buildeth or fashioneth, + Where none draws living or dying breath; + No man cometh or goeth there, + No man doeth, seeketh, saith, + In the stagnant air. + + Some old volcanic upset must + Have rent the crust and blackened the crust; + Wrenched and ribbed it beneath its dust + Above earth's molten centre at seethe, + Heaved and heaped it by huge upthrust + Of fire beneath. + + Untrodden before, untrodden since: + Tedious land for a social Prince; + Halting, he scanned the outs and ins, + Endless, labyrinthine, grim, + Of the solitude that made him wince, + Laying wait for him. + + By bulging rock and gaping cleft, + Even of half mere daylight reft, + Rueful he peered to right and left, + Muttering in his altered mood: + "The fate is hard that weaves my weft, + Though my lot be good." + + Dim the changes of day to night, + Of night scarce dark to day not bright. + Still his road wound towards the right, + Still he went, and still he went, + Till one night he spied a light, + In his discontent. + + Out it flashed from a yawn-mouthed cave, + Like a red-hot eye from a grave. + No man stood there of whom to crave + Rest for wayfarer plodding by: + Though the tenant were churl or knave + The Prince might try. + + In he passed and tarried not, + Groping his way from spot to spot, + Towards where the cavern flare glowed hot:-- + An old, old mortal, cramped and double, + Was peering into a seething-pot, + In a world of trouble. + + The veriest atomy he looked, + With grimy fingers clutching and crooked, + Tight skin, a nose all bony and hooked, + And a shaking, sharp, suspicious way; + Blinking, his eyes had scarcely brooked + The light of day. + + Stared the Prince, for the sight was new; + Stared, but asked without more ado: + "May a weary traveller lodge with you, + Old father, here in your lair? + In your country the inns seem few, + And scanty the fare." + + The head turned not to hear him speak; + The old voice whistled as through a leak + (Out it came in a quavering squeak): + "Work for wage is a bargain fit: + If there's aught of mine that you seek + You must work for it. + + "Buried alive from light and air + This year is the hundredth year, + I feed my fire with a sleepless care, + Watching my potion wane or wax: + Elixir of Life is simmering there, + And but one thing lacks. + + "If you're fain to lodge here with me, + Take that pair of bellows you see,-- + Too heavy for my old hands they be,-- + Take the bellows and puff and puff: + When the steam curls rosy and free + The broth's boiled enough. + + "Then take your choice of all I have; + I will give you life if you crave. + Already I'm mildewed for the grave, + So first myself I must drink my fill: + But all the rest may be yours, to save + Whomever you will." + + "Done," quoth the Prince, and the bargain stood. + First he piled on resinous wood, + Next plied the bellows in hopeful mood; + Thinking, "My love and I will live. + If I tarry, why life is good, + And she may forgive." + + The pot began to bubble and boil; + The old man cast in essence and oil, + He stirred all up with a triple coil + Of gold and silver and iron wire, + Dredged in a pinch of virgin soil, + And fed the fire. + + But still the steam curled watery white; + Night turned to day and day to night; + One thing lacked, by his feeble sight + Unseen, unguessed by his feeble mind: + Life might miss him, but Death the blight + Was sure to find. + + So when the hundredth year was full + The thread was cut and finished the school. + Death snapped the old worn-out tool, + Snapped him short while he stood and stirred + (Though stiff he stood as a stiff-necked mule) + With never a word. + + Thus at length the old crab was nipped. + The dead hand slipped, the dead finger dipped + In the broth as the dead man slipped,-- + That same instant, a rosy red + Flushed the steam, and quivered and clipped + Round the dead old head. + + The last ingredient was supplied + (Unless the dead man mistook or lied). + Up started the Prince, he cast aside + The bellows plied through the tedious trial, + Made sure that his host had died, + And filled a phial. + + "One night's rest," thought the Prince. "This done, + Forth I speed with the rising sun: + With the morrow I rise and run, + Come what will of wind or of weather. + This draught of Life when my Bride is won + We'll drink together." + + Thus the dead man stayed in his grave, + Self-chosen, the dead man in his cave; + There he stayed, were he fool or knave, + Or honest seeker who had not found; + While the Prince outside was prompt to crave + Sleep on the ground. + + "If she watches, go bid her sleep; + Bid her sleep, for the road is steep: + He can sleep who holdeth her cheap, + Sleep and wake and sleep again. + Let him sow, one day he shall reap, + Let him sow the grain. + + "When there blows a sweet garden rose, + Let it bloom and wither if no man knows: + But if one knows when the sweet thing blows, + Knows, and lets it open and drop, + If but a nettle his garden grows + He hath earned the crop." + + Through his sleep the summons rang, + Into his ears it sobbed and it sang. + Slow he woke with a drowsy pang, + Shook himself without much debate, + Turned where he saw green branches hang, + Started though late. + + For the black land was travelled o'er, + He should see the grim land no more. + A flowering country stretched before + His face when the lovely day came back: + He hugged the phial of Life he bore, + And resumed his track. + + By willow courses he took his path, + Spied what a nest the kingfisher hath, + Marked the fields green to aftermath, + Marked where the red-brown field-mouse ran, + Loitered awhile for a deep-stream bath, + Yawned for a fellow-man. + + Up on the hills not a soul in view, + In the vale not many nor few; + Leaves, still leaves, and nothing new. + It's O for a second maiden, at least, + To bear the flagon, and taste it too, + And flavor the feast. + + Lagging he moved, and apt to swerve; + Lazy of limb, but quick of nerve. + At length the water-bed took a curve, + The deep river swept its bank-side bare; + Waters streamed from the hill-reserve,-- + Waters here, waters there. + + High above, and deep below, + Bursting, bubbling, swelling the flow, + Like hill-torrents after the snow,-- + Bubbling, gurgling, in whirling strife, + Swaying, sweeping, to and fro,-- + He must swim for his life. + + Which way?--which way?--his eyes grew dim + With the dizzying whirl,--which way to swim? + The thunderous downshoot deafened him; + Half he choked in the lashing spray: + Life is sweet, and the grave is grim,-- + Which way?--which way? + + A flash of light, a shout from the strand: + "This way,--this way; here lies the land!" + His phial clutched in one drowning hand; + He catches,--misses,--catches a rope; + His feet slip on the slipping sand: + Is there life?--is there hope? + + Just saved, without pulse or breath,-- + Scarcely saved from the gulp of death; + Laid where a willow shadoweth,-- + Laid where a swelling turf is smooth. + (O Bride! but the Bridegroom lingereth + For all thy sweet youth.) + + Kind hands do and undo, + Kind voices whisper and coo: + "I will chafe his hands,"--"and I,"--"and you + Raise his head, put his hair aside." + (If many laugh, one well may rue: + Sleep on, thou Bride.) + + So the Prince was tended with care: + One wrung foul ooze from his clustered hair; + Two chafed his hands, and did not spare; + But one propped his head that drooped awry + Till his eyes oped, and at unaware + They met eye to eye. + + O, a moon face in a shadowy place, + And a light touch and a winsome grace, + And a thrilling tender voice which says: + "Safe from waters that seek the sea,-- + Cold waters by rugged ways,-- + Safe with me." + + While overhead bird whistles to bird, + And round about plays a gamesome herd: + "Safe with us,"--some take up the word,-- + "Safe with us, dear lord and friend: + All the sweeter if long deferred + Is rest in the end." + + Had he stayed to weigh and to scan, + He had been more or less than a man: + He did what a young man can, + Spoke of toil and an arduous way,-- + Toil to-morrow, while golden ran + The sands of to-day. + + Slip past, slip fast, + Uncounted hours from first to last, + Many hours till the last is past, + Many hours dwindling to one,-- + One hour whose die is cast, + One last hour gone. + + Come, gone,--gone forever,-- + Gone as an unreturning river,-- + Gone as to death the merriest liver,-- + Gone as the year at the dying fall,-- + To-morrow, to-day, yesterday, never,-- + Gone once for all. + + Came at length the starting-day, + With last words, and last, last words to say, + With bodiless cries from far away,-- + Chiding wailing voices that rang + Like a trumpet-call to the tug and fray; + And thus they sang: + + "Is there life?--the lamp burns low; + Is there hope?--the coming is slow: + The promise promised so long ago, + The long promise, has not been kept. + Does she live?--does she die?--she slumbers so + Who so oft has wept. + + "Does she live?--does she die?--she languisheth + As a lily drooping to death, + As a drought-worn bird with failing breath, + As a lovely vine without a stay, + As a tree whereof the owner saith, + 'Hew it down to-day.'" + + Stung by that word the Prince was fain + To start on his tedious road again. + He crossed the stream where a ford was plain, + He clomb the opposite bank though steep, + And swore to himself to strain and attain + Ere he tasted sleep. + + Huge before him a mountain frowned + With foot of rock on the valley ground, + And head with snows incessant crowned, + And a cloud mantle about its strength, + And a path which the wild goat hath not found + In its breadth and length. + + But he was strong to do and dare: + If a host had withstood him there, + He had braved a host with little care + In his lusty youth and his pride, + Tough to grapple though weak to snare. + He comes, O Bride. + + Up he went where the goat scarce clings, + Up where the eagle folds her wings, + Past the green line of living things, + Where the sun cannot warm the cold,-- + Up he went as a flame enrings + Where there seems no hold. + + Up a fissure barren and black, + Till the eagles tired upon his track, + And the clouds were left behind his back,-- + Up till the utmost peak was past. + Then he gasped for breath and his strength fell slack; + He paused at last. + + Before his face a valley spread + Where fatness laughed, wine, oil, and bread, + Where all fruit-trees their sweetness shed, + Where all birds made love to their kind, + Where jewels twinkled, and gold lay red + And not hard to find. + + Midway down the mountain side + (On its green slope the path was wide) + Stood a house for a royal bride, + Built all of changing opal stone, + The royal palace, till now descried + In his dreams alone. + + Less bold than in days of yore, + Doubting now though never before, + Doubting he goes and lags the more: + Is the time late? does the day grow dim? + Rose, will she open the crimson core + Of her heart to him? + + Above his head a tangle glows + Of wine-red roses, blushes, snows, + Closed buds and buds that unclose, + Leaves, and moss, and prickles too; + His hand shook as he plucked a rose, + And the rose dropped dew. + + Take heart of grace! the portion of Life + May go far to woo him a wife: + If she frown, yet a lover's strife + Lightly raised can be laid again: + A hasty word is never the knife + To cut love in twain. + + Far away stretched the royal land, + Fed by dew, by a spice-wind fanned: + Light labor more, and his foot would stand + On the threshold, all labor done; + Easy pleasure laid at his hand, + And the dear Bride won. + + His slackening steps pause at the gate,-- + Does she wake or sleep?--the time is late,-- + Does she sleep now, or watch and wait? + She has watched, she has waited long, + Watching athwart the golden grate + With a patient song. + + Fling the golden portals wide, + The Bridegroom comes to his promised Bride; + Draw the gold-stiff curtains aside, + Let them look on each other's face, + She in her meekness, he in his pride,-- + Day wears apace. + + Day is over, the day that wore. + What is this that comes through the door, + The face covered, the feet before? + This that coming takes his breath; + This Bride not seen, to be seen no more + Save of Bridegroom Death? + + Veiled figures carrying her + Sweep by yet make no stir; + There is a smell of spice and myrrh, + A bride-chant burdened with one name; + The bride-song rises steadier + Than the torches' flame: + + "Too late for love, too late for joy, + Too late, too late! + You loitered on the road too long, + You trifled at the gate: + The enchanted dove upon her branch + Died without a mate; + The enchanted princess in her tower + Slept, died, behind the grate; + Her heart was starving all this while + You made it wait. + + "Ten years ago, five years ago, + One year ago, + Even then you had arrived in time, + Though somewhat slow; + Then you had known her living face + Which now you cannot know: + The frozen fountain would have leaped, + The buds gone on to blow, + The warm south wind would have awaked + To melt the snow. + + "Is she fair now as she lies? + Once she was fair; + Meet queen for any kingly king, + With gold-dust on her hair. + Now these are poppies in her locks, + White poppies she must wear; + Must wear a veil to shroud her face + And the want graven there: + Or is the hunger fed at length, + Cast off the care? + + "We never saw her with a smile + Or with a frown; + Her bed seemed never soft to her, + Though tossed of down; + She little heeded what she wore, + Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; + We think her white brows often ached + Beneath her crown, + Till silvery hairs showed in her locks + That used to be so brown. + + "We never heard her speak in haste: + Her tones were sweet, + And modulated just so much + As it was meet: + Her heart sat silent through the noise + And concourse of the street. + There was no hurry in her hands, + No hurry in her feet; + There was no bliss drew nigh to her, + That she might run to greet. + + "You should have wept her yesterday, + Wasting upon her bed: + But wherefore should you weep to-day + That she is dead? + Lo, we who love weep not to-day, + But crown her royal head. + Let be these poppies that we strew, + Your roses are too red: + Let be these poppies, not for you + Cut down and spread." + + + + + [Illustration: _You should have wept her yesterday_] + + + + + MAIDEN-SONG. + + + Long ago and long ago, + And long ago still, + There dwelt three merry maidens + Upon a distant hill. + One was tall Meggan, + And one was dainty May, + But one was fair Margaret, + More fair than I can say, + Long ago and long ago. + + When Meggan plucked the thorny rose, + And when May pulled the brier, + Half the birds would swoop to see, + Half the beasts draw nigher; + Half the fishes of the streams + Would dart up to admire: + But when Margaret plucked a flag-flower, + Or poppy hot aflame, + All the beasts and all the birds + And all the fishes came + To her hand more soft than snow. + + Strawberry leaves and May-dew + In brisk morning air, + Strawberry leaves and May-dew + Make maidens fair. + "I go for strawberry-leaves," + Meggan said one day: + "Fair Margaret can bide at home, + But you come with me, May; + Up the hill and down the hill, + Along the winding way, + You and I are used to go." + + So these two fair sisters + Went with innocent will + Up the hill and down again, + And round the homestead hill: + While the fairest sat at home, + Margaret like a queen, + Like a blush-rose, like the moon + In her heavenly sheen, + Fragrant-breathed as milky cow + Or field of blossoming bean, + Graceful as an ivy bough + Born to cling and lean; + Thus she sat to sing and sew. + + When she raised her lustrous eyes + A beast peeped at the door; + When she downward cast her eyes + A fish gasped on the floor; + When she turned away her eyes + A bird perched on the sill, + Warbling out its heart of love, + Warbling, warbling still, + With pathetic pleadings low. + + Light-foot May with Meggan + Sought the choicest spot, + Clothed with thyme-alternate grass: + Then, while day waxed hot, + Sat at ease to play and rest, + A gracious rest and play; + The loveliest maidens near or far, + When Margaret was away, + Who sat at home to sing and sew. + + Sun-glow flushed their comely cheeks, + Wind-play tossed their hair, + Creeping things among the grass + Stroked them here and there; + Meggan piped a merry note, + A fitful, wayward lay, + While shrill as bird on topmost twig + Piped merry May; + Honey-smooth the double flow. + + Sped a herdsman from the vale, + Mounting like a flame, + All on fire to hear and see + With floating locks he came. + Looked neither north nor south, + Neither east nor west, + But sat him down at Meggan's feet + As love-bird on his nest, + And wooed her with a silent awe, + With trouble not expressed; + She sang the tears into his eyes, + The heart out of his breast: + So he loved her, listening so. + + She sang the heart out of his breast, + The words out of his tongue; + Hand and foot and pulse he paused + Till her song was sung. + Then he spoke up from his place + Simple words and true: + "Scanty goods have I to give, + Scanty skill to woo; + But I have a will to work, + And a heart for you: + Bid me stay or bid me go." + + Then Meggan mused within herself: + "Better be first with him, + Than dwell where fairer Margaret sits, + Who shines my brightness dim, + Forever second where she sits, + However fair I be: + I will be lady of his love, + And he shall worship me; + I will be lady of his herds + And stoop to his degree, + At home where kids and fatlings grow." + + Sped a shepherd from the height + Headlong down to look, + (White lambs followed, lured by love + Of their shepherd's crook): + He turned neither east nor west, + Neither north nor south, + But knelt right down to May, for love + Of her sweet-singing mouth; + Forgot his flocks, his panting flocks + In parching hillside drouth; + Forgot himself for weal or woe. + + Trilled her song and swelled her song + With maiden coy caprice + In a labyrinth of throbs, + Pauses, cadences; + Clear-noted as a dropping brook, + Soft-noted like the bees, + Wild-noted as the shivering wind + Forlorn through forest trees: + Love-noted like the wood-pigeon + Who hides herself for love, + Yet cannot keep her secret safe, + But cooes and cooes thereof: + Thus the notes rang loud or low. + + He hung breathless on her breath; + Speechless, who listened well; + Could not speak or think or wish + Till silence broke the spell. + Then he spoke, and spread his hands + Pointing here and there: + "See my sheep and see the lambs, + Twin lambs which they bare. + All myself I offer you, + All my flocks and care, + Your sweet song hath moved me so." + + In her fluttered heart young May + Mused a dubious while: + "If he loves me as he says"-- + Her lips curved with a smile: + "Where Margaret shines like the sun, + I shine but like a moon; + If sister Meggan makes her choice + I can make mine as soon; + At cockcrow we were sister-maids, + We may be brides at noon." + Said Meggan, "Yes"; May said not "No." + + Fair Margaret stayed alone at home, + Awhile she sang her song, + Awhile sat silent, then she thought: + "My sisters loiter long." + That sultry noon had waned away, + Shadows had waxen great: + "Surely," she thought within herself, + "My sisters loiter late." + She rose, and peered out at the door, + With patient heart to wait, + And heard a distant nightingale + Complaining of its mate; + Then down the garden slope she walked, + Down to the garden gate, + Leaned on the rail and waited so. + + The slope was lightened by her eyes + Like summer lightning fair, + Like rising of the haloed moon + Lightened her glimmering hair, + While her face lightened like the sun + Whose dawn is rosy white. + Thus crowned with maiden majesty + She peered into the night, + Looked up the hill and down the hill, + To left hand and to right, + Flashing like fire-flies to and fro. + + Waiting thus in weariness + She marked the nightingale + Telling, if any one would heed, + Its old complaining tale. + Then lifted she her voice and sang, + Answering the bird: + Then lifted she her voice and sang, + Such notes were never heard + From any bird when Spring's in blow. + + The king of all that country + Coursing far, coursing near, + Curbed his amber-bitted steed, + Coursed amain to hear; + All his princes in his train, + Squire, and knight, and peer, + With his crown upon his head, + His sceptre in his hand, + Down he fell at Margaret's knees + Lord king of all that land, + To her highness bending low. + + Every beast and bird and fish + Came mustering to the sound, + Every man and every maid + From miles of country round: + Meggan on her herdsman's arm, + With her shepherd, May, + Flocks and herds trooped at their heels + Along the hillside way; + No foot too feeble for the ascent, + Not any head too gray; + Some were swift and none were slow. + + So Margaret sang her sisters home + In their marriage mirth; + Sang free birds out of the sky, + Beasts along the earth, + Sang up fishes of the deep,-- + All breathing things that move + Sang from far and sang from near + To her lovely love; + Sang together friend and foe; + + Sang a golden-bearded king + Straightway to her feet, + Sang him silent where he knelt + In eager anguish sweet. + But when the clear voice died away, + When longest echoes died, + He stood up like a royal man + And claimed her for his bride. + So three maids were wooed and won + In a brief May-tide, + Long ago and long ago. + + + + JESSIE CAMERON. + + + "Jessie, Jessie Cameron, + Hear me but this once," quoth he. + "Good luck go with you, neighbor's son, + But I'm no mate for you," quoth she. + Day was verging toward the night + There beside the moaning sea, + Dimness overtook the light + There where the breakers be. + "O Jessie, Jessie Cameron, + I have loved you long and true."-- + "Good luck go with you, neighbor's son, + But I'm no mate for you." + + She was a careless, fearless girl, + And made her answer plain; + Outspoken she to earl or churl, + Kind-hearted in the main, + But somewhat heedless with her tongue, + And apt at causing pain; + A mirthful maiden she and young, + Most fair for bliss or bane. + "O, long ago I told you so, + I tell you so to-day: + Go you your way, and let me go + Just my own free way." + + The sea swept in with moan and foam + Quickening the stretch of sand; + They stood almost in sight of home; + He strove to take her hand. + "O, can't you take your answer then, + And won't you understand? + For me you're not the man of men, + I've other plans are planned. + You're good for Madge, or good for Cis, + Or good for Kate, may be: + But what's to me the good of this + While you're not good for me?" + + They stood together on the beach, + They two alone, + And louder waxed his urgent speech, + His patience almost gone: + "O, say but one kind word to me, + Jessie, Jessie Cameron."-- + "I'd be too proud to beg," quoth she, + And pride was in her tone. + And pride was in her lifted head, + And in her angry eye, + And in her foot, which might have fled, + But would not fly. + + Some say that he had gypsy blood, + That in his heart was guile: + Yet he had gone through fire and flood + Only to win her smile. + Some say his grandam was a witch, + A black witch from beyond the Nile, + Who kept an image in a niche + And talked with it the while. + And by her hut far down the lane + Some say they would not pass at night, + Lest they should hear an unked strain + Or see an unked sight. + + Alas, for Jessie Cameron!-- + The sea crept moaning, moaning nigher: + She should have hastened to be gone,-- + The sea swept higher, breaking by her: + She should have hastened to her home + While yet the west was flushed with fire, + But now her feet are in the foam, + The sea-foam, sweeping higher. + O mother, linger at your door, + And light your lamp to make it plain; + But Jessie she comes home no more, + No more again. + + They stood together on the strand, + They only, each by each; + Home, her home, was close at hand, + Utterly out of reach. + Her mother in the chimney nook + Heard a startled sea-gull screech, + But never turned her head to look + Towards the darkening beach: + Neighbors here and neighbors there + Heard one scream, as if a bird + Shrilly screaming cleft the air:-- + That was all they heard. + + Jessie she comes home no more, + Comes home never; + Her lover's step sounds at his door + No more forever. + And boats may search upon the sea + And search along the river, + But none know where the bodies be: + Sea-winds that shiver, + Sea-birds that breast the blast, + Sea-waves swelling, + Keep the secret first and last + Of their dwelling. + + Whether the tide so hemmed them round + With its pitiless flow, + That when they would have gone they found + No way to go; + Whether she scorned him to the last + With words flung to and fro, + Or clung to him when hope was past, + None will ever know: + Whether he helped or hindered her, + Threw up his life or lost it well, + The troubled sea, for all its stir, + Finds no voice to tell. + + Only watchers by the dying + Have thought they heard one pray, + Wordless, urgent; and replying, + One seem to say him nay: + And watchers by the dead have heard + A windy swell from miles away, + With sobs and screams, but not a word + Distinct for them to say: + And watchers out at sea have caught + Glimpse of a pale gleam here or there, + Come and gone as quick as thought, + Which might be hand or hair. + + + + SPRING QUIET. + + + Gone were but the Winter, + Come were but the Spring, + I would go to a covert + Where the birds sing; + + Where in the white-thorn + Singeth a thrush, + And a robin sings + In the holly-bush. + + Full of fresh scents + Are the budding boughs, + Arching high over + A cool green house: + + Full of sweet scents, + And whispering air + Which sayeth softly: + "We spread no snare; + + "Here dwell in safety, + Here dwell alone, + With a clear stream + And a mossy stone. + + "Here the sun shineth + Most shadily; + Here is heard an echo + Of the far sea, + Though far off it be." + + + + THE POOR GHOST. + + + "O whence do you come, my dear friend, to me, + With your golden hair all fallen below your knee, + And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea, + And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?" + + "From the other world I come back to you, + My locks are uncurled with dripping, drenching dew. + You know the old, whilst I know the new: + But to-morrow you shall know this too." + + "O, not to-morrow into the dark, I pray; + O, not to-morrow, too soon to go away: + Here I feel warm and well-content and gay: + Give me another year, another day." + + "Am I so changed in a day and a night + That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright, + Is fain to turn away to left or right, + And cover up his eyes from the sight?" + + "Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend, + I loved you for life, but life has an end; + Through sickness I was ready to tend; + But death mars all, which we cannot mend. + + "Indeed I loved you; I love you yet + If you will stay where your bed is set, + Where I have planted a violet + Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet." + + "Life is gone, then love too is gone, + It was a reed that I leant upon: + Never doubt I will leave you alone + And not wake you rattling bone with bone. + + "I go home alone to my bed, + Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head, + Roofed in with a load of lead, + Warm enough for the forgotten dead. + + "But why did your tears soak through the clay, + And why did your sobs wake me where I lay? + I was away, far enough away: + Let me sleep now till the Judgment Day." + + + + A PORTRAIT. + + + I. + + She gave up beauty in her tender youth, + Gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways; + She covered up her eyes lest they should gaze + On vanity, and chose the bitter truth. + Harsh towards herself, towards others full of ruth, + Servant of servants, little known to praise, + Long prayers and fasts trenched on her nights and days: + She schooled herself to sights and sounds uncouth, + That with the poor and stricken she might make + A home, until the least of all sufficed + Her wants; her own self learned she to forsake, + Counting all earthly gain but hurt and loss. + So with calm will she chose and bore the cross, + And hated all for love of Jesus Christ. + + + II. + + They knelt in silent anguish by her bed, + And could not weep; but calmly there she lay. + All pain had left her; and the sun's last ray + Shone through upon her, warming into red + The shady curtains. In her heart she said: + "Heaven opens; I leave these and go away: + The Bridegroom calls,--shall the Bride seek to stay?" + Then low upon her breast she bowed her head. + O lily-flower, O gem of priceless worth, + O dove with patient voice and patient eyes, + O fruitful vine amid a land of dearth, + O maid replete with loving purities, + Thou bowedst down thy head with friends on earth + To raise it with the saints in Paradise. + + + + DREAM-LOVE. + + + Young Love lies sleeping + In May-time of the year, + Among the lilies, + Lapped in the tender light: + White lambs come grazing, + White doves come building there; + And round about him + The May-bushes are white. + + Soft moss the pillow + For O, a softer cheek; + Broad leaves cast shadow + Upon the heavy eyes: + There winds and waters + Grow lulled and scarcely speak; + There twilight lingers + The longest in the skies. + + Young Love lies dreaming; + But who shall tell the dream? + A perfect sunlight + On rustling forest tips; + Or perfect moonlight + Upon a rippling stream; + Or perfect silence, + Or song of cherished lips. + + Burn odors round him + To fill the drowsy air; + Weave silent dances + Around him to and fro; + For O, in waking, + The sights are not so fair, + And song and silence + Are not like these below. + + Young Love lies dreaming + Till summer days are gone, + Dreaming and drowsing + Away to perfect sleep: + He sees the beauty + Sun hath not looked upon, + And tastes the fountain + Unutterably deep. + + Him perfect music + Doth hush unto his rest, + And through the pauses + The perfect silence calms: + O, poor the voices + Of earth from east to west, + And poor earth's stillness + Between her stately palms. + + Young Love lies drowsing + Away to poppied death; + Cool shadows deepen + Across the sleeping face: + So fails the summer + With warm, delicious breath; + And what hath autumn + To give us in its place? + + Draw close the curtains + Of branched evergreen; + Change cannot touch them + With fading fingers sere: + Here the first violets + Perhaps will bud unseen, + And a dove, maybe, + Return to nestle here. + + + + TWICE. + + + I took my heart in my hand + (O my love, O my love), + I said: Let me fall or stand, + Let me live or die, + But this once hear me speak + (O my love, O my love); + Yet a woman's words are weak: + You should speak, not I. + + You took my heart in your hand + With a friendly smile, + With a critical eye you scanned, + Then set it down, + And said: It is still unripe, + Better wait awhile; + Wait while the skylarks pipe, + Till the corn grows brown. + + As you set it down it broke,-- + Broke, but I did not wince; + I smiled at the speech you spoke, + At your judgment that I heard: + But I have not often smiled + Since then, nor questioned since, + Nor cared for corn-flowers wild, + Nor sung with the singing bird. + + I take my heart in my hand, + O my God, O my God, + My broken heart in my hand: + Thou hast seen, judge Thou. + My hope was written on sand, + O my God, O my God; + Now let Thy judgment stand,-- + Yea, judge me now. + + This contemned of a man, + This marred one heedless day, + This heart take Thou to scan + Both within and without: + Refine with fire its gold, + Purge Thou its dross away,-- + Yea, hold it in Thy hold, + Whence none can pluck it out. + + I take my heart in my hand,-- + I shall not die, but live,-- + Before Thy face I stand; + I, for Thou callest such: + All that I have I bring, + All that I am I give, + Smile Thou and I shall sing, + But shall not question much. + + + + SONGS IN A CORNFIELD. + + + A song in a cornfield + Where corn begins to fall, + Where reapers are reaping, + Reaping one, reaping all. + Sing pretty Lettice, + Sing Rachel, sing May; + Only Marian cannot sing + While her sweetheart's away. + + Where is he gone to + And why does he stay? + He came across the green sea + But for a day, + Across the deep green sea + To help with the hay. + His hair was curly yellow + And his eyes were gray, + He laughed a merry laugh + And said a sweet say. + Where is he gone to + That he comes not home? + To-day or to-morrow + He surely will come. + Let him haste to joy + Lest he lag for sorrow, + For one weeps to-day + Who'll not weep to-morrow: + + To-day she must weep + For gnawing sorrow, + To-night she may sleep + And not wake to-morrow. + + May sang with Rachel + In the waxing warm weather, + Lettice sang with them, + They sang all together:-- + + "Take the wheat in your arm + Whilst day is broad above, + Take the wheat to your bosom, + But not a false false love. + Out in the fields + Summer heat gloweth, + Out in the fields + Summer wind bloweth, + Out in the fields + Summer friend showeth, + Out in the fields + Summer wheat groweth: + But in the winter + When summer heat is dead + And summer wind has veered + And summer friend has fled, + Only summer wheat remaineth, + White cakes and bread. + Take the wheat, clasp the wheat + That's food for maid and dove; + Take the wheat to your bosom, + But not a false false love." + + A silence of full noontide heat + Grew on them at their toil: + The farmer's dog woke up from sleep, + The green snake hid her coil + Where grass stood thickest; bird and beast + Sought shadows as they could, + The reaping men and women paused + And sat down where they stood; + They ate and drank and were refreshed, + For rest from toil is good. + + While the reapers took their ease, + Their sickles lying by, + Rachel sang a second strain, + And singing seemed to sigh:-- + + "There goes the swallow,-- + Could we but follow! + Hasty swallow stay, + Point us out the way; + Look back swallow, turn back swallow, stop swallow. + + "There went the swallow,-- + Too late to follow: + Lost our note of way, + Lost our chance to-day; + Good by swallow, sunny swallow, wise swallow. + + "After the swallow + All sweet things follow: + All things go their way, + Only we must stay, + Must not follow: good by swallow, good swallow." + + Then listless Marian raised her head + Among the nodding sheaves; + Her voice was sweeter than that voice; + She sang like one who grieves: + Her voice was sweeter than its wont + Among the nodding sheaves; + All wondered while they heard her sing + Like one who hopes and grieves:-- + + "Deeper than the hail can smite, + Deeper than the frost can bite, + Deep asleep through day and night, + Our delight. + + "Now thy sleep no pang can break, + No to-morrow bid thee wake, + Not our sobs who sit and ache + For thy sake. + + "Is it dark or light below? + O, but is it cold like snow? + Dost thou feel the green things grow + Fast or slow? + + "Is it warm or cold beneath, + O, but is it cold like death? + Cold like death, without a breath, + Cold like death?" + + If he comes to-day + He will find her weeping; + If he comes to-morrow + He will find her sleeping; + If he comes the next day + He'll not find her at all, + He may tear his curling hair, + Beat his breast and call. + + + + A YEAR'S WINDFALLS. + + + On the wind of January + Down flits the snow, + Travelling from the frozen North + As cold as it can blow. + Poor robin redbreast, + Look where he comes; + Let him in to feel your fire, + And toss him of your crumbs. + + On the wind in February + Snow-flakes float still, + Half inclined to turn to rain, + Nipping, dripping, chill. + Then the thaws swell the streams, + And swollen rivers swell the sea:-- + If the winter ever ends + How pleasant it will be. + + In the wind of windy March + The catkins drop down, + Curly, caterpillar-like, + Curious green and brown. + With concourse of nest-building birds + And leaf-buds by the way, + We begin to think of flowers + And life and nuts some day. + + With the gusts of April + Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall, + On the hedged-in orchard-green, + From the southern wall. + Apple-trees and pear-trees + Shed petals white or pink, + Plum-trees and peach-trees; + While sharp showers sink and sink. + + Little brings the May breeze + Beside pure scent of flowers, + While all things wax and nothing wanes + In lengthening daylight hours. + Across the hyacinth beds + The wind lags warm and sweet, + Across the hawthorn tops, + Across the blades of wheat. + + In the wind of sunny June + Thrives the red rose crop, + Every day fresh blossoms blow + While the first leaves drop; + White rose and yellow rose + And moss-rose choice to find, + And the cottage cabbage-rose + Not one whit behind. + + On the blast of scorched July + Drives the pelting hail, + From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot + Blue heaven grown lurid-pale. + Weedy waves are tossed ashore, + Sea-things strange to sight + Gasp upon the barren shore + And fade away in light. + + In the parching August wind, + Cornfields bow the head, + Sheltered in round valley depths, + On low hills outspread. + Early leaves drop loitering down + Weightless on the breeze, + First-fruits of the year's decay + From the withering trees. + + In brisk wind of September + The heavy-headed fruits + Shake upon their bending boughs + And drop from the shoots; + Some glow golden in the sun, + Some show green and streaked + Some set forth a purple bloom, + Some blush rosy-cheeked. + + In strong blast of October + At the equinox, + Stirred up in his hollow bed + Broad ocean rocks; + Plunge the ships on his bosom, + Leaps and plunges the foam,-- + It's O for mothers' sons at sea, + That they were safe at home! + + In slack wind of November + The fog forms and shifts; + All the world comes out again + When the fog lifts. + Loosened from their sapless twigs + Leaves drop with every gust; + Drifting, rustling, out of sight + In the damp or dust. + + Last of all, December, + The year's sands nearly run, + Speeds on the shortest day, + Curtails the sun; + With its bleak raw wind + Lays the last leaves low, + Brings back the nightly frosts, + Brings back the snow. + + + + THE QUEEN OF HEARTS. + + + How comes it, Flora, that, whenever we + Play cards together, you invariably, + However the pack parts, + Still hold the Queen of Hearts? + + I've scanned you with a scrutinizing gaze, + Resolved to fathom these your secret ways: + But, sift them as I will, + Your ways are secret still. + + I cut and shuffle; shuffle, cut, again; + But all my cutting, shuffling, proves in vain: + Vain hope, vain forethought, too; + That Queen still falls to you. + + I dropped her once, prepense; but, ere the deal + Was dealt, your instinct seemed her loss to feel: + "There should be one card more," + You said, and searched the floor. + + I cheated once: I made a private notch + In Heart-Queen's back, and kept a lynx-eyed watch; + Yet such another back + Deceived me in the pack: + + The Queen of Clubs assumed by arts unknown + An imitative dint that seemed my own; + This notch, not of my doing, + Misled me to my ruin. + + It baffles me to puzzle out the clew, + Which must be skill, or craft, or luck in you: + Unless, indeed, it be + Natural affinity. + + + + ONE DAY. + + + I will tell you when they met: + In the limpid days of Spring; + Elder boughs were budding yet, + Oaken boughs looked wintry still, + But primrose and veined violet + In the mossful turf were set, + While meeting birds made haste to sing + And build with right good will. + + I will tell you when they parted: + When plenteous Autumn sheaves were brown, + Then they parted heavy-hearted; + The full rejoicing sun looked down + As grand as in the days before; + Only they had lost a crown; + Only to them those days of yore + Could come back nevermore. + + When shall they meet? I cannot tell, + Indeed, when they shall meet again, + Except some day in Paradise: + For this they wait, one waits in pain. + Beyond the sea of death love lies + Forever, yesterday, to-day; + Angels shall ask them, "Is it well?" + And they shall answer, "Yea." + + + + A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW. + + + "Croak, croak, croak," + Thus the Raven spoke, + Perched on his crooked tree + As hoarse as hoarse could be. + Shun him and fear him, + Lest the Bridegroom hear him; + Scout him and rout him + With his ominous eye about him. + + Yet, "Croak, croak, croak," + Still tolled from the oak; + From that fatal black bird, + Whether heard or unheard: + "O ship upon the high seas, + Freighted with lives and spices, + Sink, O ship," croaked the Raven: + "Let the Bride mount to heaven." + + In a far foreign land + Upon the wave-edged sand, + Some friends gaze wistfully + Across the glittering sea. + "If we could clasp our sister," + Three say, "now we have missed her!" + "If we could kiss our daughter!" + Two sigh across the water. + + O, the ship sails fast, + With silken flags at the mast, + And the home-wind blows soft; + But a Raven sits aloft, + Chuckling and choking, + Croaking, croaking, croaking:-- + Let the beacon-fire blaze higher; + Bridegroom, watch; the Bride draws nigher. + + On a sloped sandy beach, + Which the spring-tide billows reach, + Stand a watchful throng + Who have hoped and waited long: + "Fie on this ship, that tarries + With the priceless freight it carries. + The time seems long and longer: + O languid wind, wax stronger";-- + + Whilst the Raven perched at ease + Still croaks and does not cease, + One monotonous note + Tolled from his iron throat: + "No father, no mother, + But I have a sable brother: + He sees where ocean flows to, + And he knows what he knows, too." + + A day and a night + They kept watch worn and white; + A night and a day + For the swift ship on its way: + For the Bride and her maidens,-- + Clear chimes the bridal cadence,-- + For the tall ship that never + Hove in sight forever. + + On either shore, some + Stand in grief loud or dumb + As the dreadful dread + Grows certain though unsaid. + For laughter there is weeping, + And waking instead of sleeping, + And a desperate sorrow + Morrow after morrow. + + O, who knows the truth, + How she perished in her youth, + And like a queen went down + Pale in her royal crown? + How she went up to glory + From the sea-foam chill and hoary, + From the sea-depth black and riven + To the calm that is in Heaven? + + They went down, all the crew, + The silks and spices too, + The great ones and the small, + One and all, one and all. + Was it through stress of weather, + Quicksands, rocks, or all together? + Only the Raven knows this, + And he will not disclose this.-- + + After a day and a year + The bridal bells chime clear; + After a year and a day + The Bridegroom is brave and gay: + Love is sound, faith is rotten; + The old Bride is forgotten:-- + Two ominous Ravens only + Remember, black and lonely. + + + + + THE GERMAN-FRENCH CAMPAIGN. + + 1870-1871. + +These two pieces, written during the suspense of a great nation's agony, +aim at expressing human sympathy, not political bias. + + + I. + + "THY BROTHER'S BLOOD CRIETH." + + + All her corn-fields rippled in the sunshine, + All her lovely vines, sweets-laden, bowed; + Yet some weeks to harvest and to vintage: + When, as one man's hand, a cloud + Rose and spread, and, blackening, burst asunder + In rain and fire and thunder. + + Is there nought to reap in the day of harvest? + Hath the vine in her day no fruit to yield? + Yea, men tread the press, but not for sweetness, + And they reap a red crop from the field. + Build barns, ye reapers, garner all aright, + Though your souls be called to-night. + + A cry of tears goes up from blackened homesteads, + A cry of blood goes up from reeking earth: + Tears and blood have a cry that pierces Heaven + Through all its Hallelujah swells of mirth; + God hears their cry, and though He tarry, yet + He doth not forget. + + Mournful Mother, prone in dust weeping, + Who shall comfort thee for those who are not? + As thou didst, men do to thee; and heap the measure, + And heat the furnace sevenfold hot: + As thou once, now these to thee--who pitieth thee + From sea to sea? + + O thou King, terrible in strength, and building + Thy strong future on thy past! + Though he drink the last, the King of Sheshach, + Yet he shall drink at the last. + Art thou greater than great Babylon, + Which lies overthrown? + + Take heed, ye unwise among the people; + O ye fools, when will ye understand?-- + He that planted the ear shall He not hear, + Nor He smite who formed the hand? + "Vengeance is Mine, is Mine," thus saith the Lord:-- + O Man, put up thy sword. + + + + II. + + "TO-DAY FOR ME." + + + She sitteth still who used to dance, + She weepeth sore and more and more-- + Let us sit with thee weeping sore, + O fair France! + + She trembleth as the days advance + Who used to be so light of heart:-- + We in thy trembling bear a part, + Sister France! + + Her eyes shine tearful as they glance: + "Who shall give back my slaughtered sons? + "Bind up," she saith, "my wounded ones."-- + Alas, France! + + She struggles in a deathly trance, + As in a dream her pulses stir, + She hears the nations calling her, + "France, France, France!" + + Thou people of the lifted lance, + Forbear her tears, forbear her blood: + Roll back, roll back, thy whelming flood, + Back from France. + + Eye not her loveliness askance, + Forge not for her a galling chain; + Leave her at peace to bloom again, + Vine-clad France. + + A time there is for change and chance, + A time for passing of the cup: + And One abides can yet bind up + Broken France. + + A time there is for change and chance: + Who next shall drink the trembling cup, + Wring out its dregs and suck them up + After France? + + + + + ON THE WING. + + SONNET. + + + Once in a dream (for once I dreamed of you) + We stood together in an open field; + Above our heads two swift-winged pigeons wheeled, + Sporting at ease and courting full in view. + When loftier still a broadening darkness flew, + Down-swooping, and a ravenous hawk revealed; + Too weak to fight, too fond to fly, they yield; + So farewell life and love and pleasures new. + Then, as their plumes fell fluttering to the ground, + Their snow-white plumage flecked with crimson drops, + I wept, and thought I turned towards you to weep: + But you were gone; while rustling hedgerow tops + Bent in a wind which bore to me a sound + Of far-off piteous bleat of lambs and sheep. + + + + CONSIDER. + + + Consider + The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- + We are as they; + Like them we fade away, + As doth a leaf. + + Consider + The sparrows of the air of small account: + Our God doth view + Whether they fall or mount,-- + He guards us too. + + Consider + The lilies that do neither spin nor toil, + Yet are most fair:-- + What profits all this care + And all this coil? + + Consider + The birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks; + God gives them food:-- + Much more our Father seeks + To do us good. + + + + BEAUTY IS VAIN. + + + While roses are so red, + While lilies are so white, + Shall a woman exalt her face + Because it gives delight? + She's not so sweet as a rose, + A lily's straighter than she, + And if she were as red or white + She'd be but one of three. + + Whether she flush in love's summer + Or in its winter grow pale, + Whether she flaunt her beauty + Or hide it away in a veil, + Be she red or white, + And stand she erect or bowed, + Time will win the race he runs with her + And hide her away in a shroud. + + + + MAGGIE A LADY. + + + You must not call me Maggie, you must not call me Dear, + For I'm Lady of the Manor now stately to see; + And if there comes a babe, as there may some happy year, + 'T will be little lord or lady at my knee. + + O, but what ails you, my sailor cousin Phil, + That you shake and turn white like a cockcrow ghost? + You're as white as I turned once down by the mill, + When one told me you and ship and crew were lost: + + Philip my playfellow, when we were boy and girl + (It was the Miller's Nancy told it to me), + Philip with the merry life in lip and curl, + Philip my playfellow drowned in the sea! + + I thought I should have fainted, but I did not faint; + I stood stunned at the moment, scarcely sad, + Till I raised my wail of desolate complaint + For you, my cousin, brother, all I had. + + They said I looked so pale,--some say so fair,-- + My lord stopped in passing to soothe me back to life: + I know I missed a ringlet from my hair + Next morning; and now I am his wife. + + Look at my gown, Philip, and look at my ring, + I'm all crimson and gold from top to toe: + All day long I sit in the sun and sing, + Where in the sun red roses blush and blow. + + And I'm the rose of roses says my lord; + And to him I'm more than the sun in the sky, + While I hold him fast with the golden cord + Of a curl, with the eyelash of an eye. + + His mother said "fie," and his sisters cried "shame," + His high-born ladies cried "shame" from their place: + They said "fie" when they only heard my name, + But fell silent when they saw my face. + + Am I so fair, Philip? Philip, did you think + I was so fair when we played boy and girl, + Where blue forget-me-nots bloomed on the brink + Of our stream which the mill-wheel sent awhirl? + + If I was fair then sure I'm fairer now, + Sitting where a score of servants stand, + With a coronet on high days for my brow + And almost a sceptre for my hand. + + You're but a sailor, Philip, weatherbeaten brown, + A stranger on land and at home on the sea, + Coasting as best you may from town to town: + Coasting along do you often think of me? + + I'm a great lady in a sheltered bower, + With hands grown white through having naught to do: + Yet sometimes I think of you hour after hour + Till I nigh wish myself a child with you. + + + + WHAT WOULD I GIVE? + + + What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through, + Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do; + Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all. + + What would I give for words, if only words would come; + But now in its misery my spirit has fallen dumb: + O, merry friends, go your way, I have never a word to say. + + What would I give for tears, not smiles but scalding tears, + To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of years, + To wash the stain ingrain and to make me clean again. + + + + THE BOURNE. + + + Underneath the growing grass, + Underneath the living flowers, + Deeper than the sound of showers: + There we shall not count the hours + By the shadows as they pass. + + Youth and health will be but vain, + Beauty reckoned of no worth: + There a very little girth + Can hold round what once the earth + Seemed too narrow to contain. + + + + SUMMER. + + + Winter is cold-hearted, + Spring is yea and nay, + Autumn is a weathercock + Blown every way: + Summer days for me + When every leaf is on its tree; + + When Robin's not a beggar, + And Jenny Wren's a bride, + And larks hang singing, singing, singing, + Over the wheat-fields wide, + And anchored lilies ride, + And the pendulum spider + Swings from side to side, + + And blue-black beetles transact business, + And gnats fly in a host, + And furry caterpillars hasten + That no time be lost, + And moths grow fat and thrive, + And ladybirds arrive. + + Before green apples blush, + Before green nuts embrown, + Why, one day in the country + Is worth a month in town; + Is worth a day and a year + Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion + That days drone elsewhere. + + + + AUTUMN. + + + I dwell alone,--I dwell alone, alone, + Whilst full my river flows down to the sea, + Gilded with flashing boats + That bring no friend to me: + O love-songs, gurgling from a hundred throats, + O love-pangs, let me be. + + Fair fall the freighted boats which gold and stone + And spices bear to sea: + Slim, gleaming maidens swell their mellow notes, + Love-promising, entreating,-- + Ah! sweet, but fleeting,-- + Beneath the shivering, snow-white sails. + Hush! the wind flags and fails,-- + Hush! they will lie becalmed in sight of strand,-- + Sight of my strand, where I do dwell alone; + Their songs wake singing echoes in my land,-- + They cannot hear me moan. + + One latest, solitary swallow flies + Across the sea, rough autumn-tempest tost, + Poor bird, shall it be lost? + Dropped down into this uncongenial sea, + With no kind eyes + To watch it while it dies, + Unguessed, uncared for, free: + Set free at last, + The short pang past, + In sleep, in death, in dreamless sleep locked fast. + + Mine avenue is all a growth of oaks, + Some rent by thunder-strokes, + Some rustling leaves and acorns in the breeze: + Fair fall my fertile trees, + That rear their goodly heads, and live at ease. + + A spider's web blocks all mine avenue; + He catches down and foolish painted flies, + That spider wary and wise. + Each morn it hangs a rainbow strung with dew + Betwixt boughs green with sap, + So fair, few creatures guess it is a trap: + I will not mar the web, + Though sad I am to see the small lives ebb. + + It shakes,--my trees shake; for a wind is roused + In cavern where it housed: + Each white and quivering sail, + Of boats among the water leaves + Hollows and strains in the full-throated gale: + Each maiden sings again,-- + Each languid maiden, whom the calm + Had lulled to sleep with rest and spice and balm, + Miles down my river to the sea + They float and wane, + Long miles away from me. + Perhaps they say: "She grieves, + Uplifted, like a beacon, on her tower." + Perhaps they say: "One hour + More, and we dance among the golden sheaves." + Perhaps they say: "One hour + More, and we stand, + Face to face, hand in hand; + Make haste, O slack gale, to the looked-for land!" + + My trees are not in flower, + I have no bower, + And gusty creaks my tower, + And lonesome, very lonesome, is my strand. + + + + THE GHOST'S PETITION. + + + "There's a footstep coming: look out and see."-- + "The leaves are falling, the wind is calling; + No one cometh across the lea."-- + + "There's a footstep coming: O sister, look."-- + "The ripple flashes, the white foam dashes; + No one cometh across the brook."-- + + "But he promised that he would come: + To-night, to-morrow, in joy or sorrow, + He must keep his word, and must come home. + + "For he promised that he would come: + His word was given; from earth or heaven, + He must keep his word, and must come home. + + "Go to sleep, my sweet sister Jane; + You can slumber, who need not number + Hour after hour, in doubt and pain. + + "I shall sit here awhile, and watch; + Listening, hoping, for one hand groping + In deep shadow to find the latch." + + After the dark, and before the light, + One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping, + Who had watched and wept the weary night. + + After the night, and before the day, + One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping,-- + Watching, weeping for one away. + + There came a footstep climbing the stair; + Some one standing out on the landing + Shook the door like a puff of air,-- + + Shook the door, and in he passed. + Did he enter? In the room centre + Stood her husband: the door shut fast. + + "O Robin, but you are cold,-- + Chilled with the night-dew: so lily-white you + Look like a stray lamb from our fold. + + "O Robin, but you are late: + Come and sit near me,--sit here and cheer me."-- + (Blue the flame burnt in the grate.) + + "Lay not down your head on my breast: + I cannot hold you, kind wife, nor fold you + In the shelter that you love best. + + "Feel not after my clasping hand: + I am but a shadow, come from the meadow + Where many lie, but no tree can stand. + + "We are trees which have shed their leaves: + Our heads lie low there, but no tears flow there; + Only I grieve for my wife who grieves. + + "I could rest if you would not moan + Hour after hour; I have no power + To shut my ears where I lie alone. + + "I could rest if you would not cry; + But there's no sleeping while you sit weeping,-- + Watching, weeping so bitterly."-- + + "Woe's me! woe's me! for this I have heard. + O, night of sorrow!--O, black to-morrow! + Is it thus that you keep your word? + + "O you who used so to shelter me + Warm from the least wind,--why, now the east wind + Is warmer than you, whom I quake to see. + + "O my husband of flesh and blood, + For whom my mother I left, and brother, + And all I had, accounting it good, + + "What do you do there, underground, + In the dark hollow? I'm fain to follow. + What do you do there?--what have you found?"-- + + "What I do there I must not tell; + But I have plenty. Kind wife, content ye: + It is well with us,--it is well. + + "Tender hand hath made our nest; + Our fear is ended, our hope is blended + With present pleasure, and we have rest."-- + + "O, but Robin, I'm fain to come, + If your present days are so pleasant; + For my days are so wearisome. + + "Yet I'll dry my tears for your sake: + Why should I tease you, who cannot please you + Any more with the pains I take?" + + + + MEMORY. + + + I. + + I nursed it in my bosom while it lived, + I hid it in my heart when it was dead; + In joy I sat alone, even so I grieved + Alone and nothing said. + + I shut the door to face the naked truth, + I stood alone,--I faced the truth alone, + Stripped bare of self-regard or forms or ruth + Till first and last were shown. + + I took the perfect balances and weighed; + No shaking of my hand disturbed the poise; + Weighed, found it wanting: not a word I said, + But silent made my choice. + + None know the choice I made; I make it still. + None know the choice I made and broke my heart, + Breaking mine idol: I have braced my will + Once, chosen for once my part. + + I broke it at a blow, I laid it cold, + Crushed in my deep heart where it used to live. + My heart dies inch by inch; the time grows old, + Grows old in which I grieve. + + + II. + + I have a room whereinto no one enters + Save I myself alone: + There sits a blessed memory on a throne, + There my life centres. + + While winter comes and goes--O tedious comer!-- + And while its nip-wind blows; + While bloom the bloodless lily and warm rose + Of lavish summer. + + If any should force entrance he might see there + One buried yet not dead, + Before whose face I no more bow my head + Or bend my knee there; + + But often in my worn life's autumn weather + I watch there with clear eyes, + And think how it will be in Paradise + When we're together. + + + + A ROYAL PRINCESS. + + + I, a princess, king-descended, decked with jewels, gilded, drest, + Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast, + For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west. + + Two and two my guards behind, two and two before, + Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore; + Me, poor dove, that must not coo,--eagle, that must not soar. + + All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow + Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow + That are costly, out of season as the seasons go. + + All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace + Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place, + Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face. + + Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon, + Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne; + There I sit uplift and upright, there I sit alone. + + Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end; + My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend-- + O my father! O my mother! have you ne'er a friend? + + As I am a lofty princess, so my father is + A lofty king, accomplished in all kingly subtilties, + Holding in his strong right hand world-kingdoms' balances. + + He has quarrelled with his neighbors, he has scourged his foes; + Vassal counts and princes follow where his pennon goes, + Long-descended valiant lords whom the vulture knows, + + On whose track the vulture swoops, when they ride in state + To break the strength of armies and topple down the great: + Each of these my courteous servant, none of these my mate. + + My father counting up his strength sets down with equal pen + So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men; + These for slaughter, these for labor, with the how and when. + + Some to work on roads, canals; some to man his ships; + Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips; + Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips. + + Once it came into my heart and whelmed me like a flood, + That these too are men and women, human flesh and blood; + Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like mud. + + Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay; + On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of gray, + My father frowning at the fare seemed every dish to weigh. + + I sat beside them sole princess in my exalted place, + My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais: + A mirror showed me I look old and haggard in the face; + + It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon, + Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known, + They laugh by day, they sleep by night; ah me, what is a throne? + + The singing men and women sang that night as usual, + The dancers danced in pairs and sets, but music had a fall, + A melancholy windy fall as at a funeral. + + Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept; + My ladies loosed my golden chain; meantime I could have wept + To think of some in galling chains whether they waked or slept. + + I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on, + They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon, + They lit my shaded silver lamp and left me there alone. + + A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said: + "Men are clamoring, women, children, clamoring to be fed; + Men like famished dogs are howling in the streets for bread." + + So two whispered by my door, not thinking I could hear, + Vulgar, naked truth, ungarnished for a royal ear; + Fit for cooping in the background, not to stalk so near. + + But I strained my utmost sense to catch this truth, and mark: + "There are families out grazing like cattle in the park." + "A pair of peasants must be saved even if we build an ark." + + A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way; + One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day; + One was my youngest maid, as sweet and white as cream in May. + + Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp; + Voices said: "Picked soldiers have been summoned from the camp + To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and stamp." + + "Howl and stamp?" one answered: "They made free to hurl a stone + At the minister's state coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown." + "There's work, then, for the soldiers, for this rank crop must be mown." + + "One I saw, a poor old fool with ashes on his head, + Whimpering because a girl had snatched his crust of bread: + Then he dropped; when some one raised him, it turned out he was dead." + + "After us the deluge," was retorted with a laugh: + "If bread's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff." + "While I've a loaf they're welcome to my blessing and the chaff." + + These passed. The king: stand up. Said my father with a smile: + "Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile, + She's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?" + + He too left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait + (I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate), + Or shall I work the last gold stitch into my veil of state; + + Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene, + There's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between; + Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen? + + Again I caught my father's voice in sharp word of command: + "Charge!" a clash of steel: "Charge again, the rebels stand. + Smite and spare not, hand to hand; smite and spare not, hand to hand." + + There swelled a tumult at the gate, high voices waxing higher; + A flash of red reflected light lit the cathedral spire; + I heard a cry for faggots, then I heard a yell for fire. + + "Sit and roast there with your meat, sit and bake there with your bread, + You who sat to see us starve," one shrieking woman said: + "Sit on your throne and roast with your crown upon your head." + + Nay, this thing will I do, while my mother tarrieth, + I will take my fine spun gold, but not to sew therewith, + I will take my gold and gems, and rainbow fan and wreath; + + With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my hand, + I will go down to this people, will stand face to face, will stand + Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land. + + They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give; + I, if I perish, perish; they to-day shall eat and live; + I, if I perish, perish; that's the goal I half conceive: + + Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and show + The lesson I have learned, which is death, is life, to know. + I, if I perish, perish; in the name of God I go. + + + + SHALL I FORGET? + + + Shall I forget on this side of the grave? + I promise nothing: you must wait and see + Patient and brave. + (O my soul, watch with him and he with me.) + + Shall I forget in peace of Paradise? + I promise nothing: follow, friend, and see, + Faithful and wise. + (O my soul, lead the way he walks with me.) + + + + VANITY OF VANITIES. + + SONNET. + + + Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain, + Ah, woe is me for glory that is past: + Pleasure that bringeth sorrow at the last, + Glory that at the last bringeth no gain! + So saith the sinking heart; and so again + It shall say till the mighty angel-blast + Is blown, making the sun and moon aghast, + And showering down the stars like sudden rain. + And evermore men shall go fearfully, + Bending beneath their weight of heaviness; + And ancient men shall lie down wearily, + And strong men shall rise up in weariness; + Yea, even the young shall answer sighingly, + Saying one to another: How vain it is! + + + + L. E. L. + + "Whose heart was breaking for a little love." + + + Down-stairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all: + But in my solitary room above + I turn my face in silence to the wall; + My heart is breaking for a little love. + Though winter frosts are done, + And birds pair every one, + And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun. + + I feel no spring, while spring is wellnigh blown, + I find no nest, while nests are in the grove: + Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone, + My heart that breaketh for a little love. + While golden in the sun + Rivulets rise and run, + While lilies bud, for springtide is begun. + + All love, are loved, save only I; their hearts + Beat warm with love and joy, beat full thereof: + They cannot guess, who play the pleasant parts, + My heart is breaking for a little love. + While beehives wake and whirr, + And rabbit thins his fur, + In living spring that sets the world astir. + + I deck myself with silks and jewelry, + I plume myself like any mated dove: + They praise my rustling show, and never see + My heart is breaking for a little love. + While sprouts green lavender + With rosemary and myrrh, + For in quick spring the sap is all astir. + + Perhaps some saints in glory guess the truth, + Perhaps some angels read it as they move, + And cry one to another full of ruth, + "Her heart is breaking for a little love." + Though other things have birth, + And leap and sing for mirth, + When spring-time wakes and clothes and feeds the earth. + + Yet saith a saint: "Take patience for thy scathe"; + Yet saith an angel: "Wait, for thou shalt prove + True best is last, true life is born of death, + O thou, heart-broken for a little love! + Then love shall fill thy girth, + And love make fat thy dearth, + When new spring builds new heaven and clean new earth." + + + + LIFE AND DEATH. + + + Life is not sweet. One day it will be sweet + To shut our eyes and die: + Nor feel the wild-flowers blow, nor birds dart by + With flitting butterfly, + Nor grass grow long above our heads and feet, + Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky high, + Nor sigh that spring is fleet and summer fleet, + Nor mark the waxing wheat, + Nor know who sits in our accustomed seat. + + Life is not good. One day it will be good + To die, then live again; + To sleep meanwhile: so not to feel the wane + Of shrunk leaves dropping in the wood, + Nor hear the foamy lashing of the main, + Nor mark the blackened bean-fields, nor where stood + Rich ranks of golden grain, + Only dead refuse stubble clothe the plain: + Asleep from risk, asleep from pain. + + + + BIRD OR BEAST? + + + Did any bird come flying + After Adam and Eve, + When the door was shut against them + And they sat down to grieve? + + I think not Eve's peacock + Splendid to see, + And I think not Adam's eagle; + But a dove may be. + + Did any beast come pushing + Through the thorny hedge + Into the thorny, thistly world + Out from Eden's edge? + + I think not a lion, + Though his strength is such; + But an innocent loving lamb + May have done as much. + + If the dove preached from her bough + And the lamb from his sod, + The lamb and the dove + Were preachers sent from God. + + + + EVE. + + + "While I sit at the door, + Sick to gaze within, + Mine eye weepeth sore + For sorrow and sin: + As a tree my sin stands + To darken all lands; + Death is the fruit it bore. + + "How have Eden bowers grown + Without Adam to bend them! + How have Eden flowers blown, + Squandering their sweet breath, + Without me to tend them! + The Tree of Life was ours, + Tree twelvefold-fruited, + Most lofty tree that flowers, + Most deeply rooted: + I chose the Tree of Death. + + "Hadst thou but said me nay, + Adam, my brother, + I might have pined away; + I, but none other: + God might have let thee stay + Safe in our garden, + By putting me away + Beyond all pardon. + + "I, Eve, sad mother + Of all who must live, + I, not another, + Plucked bitterest fruit to give + My friend, husband, lover. + O wanton eyes run over! + Who but I should grieve?-- + Cain hath slain his brother: + Of all who must die mother, + Miserable Eve!" + + Thus she sat weeping, + Thus Eve, our mother, + Where one lay sleeping + Slain by his brother. + Greatest and least + Each piteous beast + To hear her voice + Forgot his joys + And set aside his feast. + + The mouse paused in his walk + And dropped his wheaten stalk; + Grave cattle wagged their heads + In rumination; + The eagle gave a cry + From his cloud station; + Larks on thyme beds + Forbore to mount or sing; + Bees drooped upon the wing; + The raven perched on high + Forgot his ration; + The conies in their rock, + A feeble nation, + Quaked sympathetical; + The mocking-bird left off to mock; + Huge camels knelt as if + In deprecation; + The kind hart's tears were falling; + Chattered the wistful stork; + Dove-voices with a dying fall + Cooed desolation, + Answering grief by grief. + + Only the serpent in the dust, + Wriggling and crawling, + Grinned an evil grin, and thrust + His tongue out with its fork. + + + + GROWN AND FLOWN. + + + I loved my love from green of Spring + Until sere Autumn's fall; + But now that leaves are withering + How should one love at all? + One heart's too small + For hunger, cold, love, everything. + + I loved my love on sunny days + Until late Summer's wane; + But now that frost begins to glaze + How should one love again? + Nay, love and pain + Walk wide apart in diverse ways. + + I loved my love,--alas to see + That this should be, alas! + I thought that this could scarcely be, + Yet has it come to pass: + Sweet sweet love was, + Now bitter bitter grown to me. + + + + A FARM WALK. + + + The year stood at its equinox + And bluff the North was blowing, + A bleat of lambs came from the flocks, + Green hardy things were growing; + I met a maid with shining locks + Where milky kine were lowing. + + She wore a kerchief on her neck, + Her bare arm showed its dimple, + Her apron spread without a speck, + Her air was frank and simple. + + She milked into a wooden pail + And sang a country ditty, + An innocent fond lovers' tale, + That was not wise nor witty, + Pathetically rustical, + Too pointless for the city. + + She kept in time without a beat + As true as church-bell ringers, + Unless she tapped time with her feet, + Or squeezed it with her fingers; + Her clear unstudied notes were sweet + As many a practised singer's. + + I stood a minute out of sight, + Stood silent for a minute + To eye the pail, and creamy white + The frothing milk within it; + + To eye the comely milking maid + Herself so fresh and creamy: + "Good day to you," at last I said; + She turned her head to see me: + "Good day," she said, with lifted head; + Her eyes looked soft and dreamy, + + And all the while she milked and milked + The grave cow heavy-laden: + I've seen grand ladies plumed and silked, + But not a sweeter maiden; + + But not a sweeter, fresher maid + Than this in homely cotton, + Whose pleasant face and silky braid + I have not yet forgotten. + + Seven springs have passed since then, as I + Count with a sober sorrow; + Seven springs have come and passed me by, + And spring sets in to-morrow. + + I've half a mind to shake myself + Free just for once from London, + To set my work upon the shelf + And leave it done or undone; + + To run down by the early train, + Whirl down with shriek and whistle, + And feel the bluff North blow again, + And mark the sprouting thistle + Set up on waste patch of the lane + Its green and tender bristle, + + And spy the scarce-blown violet banks, + Crisp primrose leaves and others, + And watch the lambs leap at their pranks + And butt their patient mothers. + + Alas, one point in all my plan + My serious thoughts demur to: + Seven years have passed for maid and man, + Seven years have passed for her too; + + Perhaps my rose is overblown, + Not rosy or too rosy; + Perhaps in farm-house of her own + Some husband keeps her cosey, + Where I should show a face unknown. + Good by, my wayside posy. + + + + SOMEWHERE OR OTHER. + + + Somewhere or other there must surely be + The face not seen, the voice not heard, + The heart that not yet--never yet--ah me! + Made answer to my word. + + Somewhere or other, may be near or far; + Past land and sea, clean out of sight; + Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star + That tracks her night by night. + + Somewhere or other, may be far or near; + With just a wall, a hedge, between; + With just the last leaves of the dying year + Fallen on a turf grown green. + + + + A CHILL. + + + What can lambkins do + All the keen night through? + Nestle by their woolly mother, + The careful ewe. + + What can nestlings do + In the nightly dew? + Sleep beneath their mother's wing + Till day breaks anew. + + If in field or tree + There might only be + Such a warm soft sleeping-place + Found for me! + + + + CHILD'S TALK IN APRIL. + + + I WISH you were a pleasant wren, + And I your small accepted mate; + How we'd look down on toilsome men! + We'd rise and go to bed at eight + Or it may be not quite so late. + + Then you should see the nest I'd build, + The wondrous nest for you and me; + The outside rough, perhaps, but filled + With wool and down: ah, you should see + The cosey nest that it would be. + + We'd have our change of hope and fear, + Small quarrels, reconcilements sweet: + I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer, + Or hop about on active feet + And fetch you dainty bits to eat. + + We'd be so happy by the day, + So safe and happy through the night, + We both should feel, and I should say, + It's all one season of delight, + And we'll make merry whilst we may. + + Perhaps some day there'd be an egg + When spring had blossomed from the snow: + I'd stand triumphant on one leg; + Like chanticleer I'd almost crow + To let our little neighbors know. + + Next you should sit and I would sing + Through lengthening days of sunny spring: + Till, if you wearied of the task, + I'd sit; and you should spread your wing + From bough to bough; I'd sit and bask. + + Fancy the breaking of the shell, + The chirp, the chickens wet and bare, + The untried proud paternal swell; + And you with housewife-matron air + Enacting choicer bills of fare. + + Fancy the embryo coats of down, + The gradual feathers soft and sleek; + Till clothed and strong from tail to crown, + With virgin warblings in their beak, + They too go forth to soar and seek. + + So would it last an April through + And early summer fresh with dew: + Then should we part and live as twain, + Love-time would bring me back to you + And build our happy nest again. + + + + GONE FOREVER. + + + O happy rose-bud blooming + Upon thy parent tree,-- + Nay, thou art too presuming; + For soon the earth entombing + Thy faded charms shall be, + And the chill damp consuming. + + O happy skylark springing + Up to the broad blue sky, + Too fearless in thy winging, + Too gladsome in thy singing, + Thou also soon shalt lie + Where no sweet notes are ringing. + + And through life's shine and shower + We shall have joy and pain; + But in the summer bower, + And at the morning hour, + We still shall look in vain + For the same bird and flower. + + + + UNDER THE ROSE. + + "The iniquity of the fathers upon the children." + + + O the rose of keenest thorn! + One hidden summer morn + Under the rose I was born. + + I do not guess his name + Who wrought my Mother's shame, + And gave me life forlorn, + But my Mother, Mother, Mother, + I know her from all other. + My Mother pale and mild, + Fair as ever was seen, + She was but scarce sixteen, + Little more than a child, + When I was born + To work her scorn. + With secret bitter throes, + In a passion of secret woes, + She bore me under the rose. + + One who my Mother nursed + Took me from the first:-- + "O nurse, let me look upon + This babe that cost so dear; + To-morrow she will be gone: + Other mothers may keep + Their babes awake and asleep, + But I must not keep her here."-- + Whether I know or guess, + I know this not the less. + + So I was sent away + That none might spy the truth: + And my childhood waxed to youth + And I left off childish play. + I never cared to play + With the village boys and girls; + And I think they thought me proud, + I found so little to say + And kept so from the crowd: + But I had the longest curls, + And I had the largest eyes, + And my teeth were small like pearls; + The girls might flout and scout me, + But the boys would hang about me + In sheepish mooning wise. + + Our one-street village stood + A long mile from the town, + A mile of windy down + And bleak one-sided wood, + With not a single house. + Our town itself was small, + With just the common shops, + And throve in its small way. + Our neighboring gentry reared + The good old-fashioned crops, + And made old-fashioned boasts + Of what John Bull would do + If Frenchman Frog appeared, + And drank old-fashioned toasts, + And made old-fashioned bows + To my Lady at the Hall. + + My Lady at the Hall + Is grander than they all: + Hers is the oldest name + In all the neighborhood; + But the race must die with her + Though she's a lofty dame, + For she's unmarried still. + Poor people say she's good + And has an open hand + As any in the land, + And she's the comforter + Of many sick and sad; + My nurse once said to me + That everything she had + Came of my Lady's bounty: + "Though she's greatest in the county + She's humble to the poor, + No beggar seeks her door + But finds help presently. + I pray both night and day + For her, and you must pray: + But she'll never feel distress + If needy folk can bless." + I was a little maid + When here we came to live + From somewhere by the sea. + Men spoke a foreign tongue + There where we used to be + When I was merry and young, + Too young to feel afraid; + The fisher-folk would give + A kind strange word to me, + There by the foreign sea: + I don't know where it was, + But I remember still + Our cottage on a hill, + And fields of flowering grass + On that fair foreign shore. + + I liked my old home best, + But this was pleasant too: + So here we made our nest + And here I grew. + And now and then my Lady + In riding past our door + Would nod to nurse and speak, + Or stoop and pat my cheek; + And I was always ready + To hold the field-gate wide + For my Lady to go through; + My Lady in her veil + So seldom put aside, + My Lady grave and pale. + + I often sat to wonder + Who might my parents be, + For I knew of something under + My simple-seeming state. + Nurse never talked to me + Of mother or of father, + But watched me early and late + With kind suspicious cares: + Or not suspicious, rather + Anxious, as if she knew + Some secret I might gather + And smart for unawares. + Thus I grew. + + But Nurse waxed old and gray, + Bent and weak with years. + There came a certain day + That she lay upon her bed + Shaking her palsied head, + With words she gasped to say + Which had to stay unsaid. + Then with a jerking hand + Held out so piteously + She gave a ring to me + Of gold wrought curiously, + A ring which she had worn + Since the day that I was born, + She once had said to me: + I slipped it on my finger; + Her eyes were keen to linger + On my hand that slipped it on; + Then she sighed one rattling sigh + And stared on with sightless eye:-- + The one who loved me was gone. + + How long I stayed alone + With the corpse I never knew, + For I fainted dead as stone: + When I came to life once more + I was down upon the floor, + With neighbors making ado + To bring me back to life. + I heard the sexton's wife + Say: "Up, my lad, and run + To tell it at the Hall; + She was my Lady's nurse, + And done can't be undone. + I'll watch by this poor lamb. + I guess my Lady's purse + Is always open to such: + I'd run up on my crutch + A cripple as I am," + (For cramps had vexed her much,) + "Rather than this dear heart + Lack one to take her part." + + For days, day after day, + On my weary bed I lay, + Wishing the time would pass; + O, so wishing that I was + Likely to pass away: + For the one friend whom I knew + Was dead, I knew no other, + Neither father nor mother; + And I, what should I do? + + One day the sexton's wife + Said: "Rouse yourself, my dear: + My Lady has driven down + From the Hall into the town, + And we think she's coming here. + Cheer up, for life is life." + + But I would not look or speak, + Would not cheer up at all. + My tears were like to fall, + So I turned round to the wall + And hid my hollow cheek, + Making as if I slept, + As silent as a stone, + And no one knew I wept. + What was my Lady to me, + The grand lady from the Hall? + She might come, or stay away, + I was sick at heart that day: + The whole world seemed to be + Nothing, just nothing to me, + For aught that I could see. + + Yet I listened where I lay: + A bustle came below, + A clear voice said: "I know; + I will see her first alone, + It may be less of a shock + If she's so weak to-day":-- + A light hand turned the lock, + A light step crossed the floor, + One sat beside my bed: + But never a word she said. + + For me, my shyness grew + Each moment more and more: + So I said never a word + And neither looked nor stirred; + I think she must have heard + My heart go pit-a-pat: + Thus I lay, my Lady sat, + More than a mortal hour + (I counted one and two + By the house-clock while I lay): + I seemed to have no power + To think of a thing to say, + Or do what I ought to do, + Or rouse myself to a choice. + + At last she said: "Margaret, + Won't you even look at me?" + A something in her voice + Forced my tears to fall at last, + Forced sobs from me thick and fast; + Something not of the past, + Yet stirring memory; + A something new, and yet + Not new, too sweet to last, + Which I never can forget. + + I turned and stared at her: + Her cheek showed hollow-pale; + Her hair like mine was fair, + A wonderful fall of hair + That screened her like a veil; + But her height was statelier, + Her eyes had depth more deep: + I think they must have had + Always a something sad, + Unless they were asleep. + + While I stared, my Lady took + My hand in her spare hand, + Jewelled and soft and grand, + And looked with a long long look + Of hunger in my face; + As if she tried to trace + Features she ought to know, + And half hoped, half feared, to find. + Whatever was in her mind + She heaved a sigh at last, + And began to talk to me. + "Your nurse was my dear nurse, + And her nursling's dear," said she: + "No one told me a word + Of her getting worse and worse, + Till her poor life was past" + (Here my Lady's tears dropped fast): + "I might have been with her, + I might have promised and heard, + But she had no comforter. + She might have told me much + Which now I shall never know, + Never, never shall know." + She sat by me sobbing so, + And seemed so woe-begone, + That I laid one hand upon + Hers with a timid touch, + Scarce thinking what I did, + Not knowing what to say: + That moment her face was hid + In the pillow close by mine, + Her arm was flung over me, + She hugged me, sobbing so + As if her heart would break, + And kissed me where I lay. + + After this she often came + To bring me fruit or wine, + Or sometimes hothouse flowers. + And at nights I lay awake + Often and often thinking + What to do for her sake. + Wet or dry it was the same: + She would come in at all hours, + Set me eating and drinking, + And say I must grow strong; + At last the day seemed long + And home seemed scarcely home + If she did not come. + + Well, I grew strong again: + In time of primroses + I went to pluck them in the lane; + In time of nestling birds + I heard them chirping round the house; + And all the herds + Were out at grass when I grew strong, + And days were waxen long, + And there was work for bees + Among the May-bush boughs, + And I had shot up tall, + And life felt after all + Pleasant, and not so long + When I grew strong. + + I was going to the Hall + To be my Lady's maid: + "Her little friend," she said to me, + "Almost her child," + She said and smiled, + Sighing painfully; + Blushing, with a second flush, + As if she blushed to blush. + + Friend, servant, child: just this + My standing at the Hall; + The other servants call me "Miss," + My Lady calls me "Margaret," + With her clear voice musical. + She never chides when I forget + This or that; she never chides. + Except when people come to stay + (And that's not often) at the Hall, + I sit with her all day + And ride out when she rides. + She sings to me and makes me sing; + Sometimes I read to her, + Sometimes we merely sit and talk. + She noticed once my ring + And made me tell its history: + That evening in our garden walk + She said she should infer + The ring had been my father's first, + Then my mother's, given for me + To the nurse who nursed + My mother in her misery, + That so quite certainly + Some one might know me, who-- + Then she was silent, and I too. + + I hate when people come: + The women speak and stare + And mean to be so civil. + This one will stroke my hair, + That one will pat my cheek + And praise my Lady's kindness, + Expecting me to speak; + I like the proud ones best + Who sit as struck with blindness, + As if I wasn't there. + But if any gentleman + Is staying at the Hall + (Though few come prying here), + My Lady seems to fear + Some downright dreadful evil, + And makes me keep my room + As closely as she can: + So I hate when people come, + It is so troublesome. + In spite of all her care, + Sometimes to keep alive + I sometimes do contrive + To get out in the grounds + For a whiff of wholesome air, + Under the rose you know: + It's charming to break bounds, + Stolen waters are sweet, + And what's the good of feet + If for days they mustn't go? + Give me a longer tether, + Or I may break from it. + + Now I have eyes and ears + And just some little wit: + "Almost my lady's child"; + I recollect she smiled, + Sighed and blushed together; + Then her story of the ring + Sounds not improbable, + She told it me so well + It seemed the actual thing:-- + O keep your counsel close, + But I guess under the rose, + In long past summer weather + When the world was blossoming, + And the rose upon its thorn: + I guess not who he was + Flawed honor like a glass + And made my life forlorn; + But my Mother, Mother, Mother, + O, I know her from all other. + + My Lady, you might trust + Your daughter with your fame. + Trust me, I would not shame + Our honorable name, + For I have noble blood + Though I was bred in dust + And brought up in the mud. + I will not press my claim, + Just leave me where you will: + But you might trust your daughter, + For blood is thicker than water + And you're my mother still. + + So my Lady holds her own + With condescending grace, + And fills her lofty place + With an untroubled face + As a queen may fill a throne. + While I could hint a tale + (But then I am her child) + Would make her quail; + Would set her in the dust, + Lorn with no comforter, + Her glorious hair defiled + And ashes on her cheek: + The decent world would thrust + Its finger out at her, + Not much displeased I think + To make a nine days' stir; + The decent world would sink + Its voice to speak of her. + + Now this is what I mean + To do, no more, no less: + Never to speak, or show + Bare sign of what I know. + Let the blot pass unseen; + Yea, let her never guess + I hold the tangled clew + She huddles out of view. + Friend, servant, almost child, + So be it and nothing more + On this side of the grave. + Mother, in Paradise, + You'll see with clearer eyes; + Perhaps in this world even + When you are like to die + And face to face with Heaven + You'll drop for once the lie: + But you must drop the mask, not I. + + My Lady promises + Two hundred pounds with me + Whenever I may wed + A man she can approve: + And since besides her bounty + I'm fairest in the county + (For so I've heard it said, + Though I don't vouch for this), + Her promised pounds may move + Some honest man to see + My virtues and my beauties; + Perhaps the rising grazier, + Or temperance publican, + May claim my wifely duties. + Meanwhile I wait their leisure + And grace-bestowing pleasure, + I wait the happy man; + But if I hold my head + And pitch my expectations + Just higher than their level, + They must fall back on patience: + I may not mean to wed, + Yet I'll be civil. + + Now sometimes in a dream + My heart goes out of me + To build and scheme, + Till I sob after things that seem + So pleasant in a dream: + A home such as I see + My blessed neighbors live in + With father and with mother, + All proud of one another, + Named by one common name, + From baby in the bud + To full-blown workman father; + It's little short of Heaven. + I'd give my gentle blood + To wash my special shame + And drown my private grudge; + I'd toil and moil much rather + The dingiest cottage drudge + Whose mother need not blush, + Than live here like a lady + And see my Mother flush + And hear her voice unsteady + Sometimes, yet never dare + Ask to share her care. + + Of course the servants sneer + Behind my back at me; + Of course the village girls, + Who envy me my curls + And gowns and idleness, + Take comfort in a jeer; + Of course the ladies guess + Just so much of my history + As points the emphatic stress + With which they laud my Lady; + The gentlemen who catch + A casual glimpse of me + And turn again to see, + Their valets on the watch + To speak a word with me, + All know and sting me wild; + Till I am almost ready + To wish that I were dead, + No faces more to see, + No more words to be said, + My Mother safe at last + Disburdened of her child, + And the past past. + + "All equal before God,"-- + Our Rector has it so, + And sundry sleepers nod: + It may be so; I know + All are not equal here, + And when the sleepers wake + They make a difference. + "All equal in the grave,"-- + That shows an obvious sense: + Yet something which I crave + Not death itself brings near; + How should death half atone + For all my past; or make + The name I bear my own? + + I love my dear old Nurse + Who loved me without gains; + I love my mistress even, + Friend, Mother, what you will: + But I could almost curse + My Father for his pains; + And sometimes at my prayer, + Kneeling in sight of Heaven, + I almost curse him still: + Why did he set his snare + To catch at unaware + My Mother's foolish youth; + Load me with shame that's hers, + And her with something worse, + A lifelong lie for truth? + + I think my mind is fixed + On one point and made up: + To accept my lot unmixed; + Never to drug the cup + But drink it by myself. + I'll not be wooed for pelf; + I'll not blot out my shame + With any man's good name; + But nameless as I stand, + My hand is my own hand, + And nameless as I came + I go to the dark land. + + "All equal in the grave,"-- + I bide my time till then: + "All equal before God,"-- + To-day I feel His rod, + To-morrow He may save: + Amen. + + + + SONG. + + + Oh what comes over the sea, + Shoals and quicksands past; + And what comes home to me, + Sailing slow, sailing fast? + + A wind comes over the sea + With a moan in its blast; + But nothing comes home to me, + Sailing slow, sailing fast. + + Let me be, let me be, + For my lot is cast: + Land or sea all's one to me, + And sail it slow or fast. + + + + BY THE SEA. + + + Why does the sea moan evermore? + Shut out from heaven it makes its moan. + It frets against the boundary shore; + All earth's full rivers cannot fill + The sea, that drinking thirsteth still. + + Sheer miracles of loveliness + Lie hid in its unlooked-on bed: + Anemones, salt, passionless, + Blow flower-like; just enough alive + To blow and multiply and thrive. + + Shells quaint with curve, or spot, or spike, + Encrusted live things argus-eyed, + All fair alike, yet all unlike, + Are born without a pang, and die + Without a pang,--and so pass by. + + + + DAYS OF VANITY. + + + A dream that waketh, + Bubble that breaketh, + Song whose burden sigheth, + A passing breath, + Smoke that vanisheth,-- + Such is life that dieth. + + A flower that fadeth, + Fruit the tree sheddeth, + Trackless bird that flieth, + Summer time brief, + Falling of the leaf,-- + Such is life that dieth. + + A scent exhaling, + Snow waters failing, + Morning dew that drieth, + A windy blast, + Lengthening shadows cast,-- + Such is life that dieth. + + A scanty measure, + Rust-eaten treasure, + Spending that nought buyeth, + Moth on the wing, + Toil unprofiting,-- + Such is life that dieth. + + Morrow by morrow + Sorrow breeds sorrow, + For this my song sigheth; + From day to night + We lapse out of sight,-- + Such is life that dieth. + + + + ENRICA, 1865. + + + She came among us from the South + And made the North her home awhile + Our dimness brightened in her smile, + Our tongue grew sweeter in her mouth. + + We chilled beside her liberal glow, + She dwarfed us by her ampler scale, + Her full-blown blossom made us pale, + She summer-like and we like snow. + + We Englishwomen, trim, correct, + All minted in the self-same mould, + Warm-hearted but of semblance cold, + All-courteous out of self-respect. + + She woman in her natural grace, + Less trammelled she by lore of school, + Courteous by nature not by rule, + Warm-hearted and of cordial face. + + So for awhile she made her home + Among us in the rigid North, + She who from Italy came forth + And scaled the Alps and crossed the foam. + + But if she found us like our sea, + Of aspect colourless and chill, + Rock-girt; like it she found us still + Deep at our deepest, strong and free. + + + + ONCE FOR ALL. + + (Margaret.) + + + I said: This is a beautiful fresh rose. + I said: I will delight me with its scent, + Will watch its lovely curve of languishment, + Will watch its leaves unclose, its heart unclose. + I said: Old Earth has put away her snows, + All living things make merry to their bent, + A flower is come for every flower that went + In autumn; the sun glows, the south wind blows. + So walking in a garden of delight + I came upon one sheltered shadowed nook + Where broad leaf shadows veiled the day with night, + And there lay snow unmelted by the sun:-- + I answered: Take who will the path I took, + Winter nips once for all; love is but one. + + + + AUTUMN VIOLETS. + + + Keep love for youth, and violets for the spring: + Or if these bloom when worn-out autumn grieves, + Let them lie hid in double shade of leaves, + Their own, and others dropped down withering; + For violets suit when home birds build and sing, + Not when the outbound bird a passage cleaves; + Not with dry stubble of mown harvest sheaves, + But when the green world buds to blossoming. + Keep violets for the spring, and love for youth, + Love that should dwell with beauty, mirth, and hope: + Or if a later sadder love be born, + Let this not look for grace beyond its scope, + But give itself, nor plead for answering truth-- + A grateful Ruth tho' gleaning scanty corn. + + + + "THEY DESIRE A BETTER COUNTRY." + + + I. + + I would not if I could undo my past, + Tho' for its sake my future is a blank; + My past for which I have myself to thank, + For all its faults and follies first and last. + I would not cast anew the lot once cast, + Or launch a second ship for one that sank, + Or drug with sweets the bitterness I drank, + Or break by feasting my perpetual fast. + I would not if I could: for much more dear + Is one remembrance than a hundred joys, + More than a thousand hopes in jubilee; + Dearer the music of one tearful voice + That unforgotten calls and calls to me, + "Follow me here, rise up, and follow here." + + + II. + + What seekest thou, far in the unknown land? + In hope I follow joy gone on before; + In hope and fear persistent more and more, + As the dry desert lengthens out its sand. + Whilst day and night I carry in my hand + The golden key to ope the golden door + Of golden home; yet mine eye weepeth sore, + For long the journey is that makes no stand. + And who is this that veiled doth walk with thee? + Lo, this is Love that walketh at my right; + One exile holds us both, and we are bound + To selfsame home-joys in the land of light. + Weeping thou walkest with him; weepeth he?-- + Some sobbing weep, some weep and make no sound. + + + III. + + A dimness of a glory glimmers here + Thro' veils and distance from the space remote, + A faintest far vibration of a note + Reaches to us and seems to bring us near; + Causing our face to glow with braver cheer, + Making the serried mist to stand afloat, + Subduing languor with an antidote, + And strengthening love almost to cast out fear: + Till for one moment golden city walls + Rise looming on us, golden walls of home, + Light of our eyes until the darkness falls; + Then thro' the outer darkness burdensome + I hear again the tender voice that calls, + "Follow me hither, follow, rise, and come." + + + + A GREEN CORNFIELD. + + "And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest." + + + The earth was green, the sky was blue: + I saw and heard one sunny morn + A skylark hang between the two, + A singing speck above the corn; + + A stage below, in gay accord, + White butterflies danced on the wing, + And still the singing skylark soared + And silent sank, and soared to sing. + + The cornfield stretched a tender green + To right and left beside my walks; + I knew he had a nest unseen + Somewhere among the million stalks: + + And as I paused to hear his song + While swift the sunny moments slid, + Perhaps his mate sat listening long, + And listened longer than I did. + + + + A BRIDE SONG. + + + Through the vales to my love! + To the happy small nest of home + Green from basement to roof; + Where the honey-bees come + To the window-sill flowers, + And dive from above, + Safe from the spider that weaves + Her warp and her woof + In some outermost leaves. + + Through the vales to my love! + In sweet April hours + All rainbows and showers, + While dove answers dove,-- + In beautiful May, + When the orchards are tender + And frothing with flowers,-- + In opulent June, + When the wheat stands up slender + By sweet-smelling hay, + And half the sun's splendour + Descends to the moon. + + Through the vales to my love! + Where the turf is so soft to the feet, + And the thyme makes it sweet, + And the stately foxglove + Hangs silent its exquisite bells; + And where water wells + The greenness grows greener, + And bulrushes stand + Round a lily to screen her. + + Nevertheless, if this land, + Like a garden to smell and to sight, + Were turned to a desert of sand, + Stripped bare of delight, + All its best gone to worst, + For my feet no repose, + No water to comfort my thirst, + And heaven like a furnace above,-- + The desert would be + As gushing of waters to me, + The wilderness be as a rose, + If it led me to thee, + O my love! + + + + THE LOWEST ROOM. + + + Like flowers sequestered from the sun + And wind of summer, day by day + I dwindled paler, whilst my hair + Showed the first tinge of grey. + + "Oh, what is life, that we should live? + Or what is death, that we must die? + A bursting bubble is our life: + I also, what am I?" + + "What is your grief? now tell me, sweet, + That I may grieve," my sister said; + And stayed a white embroidering hand + And raised a golden head: + + Her tresses showed a richer mass, + Her eyes looked softer than my own, + Her figure had a statelier height, + Her voice a tenderer tone. + + "Some must be second and not first; + All cannot be the first of all: + Is not this, too, but vanity? + I stumble like to fall. + + "So yesterday I read the acts + Of Hector and each clangorous king + With wrathful great AEacides:-- + Old Homer leaves a sting." + + The comely face looked up again, + The deft hand lingered on the thread + "Sweet, tell me what is Homer's sting, + Old Homer's sting?" she said. + + "He stirs my sluggish pulse like wine, + He melts me like the wind of spice, + Strong as strong Ajax' red right hand, + And grand like Juno's eyes. + + "I cannot melt the sons of men, + I cannot fire and tempest-toss:-- + Besides, those days were golden days, + Whilst these are days of dross." + + She laughed a feminine low laugh, + Yet did not stay her dexterous hand: + "Now tell me of those days," she said, + "When time ran golden sand." + + "Then men were men of might and right, + Sheer might, at least, and weighty swords; + Then men in open blood and fire + Bore witness to their words,-- + + "Crest-rearing kings with whistling spears; + But if these shivered in the shock + They wrenched up hundred-rooted trees, + Or hurled the effacing rock. + + "Then hand to hand, then foot to foot, + Stern to the death-grip grappling then, + Who ever thought of gunpowder + Amongst these men of men? + + "They knew whose hand struck home the death, + They knew who broke but would not bend, + Could venerate an equal foe + And scorn a laggard friend. + + "Calm in the utmost stress of doom, + Devout toward adverse powers above, + They hated with intenser hate + And loved with fuller love. + + "Then heavenly beauty could allay + As heavenly beauty stirred the strife: + By them a slave was worshipped more + Than is by us a wife." + + She laughed again, my sister laughed; + Made answer o'er the laboured cloth: + "I rather would be one of us + Than wife, or slave, or both." + + "Oh better then be slave or wife + Than fritter now blank life away: + Then night had holiness of night, + And day was sacred day. + + "The princess laboured at her loom, + Mistress and handmaiden alike; + Beneath their needles grew the field + With warriors armed to strike. + + "Or, look again, dim Dian's face + Gleamed perfect through the attendant night: + Were such not better than those holes + Amid that waste of white? + + "A shame it is, our aimless life; + I rather from my heart would feed + From silver dish in gilded stall + With wheat and wine the steed-- + + "The faithful steed that bore my lord + In safety through the hostile land, + The faithful steed that arched his neck + To fondle with my hand." + + Her needle erred; a moment's pause, + A moment's patience, all was well. + Then she: "But just suppose the horse, + Suppose the rider fell? + + "Then captive in an alien house, + Hungering on exile's bitter bread,-- + They happy, they who won the lot + Of sacrifice," she said. + + Speaking she faltered, while her look + Showed forth her passion like a glass: + With hand suspended, kindling eye, + Flushed cheek, how fair she was! + + "Ah well, be those the days of dross; + This, if you will, the age of gold: + Yet had those days a spark of warmth, + While these are somewhat cold-- + + "Are somewhat mean and cold and slow, + Are stunted from heroic growth: + We gain but little when we prove + The worthlessness of both." + + "But life is in our hands," she said; + "In our own hands for gain or loss: + Shall not the Sevenfold Sacred Fire + Suffice to purge our dross? + + "Too short a century of dreams, + One day of work sufficient length: + Why should not you, why should not I, + Attain heroic strength? + + "Our life is given us as a blank, + Ourselves must make it blest or curst: + Who dooms me I shall only be + The second, not the first? + + "Learn from old Homer, if you will, + Such wisdom as his books have said: + In one the acts of Ajax shine, + In one of Diomed. + + "Honoured all heroes whose high deeds + Through life, through death, enlarge their span + Only Achilles in his rage + And sloth is less than man." + + "Achilles only less than man? + He less than man who, half a god, + Discomfited all Greece with rest, + Cowed Ilion with a nod? + + "He offered vengeance, lifelong grief + To one dear ghost, uncounted price: + Beasts, Trojans, adverse gods, himself, + Heaped up the sacrifice. + + "Self-immolated to his friend, + Shrined in world's wonder, Homer's page, + Is this the man, the less than men + Of this degenerate age?" + + "Gross from his acorns, tusky boar + Does memorable acts like his; + So for her snared offended young + Bleeds the swart lioness." + + But here she paused; our eyes had met, + And I was whitening with the jeer; + She rose: "I went too far," she said; + Spoke low: "Forgive me, dear. + + "To me our days seem pleasant days, + Our home a haven of pure content; + Forgive me if I said too much, + So much more than I meant. + + "Homer, though greater than his gods, + With rough-hewn virtues was sufficed + And rough-hewn men: but what are such + To us who learn of Christ?" + + The much-moved pathos of her voice, + Her almost tearful eyes, her cheek + Grown pale, confessed the strength of love + Which only made her speak. + + For mild she was, of few soft words, + Most gentle, easy to be led, + Content to listen when I spoke, + And reverence what I said: + + I elder sister by six years; + Not half so glad, or wise, or good: + Her words rebuked my secret self + And shamed me where I stood. + + She never guessed her words reproved + A silent envy nursed within, + A selfish, souring discontent + Pride-born, the devil's sin. + + I smiled, half bitter, half in jest: + "The wisest man of all the wise + Left for his summary of life + 'Vanity of vanities.' + + "Beneath the sun there's nothing new: + Men flow, men ebb, mankind flows on: + If I am wearied of my life, + Why, so was Solomon. + + "Vanity of vanities he preached + Of all he found, of all he sought: + Vanity of vanities, the gist + Of all the words he taught. + + "This in the wisdom of the world, + In Homer's page, in all, we find: + As the sea is not filled, so yearns + Man's universal mind. + + "This Homer felt, who gave his men + With glory but a transient state: + His very Jove could not reverse + Irrevocable fate. + + "Uncertain all their lot save this-- + Who wins must lose, who lives must die: + All trodden out into the dark + Alike, all vanity." + + She scarcely answered when I paused, + But rather to herself said: "One + Is here," low-voiced and loving, "Yea, + Greater than Solomon." + + So both were silent, she and I: + She laid her work aside, and went + Into the garden-walks, like spring, + All gracious with content: + + A little graver than her wont, + Because her words had fretted me; + Not warbling quite her merriest tune + Bird-like from tree to tree. + + I chose a book to read and dream: + Yet half the while with furtive eyes + Marked how she made her choice of flowers + Intuitively wise, + + And ranged them with instinctive taste + Which all my books had failed to teach; + Fresh rose herself, and daintier + Than blossom of the peach. + + By birthright higher than myself, + Though nestling of the self-same nest: + No fault of hers, no fault of mine, + But stubborn to digest. + + I watched her, till my book unmarked + Slid noiseless to the velvet floor; + Till all the opulent summer-world + Looked poorer than before. + + Just then her busy fingers ceased, + Her fluttered colour went and came: + I knew whose step was on the walk, + Whose voice would name her name. + + * * * * * + + Well, twenty years have passed since then: + My sister now, a stately wife + Still fair, looks back in peace and sees + The longer half of life-- + + The longer half of prosperous life, + With little grief, or fear, or fret: + She, loved and loving long ago, + Is loved and loving yet. + + A husband honourable, brave, + Is her main wealth in all the world: + And next to him one like herself, + One daughter golden-curled: + + Fair image of her own fair youth, + As beautiful and as serene, + With almost such another love + As her own love has been. + + Yet, though of world-wide charity, + And in her home most tender dove, + Her treasure and her heart are stored + In the home-land of love. + + She thrives, God's blessed husbandry; + Most like a vine which full of fruit + Doth cling and lean and climb toward heaven, + While earth still binds its root. + + I sit and watch my sister's face: + How little altered since the hours + When she, a kind, light-hearted girl, + Gathered her garden flowers: + + Her song just mellowed by regret + For having teased me with her talk; + Then all-forgetful as she heard + One step upon the walk. + + While I? I sat alone and watched; + My lot in life, to live alone + In mine own world of interests, + Much felt, but little shown. + + Not to be first: how hard to learn + That lifelong lesson of the past; + Line graven on line and stroke on stroke: + But, thank God, learned at last. + + So now in patience I possess + My soul year after tedious year, + Content to take the lowest place, + The place assigned me here. + + Yet sometimes, when I feel my strength + Most weak, and life most burdensome, + I lift mine eyes up to the hills + From whence my help shall come: + + Yea, sometimes still I lift my heart + To the Archangelic trumpet-burst, + When all deep secrets shall be shown, + And many last be first. + + + + DEAD HOPE. + + + Hope new born one pleasant morn + Died at even; + Hope dead lives nevermore, + No, not in heaven. + + If his shroud were but a cloud + To weep itself away; + Or were he buried underground + To sprout some day! + But dead and gone is dead and gone + Vainly wept upon. + + Nought we place above his face + To mark the spot, + But it shows a barren place + In our lot. + + + + A DAUGHTER OF EVE. + + + A fool I was to sleep at noon, + And wake when night is chilly + Beneath the comfortless cold moon; + A fool to pluck my rose too soon, + A fool to snap my lily. + + My garden-plot I have not kept; + Faded and all-forsaken, + I weep as I have never wept: + Oh it was summer when I slept, + It's winter now I waken. + + Talk what you please of future spring + And sun-warmed sweet to-morrow:-- + Stripped bare of hope and every thing, + No more to laugh, no more to sing, + I sit alone with sorrow. + + + + VENUS' LOOKING-GLASS. + + + I marked where lovely Venus and her court + With song and dance and merry laugh went by; + Weightless, their wingless feet seemed made to fly, + Bound from the ground and in mid air to sport. + Left far behind I heard the dolphins snort, + Tracking their goddess with a wistful eye, + Around whose head white doves rose, wheeling high + Or low, and cooed after their tender sort. + All this I saw in spring. Through summer heat + I saw the lovely Queen of Love no more. + But when flushed autumn through the woodlands went + I spied sweet Venus walk amid the wheat: + Whom seeing, every harvester gave o'er + His toil, and laughed and hoped and was content. + + + + LOVE LIES BLEEDING. + + + Love that is dead and buried, yesterday + Out of his grave rose up before my face, + No recognition in his look, no trace + Of memory in his eyes dust-dimmed and grey. + While I, remembering, found no word to say, + But felt my quickened heart leap in its place; + Caught afterglow thrown back from long set days, + Caught echoes of all music passed away. + Was this indeed to meet?--I mind me yet + In youth we met when hope and love were quick, + We parted with hope dead, but love alive: + I mind me how we parted then heart sick, + Remembering, loving, hopeless, weak to strive:-- + Was this to meet? Not so, we have not met. + + + + BIRD RAPTURES. + + + The sunrise wakes the lark to sing, + The moonrise wakes the nightingale. + Come darkness, moonrise, every thing + That is so silent, sweet, and pale: + Come, so ye wake the nightingale. + + Make haste to mount, thou wistful moon, + Make haste to wake the nightingale: + Let silence set the world in tune + To hearken to that wordless tale + Which warbles from the nightingale + + O herald skylark, stay thy flight + One moment, for a nightingale + Floods us with sorrow and delight. + To-morrow thou shalt hoist the sail; + Leave us to-night the nightingale. + + + + MY FRIEND. + + + Two days ago with dancing glancing hair, + With living lips and eyes: + Now pale, dumb, blind, she lies; + So pale, yet still so fair. + + We have not left her yet, not yet alone; + But soon must leave her where + She will not miss our care, + Bone of our bone. + + Weep not; O friends, we should not weep: + Our friend of friends lies full of rest; + No sorrow rankles in her breast, + Fallen fast asleep. + + She sleeps below, + She wakes and laughs above; + To-day, as she walked, let us walk in love, + To-morrow follow so. + + + + TWILIGHT NIGHT. + + + I. + + We met, hand to hand, + We clasped hands close and fast, + As close as oak and ivy stand; + But it is past: + Come day, come night, day comes at last. + + We loosed hand from hand, + We parted face from face; + Each went his way to his own land + At his own pace: + Each went to fill his separate place. + + If we should meet one day, + If both should not forget. + We shall clasp hands the accustomed way, + As when we met + So long ago, as I remember yet. + + II. + + Where my heart is (wherever that may be) + Might I but follow! + If you fly thither over heath and lea, + O honey-seeking bee, + O careless swallow! + Bid some for whom I watch keep watch for me + + Alas! that we must dwell, my heart and I, + So far asunder. + Hours wax to days, and days and days creep by; + I watch with wistful eye, + I wait and wonder: + When will that day draw nigh--that hour draw nigh? + + Not yesterday, and not I think to-day; + Perhaps to-morrow. + Day after day "to-morrow," thus I say: + I watched so yesterday + In hope and sorrow, + Again to-day I watch the accustomed way. + + + + A BIRD SONG. + + + It's a year almost that I have not seen her: + Oh, last summer green things were greener, + Brambles fewer, the blue sky bluer. + + It's surely summer, for there's a swallow: + Come one swallow, his mate will follow, + The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken. + + Oh happy swallow whose mate will follow + O'er height, o'er hollow! I'd be a swallow, + To build this weather one nest together. + + + + A SMILE AND A SIGH. + + + A smile because the nights are short! + And every morning brings such pleasure + Of sweet love-making, harmless sport: + Love that makes and finds its treasure; + Love, treasure without measure. + + A sigh because the days are long! + Long, long these days that pass in sighing, + A burden saddens every song: + While time lags which should be flying, + We live who would be dying. + + + + +DEVOTIONAL PIECES. + + + + + AMOR MUNDI. + + + "O where are you going with your love-locks flowing, + On the west wind blowing along this valley track?" + "The downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye, + We shall escape the uphill by never turning back." + + So they two went together in glowing August weather, + The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right; + And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float on + The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight. + + "Oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven, + Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?" + "Oh, that's a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous, + An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt." + + "Oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly, + Their scent comes rich and sickly?"--"A scaled and hooded worm." + "Oh, what's that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?" + "Oh, that's a thin dead body which waits the eternal term." + + "Turn again, O my sweetest,--turn again, false and fleetest: + This beaten way thou beatest I fear is hell's own track." + "Nay, too steep for hill mounting; nay, too late for cost counting: + This downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back." + + + + A CHRISTMAS CAROL. + + + In the bleak mid-winter + Frosty wind made moan, + Earth stood hard as iron, + Water like a stone; + Snow had fallen, snow on snow, + Snow on snow, + In the bleak mid-winter + Long ago. + + Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him + Nor earth sustain; + Heaven and earth shall flee away + When He comes to reign: + In the bleak mid-winter + A stable-place sufficed + The Lord God Almighty + Jesus Christ. + + Enough for Him whom cherubim + Worship night and day, + A breastful of milk + And a mangerful of hay; + Enough for Him whom angels + Fall down before, + The ox and ass and camel + Which adore. + + Angels and archangels + May have gathered there, + Cherubim and seraphim + Throng'd the air, + But only His mother + In her maiden bliss + Worshipped her Beloved + With a kiss. + + What can I give Him, + Poor as I am? + If I were a shepherd + I would bring a lamb, + If I were a wise man + I would do my part,-- + Yet what I can I give Him, + Give my heart. + + + + BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON. + + B.C. 570. + + + Here, where I dwell, I waste to skin and bone; + The curse is come upon me, and I waste + In penal torment powerless to atone. + The curse is come on me, which makes no haste + And doth not tarry, crushing both the proud + Hard man and him the sinner double-faced. + Look not upon me, for my soul is bowed + Within me, as my body in this mire; + My soul crawls dumb-struck, sore bestead and cowed + As Sodom and Gomorrah scourged by fire, + As Jericho before God's trumpet-peal, + So we the elect ones perish in His ire. + Vainly we gird on sackcloth, vainly kneel + With famished faces toward Jerusalem: + His heart is shut against us not to feel, + His ears against our cry He shutteth them, + His hand He shorteneth that He will not save, + His law is loud against us to condemn: + And we, as unclean bodies in the grave + Inheriting corruption and the dark, + Are outcast from His presence which we crave. + Our Mercy hath departed from His Ark, + Our Glory hath departed from His rest, + Our Shield hath left us naked as a mark + Unto all pitiless eyes made manifest. + Our very Father hath forsaken us, + Our God hath cast us from Him: we oppress'd + Unto our foes are even marvellous, + A hissing and a butt for pointing hands, + Whilst God Almighty hunts and grinds us thus; + For He hath scattered us in alien lands, + Our priests, our princes, our anointed king, + And bound us hand and foot with brazen bands. + Here while I sit, my painful heart takes wing + Home to the home-land I may see no more, + Where milk and honey flow, where waters spring + And fail not, where I dwelt in days of yore + Under my fig-tree and my fruitful vine, + There where my parents dwelt at ease before: + Now strangers press the olives that are mine, + Reap all the corners of my harvest-field, + And make their fat hearts wanton with my wine; + To them my trees, to them my gardens yield + Their sweets and spices and their tender green, + O'er them in noontide heat outspread their shield. + Yet these are they whose fathers had not been + Housed with my dogs; whom hip and thigh we smote + And with their blood washed their pollutions clean, + Purging the land which spewed them from its throat; + Their daughters took we for a pleasant prey, + Choice tender ones on whom the fathers dote: + Now they in turn have led our own away; + Our daughters and our sisters and our wives + Sore weeping as they weep who curse the day, + To live, remote from help, dishonoured lives, + Soothing their drunken masters with a song, + Or dancing in their golden tinkling gyves-- + Accurst if they remember through the long + Estrangement of their exile, twice accursed + If they forget and join the accursed throng. + How doth my heart that is so wrung not burst + When I remember that my way was plain, + And that God's candle lit me at the first, + Whilst now I grope in darkness, grope in vain, + Desiring but to find Him Who is lost, + To find him once again, but once again! + His wrath came on us to the uttermost, + His covenanted and most righteous wrath. + Yet this is He of Whom we made our boast, + Who lit the Fiery Pillar in our path, + Who swept the Red Sea dry before our feet, + Who in His jealousy smote kings, and hath + Sworn once to David: One shall fill thy seat + Born of thy body, as the sun and moon + 'Stablished for aye in sovereignty complete. + O Lord, remember David, and that soon. + The Glory hath departed, Ichabod! + Yet now, before our sun grow dark at noon, + Before we come to nought beneath Thy rod, + Before we go down quick into the pit, + Remember us for good, O God, our God:-- + Thy Name will I remember, praising it, + Though Thou forget me, though Thou hide Thy face, + And blot me from the Book which Thou hast writ; + Thy Name will I remember in my praise + And call to mind Thy faithfulness of old, + Though as a weaver Thou cut off my days + And end me as a tale ends that is told. + + + + PARADISE. + + + Once in a dream I saw the flowers + That bud and bloom in Paradise; + More fair they are than waking eyes + Have seen in all this world of ours. + And faint the perfume-bearing rose, + And faint the lily on its stem, + And faint the perfect violet + Compared with them. + + I heard the songs of Paradise: + Each bird sat singing in his place; + A tender song so full of grace + It soared like incense to the skies. + Each bird sat singing to his mate + Soft-cooing notes among the trees: + The nightingale herself were cold + To such as these. + + I saw the fourfold River flow, + And deep it was, with golden sand; + It flowed between a mossy land + With murmured music grave and low. + It hath refreshment for all thirst, + For fainting spirits strength and rest; + Earth holds not such a draught as this + From east to west. + + The Tree of Life stood budding there, + Abundant with its twelvefold fruits; + Eternal sap sustains its roots, + Its shadowing branches fill the air. + Its leaves are healing for the world, + Its fruit the hungry world can feed, + Sweeter than honey to the taste, + And balm indeed. + + I saw the gate called Beautiful; + And looked, but scarce could look within; + I saw the golden streets begin, + And outskirts of the glassy pool. + Oh harps, oh crowns of plenteous stars, + O green palm branches many-leaved-- + Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, + Nor heart conceived! + + I hope to see these things again, + But not as once in dreams by night; + To see them with my very sight, + And touch and handle and attain: + To have all Heaven beneath my feet + For narrow way that once they trod; + To have my part with all the saints, + And with my God. + + + + "I WILL LIFT UP MINE EYES UNTO THE HILLS." + + + I am pale with sick desire, + For my heart is far away + From this world's fitful fire + And this world's waning day; + In a dream it overleaps + A world of tedious ills + To where the sunshine sleeps + On the everlasting hills.-- + Say the Saints: There Angels ease us + Glorified and white. + They say: We rest in Jesus, + Where is not day or night. + + My soul saith: I have sought + For a home that is not gained, + I have spent yet nothing bought, + Have laboured but not attained; + My pride strove to mount and grow, + And hath but dwindled down; + My love sought love, and lo! + Hath not attained its crown.-- + Say the Saints: Fresh souls increase us, + None languish or recede. + They say: We love our Jesus, + And He loves us indeed. + + I cannot rise above, + I cannot rest beneath, + I cannot find out love, + Or escape from death; + Dear hopes and joys gone by + Still mock me with a name; + My best beloved die, + And I cannot die with them.-- + Say the Saints: No deaths decrease us, + Where our rest is glorious. + They say: We live in Jesus, + Who once died for us. + + O my soul, she beats her wings + And pants to fly away + Up to immortal things + In the heavenly day: + Yet she flags and almost faints; + Can such be meant for me?-- + Come and see, say the Saints. + Saith Jesus: Come and see. + Say the Saints: His pleasures please us + Before God and the Lamb. + Come and taste My sweets, saith Jesus: + Be with Me where I am. + + + + SAINTS AND ANGELS. + + + It's oh in Paradise that I fain would be, + Away from earth and weariness and all beside; + Earth is too full of loss with its dividing sea, + But Paradise upbuilds the bower for the bride. + + Where flowers are yet in bud while the boughs are green, + I would get quit of earth and get robed for heaven; + Putting on my raiment white within the screen, + Putting on my crown of gold whose gems are seven + + Fair is the fourfold river that maketh no moan, + Fair are the trees fruit-bearing of the wood, + Fair are the gold and bdellium and the onyx stone, + And I know the gold of that land is good. + + O my love, my dove, lift up your eyes + Toward the eastern gate like an opening rose; + You and I who parted will meet in Paradise, + Pass within and sing when the gates unclose. + + This life is but the passage of a day, + This life is but a pang and all is over; + But in the life to come which fades not away + Every love shall abide and every lover. + + He who wore out pleasure and mastered all lore, + Solomon, wrote "Vanity of vanities:" + Down to death, of all that went before + In his mighty long life, the record is this. + + With loves by the hundred, wealth beyond measure, + Is this he who wrote "Vanity of vanities"? + Yea, "Vanity of vanities" he saith of pleasure, + And of all he learned set his seal to this. + + Yet we love and faint not, for our love is one, + And we hope and flag not, for our hope is sure, + Although there be nothing new beneath the sun + And no help for life and for death no cure. + + The road to death is life, the gate of life is death, + We who wake shall sleep, we shall wax who wane; + Let us not vex our souls for stoppage of a breath, + The fall of a river that turneth not again. + + Be the road short, and be the gate near,-- + Shall a short road tire, a strait gate appall? + The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, + And Paradise hath room for you and me and all. + + + + "WHEN MY HEART IS VEXED, I WILL COMPLAIN." + + + "O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me? + Me whom thou settest in a barren land, + Hungry and thirsty on the burning sand, + Hungry and thirsty where no waters be + Nor shadows of date-bearing tree:-- + O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?" + + "I came from Edom by as parched a track, + As rough a track beneath My bleeding feet. + I came from Edom seeking thee, and sweet + I counted bitterness; I turned not back + But counted life as death, and trod + The winepress all alone: and I am God." + + "Yet, Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me? + For Thou art strong to comfort: and could I + But comfort one I love, who, like to die, + Lifts feeble hands and eyes that fail to see + In one last prayer for comfort--nay, + I could not stand aside or turn away." + + "Alas! thou knowest that for thee I died + For thee I thirsted with the dying thirst; + I, Blessed, for thy sake was counted cursed, + In sight of men and angels crucified: + All this and more I bore to prove + My love, and wilt thou yet mistrust My love?" + + "Lord, I am fain to think Thou lovest me, + For Thou art all in all and I am Thine; + And lo! Thy love is better than new wine, + And I am sick of love in loving Thee. + But dost Thou love me? speak and save, + For jealousy is cruel as the grave." + + "Nay, if thy love is not an empty breath + My love is as thine own--deep answers deep. + Peace, peace: I give to my beloved sleep, + Not death but sleep, for love is strong as death: + Take patience; sweet thy sleep shall be, + Yea, thou shalt wake in Paradise with Me." + + + + AFTER COMMUNION. + + + Why should I call Thee Lord, Who art my God? + Why should I call Thee Friend, Who art my Love? + Or King, Who art my very Spouse above? + Or call Thy Sceptre on my heart Thy rod? + Lo, now Thy banner over me is love, + All heaven flies open to me at Thy nod: + For Thou hast lit Thy flame in me a clod, + Made me a nest for dwelling of Thy Dove. + What wilt Thou call me in our home above, + Who now hast called me friend? how will it be + When Thou for good wine settest forth the best? + Now Thou dost bid me come and sup with Thee, + Now Thou dost make me lean upon Thy breast: + How will it be with me in time of love? + + + + A ROSE PLANT IN JERICHO. + + + At morn I plucked a rose and gave it Thee, + A rose of joy and happy love and peace, + A rose with scarce a thorn: + But in the chillness of a second morn + My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase + Was but one thorn that wounded me. + + I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee; + And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace, + Not joy this mortal morn: + If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn, + Wilt thou not give me for my rose increase + Of gladness, and all sweets to me? + + My thorny rose, my love and pain, to Thee + I offer; and I set my heart in peace, + And rest upon my thorn: + For verily I think to-morrow morn + Shall bring me Paradise, my gift's increase, + Yea, give Thy very Self to me. + + + + WHO SHALL DELIVER ME? + + + God strengthen me to bear myself; + That heaviest weight of all to bear, + Inalienable weight of care. + + All others are outside myself; + I lock my door and bar them out, + The turmoil, tedium, gad-about. + + I lock my door upon myself, + And bar them out; but who shall wall + Self from myself, most loathed of all? + + If I could once lay down myself, + And start self-purged upon the race + That all must run! Death runs apace. + + If I could set aside myself, + And start with lightened heart upon + The road by all men overgone! + + God harden me against myself, + This coward with pathetic voice + Who craves for ease and rest and joys: + + Myself, arch-traitor to myself; + My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe, + My clog whatever road I go. + + Yet One there is can curb myself, + Can roll the strangling load from me. + Break off the yoke and set me free. + + + + +DEVOTIONAL PIECES. + + + + + DESPISED AND REJECTED. + + + My sun has set, I dwell + In darkness as a dead man out of sight; + And none remains, not one, that I should tell + To him mine evil plight + This bitter night. + I will make fast my door + That hollow friends may trouble me no more. + + "Friend, open to Me."--Who is this that calls? + Nay, I am deaf as are my walls: + Cease crying, for I will not hear + Thy cry of hope or fear. + Others were dear, + Others forsook me: what art thou indeed + That I should heed + Thy lamentable need? + Hungry should feed, + Or stranger lodge thee here? + + "Friend, My Feet bleed. + Open thy door to Me and comfort Me." + I will not open, trouble me no more. + Go on thy way footsore, + I will not rise and open unto thee. + + "Then is it nothing to thee? Open, see + Who stands to plead with thee. + Open, lest I should pass thee by, and thou + One day entreat My Face + And howl for grace, + And I be deaf as thou art now. + Open to Me." + + Then I cried out upon him: Cease, + Leave me in peace: + Fear not that I should crave + Aught thou mayst have. + Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more, + Lest I arise and chase thee from my door. + What, shall I not be let + Alone, that thou dost vex me yet? + + But all night long that voice spake urgently: + "Open to Me." + Still harping in mine ears: + "Rise, let Me in." + Pleading with tears: + "Open to Me that I may come to thee." + While the dew dropped, while the dark hours were cold: + "My Feet bleed, see My Face, + See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace, + My Heart doth bleed for thee, + Open to Me." + + So till the break of day: + Then died away + That voice, in silence as of sorrow; + Then footsteps echoing like a sigh + Passed me by, + Lingering footsteps slow to pass. + On the morrow + I saw upon the grass + Each footprint marked in blood, and on my door + The mark of blood forevermore. + + + + LONG BARREN. + + + Thou who didst hang upon a barren tree, + My God, for me; + Though I till now be barren, now at length, + Lord, give me strength + To bring forth fruit to Thee. + + Thou who didst bear for me the crown of thorn, + Spitting and scorn; + Though I till now have put forth thorns, yet now + Strengthen me Thou + That better fruit be borne. + + Thou Rose of Sharon, Cedar of broad roots, + Vine of sweet fruits, + Thou Lily of the vale with fadeless leaf, + Of thousands Chief, + Feed Thou my feeble shoots. + + + + IF ONLY. + + + If I might only love my God and die! + But now He bids me love Him and live on, + Now when the bloom of all my life is gone, + The pleasant half of life has quite gone by. + My tree of hope is lopped that spread so high, + And I forget how summer glowed and shone, + While autumn grips me with its fingers wan, + And frets me with its fitful windy sigh. + When autumn passes then must winter numb, + And winter may not pass a weary while, + But when it passes spring shall flower again: + And in that spring who weepeth now shall smile, + Yea, they shall wax who now are on the wane, + Yea, they shall sing for love when Christ shall come. + + + + DOST THOU NOT CARE? + + + I love and love not: Lord, it breaks my heart + To love and not to love. + Thou veiled within Thy glory, gone apart + Into Thy shrine, which is above, + Dost Thou not love me, Lord, or care + For this mine ill?-- + _I love thee here or there,_ + _I will accept thy broken heart, lie still._ + + Lord, it was well with me in time gone by + That cometh not again, + When I was fresh and cheerful, who but I? + I fresh, I cheerful: worn with pain + Now, out of sight and out of heart; + O Lord, how long?-- + _I watch thee as thou art,_ + _I will accept thy fainting heart, be strong._ + + "Lie still," "be strong," to-day; but, Lord, to-morrow, + What of to-morrow, Lord? + Shall there be rest from toil, be truce from sorrow, + Be living green upon the sward + Now but a barren grave to me, + Be joy for sorrow?-- + _Did I not die for thee?_ + _Do I not live for thee? leave Me to-morrow._ + + + + WEARY IN WELL-DOING. + + + I would have gone; God bade me stay: + I would have worked; God bade me rest. + He broke my will from day to day, + He read my yearnings unexpressed, + And said them nay. + + Now I would stay; God bids me go: + Now I would rest; God bids me work. + He breaks my heart tossed to and fro, + My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk + And vex it so. + + I go, Lord, where Thou sendest me; + Day after day I plod and moil: + But, Christ my God, when will it be + That I may let alone my toil + And rest with Thee? + + + + MARTYRS' SONG. + + + We meet in joy, though we part in sorrow; + We part to-night, but we meet to-morrow. + Be it flood or blood the path that's trod, + All the same it leads home to God: + Be it furnace-fire voluminous, + One like God's Son will walk with us. + + What are these that glow from afar, + These that lean over the golden bar, + Strong as the lion, pure as the dove, + With open arms and hearts of love? + They the blessed ones gone before, + They the blessed forevermore. + Out of great tribulation they went + Home to their home of Heaven-content; + Through flood, or blood, or furnace-fire, + To the rest that fulfils desire. + + What are these that fly as a cloud, + With flashing heads and faces bowed, + In their mouths a victorious psalm, + In their hands a robe and a palm? + Welcoming angels these that shine, + Your own angel, and yours, and mine; + Who have hedged us both day and night + On the left hand and on the right, + Who have watched us both night and day + Because the Devil keeps watch to slay. + + Light above light, and Bliss beyond bliss, + Whom words cannot utter, lo, Who is This? + As a King with many crowns He stands, + And our names are graven upon His hands; + As a Priest, with God-uplifted eyes, + He offers for us His Sacrifice; + As the Lamb of God for sinners slain, + That we too may live He lives again; + As our Champion behold Him stand, + Strong to save us, at God's Right Hand. + + God the Father give us grace + To walk in the light of Jesus' Face. + God the Son give us a part + In the hiding-place of Jesus' Heart: + God the Spirit so hold us up + That we may drink of Jesus' cup. + + Death is short and life is long; + Satan is strong, but Christ more strong. + At His Word, Who hath led us hither, + The Red Sea must part hither and thither. + At His Word, Who goes before us too, + Jordan must cleave to let us through. + + Yet one pang, searching and sore, + And then Heaven forevermore; + Yet one moment awful and dark, + Then safety within the Veil and the Ark; + Yet one effort by Christ His grace, + Then Christ forever face to face. + + God the Father we will adore, + In Jesus' Name, now and evermore: + God the Son we will love and thank + In this flood and on the farther bank: + God the Holy Ghost we will praise, + In Jesus' Name, through endless days: + God Almighty, God Three in One, + God Almighty, God alone. + + + + AFTER THIS THE JUDGMENT. + + + As eager home-bound traveller to the goal, + Or steadfast seeker on an unsearched main, + Or martyr panting for an aureole, + My fellow-pilgrims pass me, and attain + That hidden mansion of perpetual peace, + Where keen desire and hope dwell free from pain: + That gate stands open of perennial ease; + I view the glory till I partly long, + Yet lack the fire of love which quickens these. + O, passing Angel, speed me with a song, + A melody of heaven to reach my heart + And rouse me to the race and make me strong; + Till in such music I take up my part, + Swelling those Hallelujahs full of rest, + One, tenfold, hundred-fold, with heavenly art, + Fulfilling north and south and east and west, + Thousand, ten-thousand-fold, innumerable, + All blent in one yet each one manifest; + Each one distinguished and beloved as well + As if no second voice in earth or heaven + Were lifted up the Love of God to tell. + Ah, Love of God, which Thine Own Self hast given + To me most poor, and made me rich in love, + Love that dost pass the tenfold seven times seven. + Draw Thou mine eyes, draw Thou my heart above, + My treasure and my heart store Thou in Thee, + Brood over me with yearnings of a dove; + Be Husband, Brother, closest Friend to me; + Love me as very mother loves her son, + Her sucking firstborn fondled on her knee: + Yea, more than mother loves her little one; + For, earthly, even a mother may forget + And feel no pity for its piteous moan; + But Thou, O Love of God, remember yet, + Through the dry desert, through the waterflood + (Life, death), until the Great White Throne is set. + If now I am sick in chewing the bitter cud + Of sweet past sin, though solaced by Thy grace, + And ofttimes strengthened by Thy Flesh and Blood, + How shall I then stand up before Thy face, + When from Thine eyes repentance shall be hid, + And utmost Justice stand in Mercy's place: + When every sin I thought or spoke or did + Shall meet me at the inexorable bar, + And there be no man standing in the mid + To plead for me; while star fallen after star + With heaven and earth are like a ripened shock, + And all time's mighty works and wonders are + Consumed as in a moment; when no rock + Remains to fall on me, no tree to hide, + But I stand all creation's gazing-stock, + Exposed and comfortless on every side, + Placed trembling in the final balances + Whose poise this hour, this moment, must be tried?-- + Ah, Love of God, if greater love than this + Hath no man, that a man die for his friend, + And if such love of love Thine Own Love is, + Plead with Thyself, with me, before the end; + Redeem me from the irrevocable past; + Pitch Thou Thy Presence round me to defend; + Yea seek with pierced feet, yea hold me fast + With pierced hands whose wounds were made by love; + Not what I am, remember what Thou wast + When darkness hid from Thee Thy heavens above, + And sin Thy Father's Face, while Thou didst drink + The bitter cup of death, didst taste thereof + For every man; while Thou wast nigh to sink + Beneath the intense intolerable rod, + Grown sick of love; not what I am, but think + Thy Life then ransomed mine, my God, my God. + + + + GOOD FRIDAY. + + + Am I a stone and not a sheep + That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy Cross, + To number drop by drop Thy Blood's slow loss, + And yet not weep? + + Not so those women loved + Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; + Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly; + Not so the thief was moved; + + Not so the Sun and Moon + Which hid their faces in a starless sky, + A horror of great darkness at broad noon,-- + I, only I. + + Yet give not o'er, + But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; + Greater than Moses, turn and look once more + And smite a rock. + + + + THE LOWEST PLACE. + + + Give me the lowest place: not that I dare + Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died + That I might live and share + Thy glory by Thy side. + + Give me the lowest place: or if for me + That lowest place too high, make one more low + Where I may sit and see + My God and love Thee so. + + + +A PAGEANT AND OTHER POEMS. + + + Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome + Has many sonnets: so here now shall be + One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me + To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home, + To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee + I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome; + Whose service is my special dignity, + And she my loadstar while I go and come. + And so because you love me, and because + I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath + Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honored name: + In you not fourscore years can dim the flame + Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws + Of time and change and mortal life and death. + + + + THE KEY-NOTE. + + + Where are the songs I used to know, + Where are the notes I used to sing? + I have forgotten everything + I used to know so long ago; + Summer has followed after Spring; + Now Autumn is so shrunk and sere, + I scarcely think a sadder thing + Can be the Winter of my year. + + Yet Robin sings through Winter's rest, + When bushes put their berries on; + While they their ruddy jewels don, + He sings out of a ruddy breast; + The hips and haws and ruddy breast + Make one spot warm where snowflakes lie + They break and cheer the unlovely rest + Of Winter's pause--and why not I? + + + + THE MONTHS: + + A Pageant. + + + PERSONIFICATIONS. + + _Boys._ _Girls._ + January. February. + March. April. + July. May. + August. June. + October. September. + December. November. + + Robin Redbreasts; Lambs and Sheep; Nightingale and + Nestlings. + + Various Flowers, Fruits, etc. + + _Scene_: A Cottage with its Grounds. + + + [A room in a large comfortable cottage; a fire burning on + the hearth; a table on which the breakfast things have + been left standing. January discovered seated by the + fire.] + + + _January._ + + Cold the day and cold the drifted snow, + Dim the day until the cold dark night. + + [Stirs the fire. + + Crackle, sparkle, fagot; embers glow: + Some one may be plodding through the snow + Longing for a light, + For the light that you and I can show. + If no one else should come, + Here Robin Redbreast's welcome to a crumb, + And never troublesome: + Robin, why don't you come and fetch your crumb? + + + Here's butter for my hunch of bread, + And sugar for your crumb; + Here's room upon the hearthrug, + If you'll only come. + + In your scarlet waistcoat, + With your keen bright eye, + Where are you loitering? + Wings were made to fly! + + Make haste to breakfast, + Come and fetch your crumb, + For I'm as glad to see you + As you are glad to come. + + + [Two Robin Redbreasts are seen tapping with their beaks at + the lattice, which January opens. The birds flutter in, + hop about the floor, and peck up the crumbs and sugar + thrown to them. They have scarcely finished their meal, + when a knock is heard at the door. January hangs a + guard in front of the fire, and opens to February, who + appears with a bunch of snowdrops in her hand.] + + _January._ + + Good-morrow, sister. + + _February._ + + Brother, joy to you! + I've brought some snowdrops; only just a few, + But quite enough to prove the world awake, + Cheerful and hopeful in the frosty dew + And for the pale sun's sake. + + [She hands a few of her snowdrops to January, who retires + into the background. While February stands arranging + the remaining snowdrops in a glass of water on the + window-sill, a soft butting and bleating are heard outside. + She opens the door, and sees one foremost lamb, with + other sheep and lambs bleating and crowding towards + her.] + + _February._ + + O you, you little wonder, come--come in, + You wonderful, you woolly soft white lamb: + You panting mother ewe, come too, + And lead that tottering twin + Safe in: + Bring all your bleating kith and kin, + Except the horny ram. + + [February opens a second door in the background, and the + little flock files through into a warm and sheltered compartment + out of sight.] + + The lambkin tottering in its walk + With just a fleece to wear; + The snowdrop drooping on its stalk + So slender,-- + Snowdrop and lamb, a pretty pair, + Braving the cold for our delight, + Both white, + Both tender. + + [A rattling of doors and windows; branches seen without, + tossing violently to and fro.] + + How the doors rattle, and the branches sway! + Here's brother March comes whirling on his way + With winds that eddy and sing. + + [She turns the handle of the door, which bursts open, and + discloses March hastening up, both hands full of violets + and anemones.] + + _February._ + + Come, show me what you bring; + For I have said my say, fulfilled my day, + And must away. + + _March._ + + [Stopping short on the threshold.] + + I blow an arouse + Through the world's wide house + To quicken the torpid earth: + Grappling I fling + Each feeble thing, + But bring strong life to the birth. + I wrestle and frown, + And topple down; + I wrench, I rend, I uproot; + Yet the violet + Is born where I set + The sole of my flying foot, + + [Hands violets and anemones to February, who retires into + the background.] + + And in my wake + Frail wind-flowers quake, + And the catkins promise fruit. + I drive ocean ashore + With rush and roar, + And he cannot say me nay: + My harpstrings all + Are the forests tall, + Making music when I play. + And as others perforce, + So I on my course + Run and needs must run, + With sap on the mount + And buds past count + And rivers and clouds and sun, + With seasons and breath + And time and death + And all that has yet begun. + + [Before March has done speaking, a voice is heard approaching + accompanied by a twittering of birds. April comes + along singing, and stands outside and out of sight to finish + her song.] + + _April._ + + [Outside.] + + Pretty little three + Sparrows in a tree, + Light upon the wing; + Though you cannot sing + You can chirp of Spring: + Chirp of Spring to me, + Sparrows, from your tree. + + Never mind the showers, + Chirp about the flowers + While you build a nest: + Straws from east and west, + Feathers from your breast, + Make the snuggest bowers + In a world of flowers. + + You must dart away + From the chosen spray, + You intrusive third + Extra little bird; + Join the unwedded herd! + These have done with play, + And must work to-day. + + _April._ + + [Appearing at the open door.] + + Good-morrow and good-bye: if others fly, + Of all the flying months you're the most flying. + + _March._ + + You're hope and sweetness, April. + + _April._ + + Birth means dying, + As wings and wind mean flying; + So you and I and all things fly or die; + And sometimes I sit sighing to think of dying. + But meanwhile I've a rainbow in my showers, + And a lapful of flowers, + And these dear nestlings aged three hours; + And here's their mother sitting, + Their father's merely flitting + To find their breakfast somewhere in my bowers. + + [As she speaks April shows March her apron full of flowers + and nest full of birds. March wanders away into the + grounds. April, without entering the cottage, hangs over + the hungry nestlings watching them.] + + _April._ + + What beaks you have, you funny things, + What voices shrill and weak; + Who'd think that anything that sings + Could sing through such a beak? + Yet you'll be nightingales one day, + And charm the country-side, + When I'm away and far away + And May is queen and bride. + + [May arrives unperceived by April, and gives her a kiss. + April starts and looks round.] + + _April._ + + Ah May, good-morrow May, and so good-bye. + + _May._ + + That's just your way, sweet April, smile and sigh: + Your sorrow's half in fun, + Begun and done + And turned to joy while twenty seconds run. + I've gathered flowers all as I came along, + At every step a flower + Fed by your last bright shower,-- + + [She divides an armful of all sorts of flowers with April, who + strolls away through the garden.] + + _May._ + + And gathering flowers I listened to the song + Of every bird in bower. + The world and I are far too full of bliss + To think or plan or toil or care; + The sun is waxing strong, + The days are waxing long, + And all that is, + Is fair. + + Here are my buds of lily and of rose, + And here's my namesake-blossom, may; + And from a watery spot + See here forget-me-not, + With all that blows + To-day. + + Hark to my linnets from the hedges green, + Blackbird and lark and thrush and dove, + And every nightingale + And cuckoo tells its tale, + And all they mean + Is love. + + [June appears at the further end of the garden, coming slowly + towards May, who, seeing her, exclaims] + + _May._ + + Surely you're come too early, sister June. + + _June._ + + Indeed I feel as if I came too soon + To round your young May moon + And set the world a-gasping at my noon. + Yet come I must. So here are strawberries + Sun-flushed and sweet, as many as you please; + And here are full-blown roses by the score, + More roses, and yet more. + + [May, eating strawberries, withdraws among the flower beds.] + + _June._ + + The sun does all my long day's work for me, + Raises and ripens everything; + I need but sit beneath a leafy tree + And watch and sing. + + [Seats herself in the shadow of a laburnum. + + Or if I'm lulled by note of bird and bee, + Or lulled by noontide's silence deep, + I need but nestle down beneath my tree + And drop asleep. + + [June falls asleep; and is not awakened by the voice of July, + who behind the scenes is heard half singing, half calling.] + + _July._ + + [Behind the scenes.] + + Blue flags, yellow flags, flags all freckled, + Which will you take? yellow, blue, speckled! + Take which you will, speckled, blue, yellow, + Each in its way has not a fellow. + + [Enter July, a basket of many-colored irises slung upon his + shoulders, a bunch of ripe grass in one hand, and a plate + piled full of peaches balanced upon the other. He steals + up to June, and tickles her with the grass. She wakes.] + + _June._ + + What, here already? + + _July._ + + Nay, my tryst is kept; + The longest day slipped by you while you slept. + I've brought you one curved pyramid of bloom, + + [Hands her the plate. + + Not flowers, but peaches, gathered where the bees, + As downy, bask and boom + In sunshine and in gloom of trees. + But get you in, a storm is at my heels; + The whirlwind whistles and wheels, + Lightning flashes and thunder peals, + Flying and following hard upon my heels. + + [June takes shelter in a thickly-woven arbor.] + + _July._ + + The roar of a storm sweeps up + From the east to the lurid west, + The darkening sky, like a cup, + Is filled with rain to the brink; + + The sky is purple and fire, + Blackness and noise and unrest; + The earth, parched with desire, + Opens her mouth to drink. + + Send forth thy thunder and fire, + Turn over thy brimming cup, + O sky, appease the desire + Of earth in her parched unrest; + Pour out drink to her thirst, + Her famishing life lift up; + Make thyself fair as at first, + With a rainbow for thy crest. + + Have done with thunder and fire, + O sky with the rainbow crest; + O earth, have done with desire, + Drink, and drink deep, and rest. + + [Enter August, carrying a sheaf made up of different kinds of + grain.] + + _July._ + + Hail, brother August, flushed and warm + And scatheless from my storm. + Your hands are full of corn, I see, + As full as hands can be: + + And earth and air both smell as sweet as balm + In their recovered calm, + And that they owe to me. + + [July retires into a shrubbery.] + + _August._ + + Wheat sways heavy, oats are airy, + Barley bows a graceful head, + Short and small shoots up canary, + Each of these is some one's bread; + Bread for man or bread for beast, + Or at very least + A bird's savory feast. + + Men are brethren of each other, + One in flesh and one in food; + And a sort of foster brother + Is the litter, or the brood, + Of that folk in fur or feather, + Who, with men together, + Breast the wind and weather. + + [August descries September toiling across the lawn.] + + _August._ + + My harvest home is ended; and I spy + September drawing nigh + With the first thought of Autumn in her eye, + And the first sigh + Of Autumn wind among her locks that fly. + + [September arrives, carrying upon her head a basket heaped + high with fruit] + + + _September._ + + Unload me, brother. I have brought a few + Plums and these pears for you, + A dozen kinds of apples, one or two + Melons, some figs all bursting through + Their skins, and pearled with dew + These damsons violet-blue. + + [While September is speaking, August lifts the basket to the + ground, selects various fruits, and withdraws slowly along + the gravel walk, eating a pear as he goes.] + + _September._ + + My song is half a sigh + Because my green leaves die; + Sweet are my fruits, but all my leaves are dying; + And well may Autumn sigh, + And well may I + Who watch the sere leaves flying. + + My leaves that fade and fall, + I note you one and all; + I call you, and the Autumn wind is calling, + Lamenting for your fall, + And for the pall + You spread on earth in falling. + + And here's a song of flowers to suit such hours: + A song of the last lilies, the last flowers, + Amid my withering bowers. + + In the sunny garden bed + Lilies look so pale, + Lilies droop the head + In the shady grassy vale; + If all alike they pine + In shade and in shine, + If everywhere they grieve, + Where will lilies live? + + [October enters briskly, some leafy twigs bearing different + sorts of nuts in one hand, and a long ripe hop-bine trailing + after him from the other. A dahlia is stuck in his + buttonhole.] + + _October._ + + Nay, cheer up, sister. Life is not quite over, + Even if the year has done with corn and clover, + With flowers and leaves; besides, in fact it's true, + Some leaves remain and some flowers too. + For me and you. + Now see my crops: + + [Offering his produce to September. + + I've brought you nuts and hops; + And when the leaf drops, why, the walnut drops. + + + [October wreaths the hop-bine about September's neck, and + gives her the nut twigs. They enter the cottage together, + but without shutting the door. She steps into the background: + he advances to the hearth, removes the guard, + stirs up the smouldering fire, and arranges several chestnuts + ready to roast.] + + _October._ + + Crack your first nut and light your first fire, + Roast your first chestnut crisp on the bar; + Make the logs sparkle, stir the blaze higher; + Logs are cheery as sun or as star, + Logs we can find wherever we are. + + Spring one soft day will open the leaves, + Spring one bright day will lure back the flowers; + Never fancy my whistling wind grieves, + Never fancy I've tears in my showers; + Dance, nights and days! and dance on, my hours! + + [Sees November approaching. + + _October._ + + Here comes my youngest sister, looking dim + And grim, + With dismal ways. + What cheer, November? + + _November._ + + [Entering and shutting the door.] + + Nought have I to bring, + Tramping a-chill and shivering, + Except these pine-cones for a blaze,-- + Except a fog which follows, + And stuffs up all the hollows,-- + Except a hoar frost here and there,-- + Except some shooting stars + Which dart their luminous cars + Trackless and noiseless through the keen night air. + + [October, shrugging his shoulders, withdraws into the background, + while November throws her pine cones on the + fire, and sits down listlessly.] + + _November._ + + The earth lies fast asleep, grown tired + Of all that's high or deep; + There's nought desired and nought required + Save a sleep. + + I rock the cradle of the earth, + I lull her with a sigh; + And know that she will wake to mirth + By and by. + + [Through the window December is seen running and leaping + in the direction of the door. He knocks.] + + _November._ + + [Calls out without rising.] + + Ah, here's my youngest brother come at last: + Come in, December. + + [He opens the door and enters, loaded with evergreens in + berry, etc.] + + _November._ + + Come, and shut the door, + For now it's snowing fast; + It snows, and will snow more and more; + Don't let it drift in on the floor. + But you, you're all aglow; how can you be + Rosy and warm and smiling in the cold? + + _December._ + + Nay, no closed doors for me, + But open doors and open hearts and glee + To welcome young and old. + + Dimmest and brightest month am I; + My short days end, my lengthening days begin; + What matters more or less sun in the sky, + When all is sun within? + + [He begins making a wreath as he sings. + + Ivy and privet dark as night, + I weave with hips and haws a cheerful show, + And holly for a beauty and delight, + And milky mistletoe. + + While high above them all I set + Yew twigs and Christmas roses pure and pale; + Then Spring her snowdrop and her violet + May keep, so sweet and frail; + + May keep each merry singing bird, + Of all her happy birds that singing build: + For I've a carol which some shepherds heard + Once in a wintry field. + + [While December concludes his song all the other Months + troop in from the garden, or advance out of the background. + The Twelve join hands in a circle, and begin + dancing round to a stately measure as the Curtain falls.] + + + + PASTIME. + + + A boat amid the ripples, drifting, rocking, + Two idle people, without pause or aim; + While in the ominous west there gathers darkness + Flushed with flame. + + A haycock in a hayfield backing, lapping, + Two drowsy people pillowed round about; + While in the ominous west across the darkness + Flame leaps out. + + Better a wrecked life than a life so aimless, + Better a wrecked life than a life so soft; + The ominous west glooms thundering, with its fire + Lit aloft. + + + + "ITALIA, IO TI SALUTO!" + + + To come back from the sweet South, to the North + Where I was born, bred, look to die; + Come back to do my day's work in its day, + Play out my play-- + Amen, amen, say I. + + To see no more the country half my own, + Nor hear the half familiar speech, + Amen, I say; I turn to that bleak North + Whence I came forth-- + The South lies out of reach. + + But when our swallows fly back to the South, + To the sweet South, to the sweet South, + The tears may come again into my eyes + On the old wise, + And the sweet name to my mouth. + + + + MIRRORS OF LIFE AND DEATH. + + + The mystery of Life, the mystery + Of Death, I see + Darkly as in a glass; + Their shadows pass, + And talk with me. + + As the flush of a Morning Sky, + As a Morning Sky colorless-- + Each yields its measure of light + To a wet world or a dry; + Each fares through day to night + With equal pace, + And then each one + Is done. + + As the Sun with glory and grace + In his face, + Benignantly hot, + Graciously radiant and keen, + Ready to rise and to run,-- + Not without spot, + Not even the Sun. + + As the Moon + On the wax, on the wane, + With night for her noon; + Vanishing soon, + To appear again. + + As Roses that droop + Half warm, half chill, in the languid May, + And breathe out a scent + Sweet and faint; + Till the wind gives one swoop + To scatter their beauty away. + + As Lilies a multitude, + One dipping, one rising, one sinking, + On rippling waters, clear blue + And pure for their drinking; + One new dead, and one opened anew, + And all good. + + As a cankered pale Flower, + With death for a dower, + Each hour of its life half dead; + With death for a crown + Weighing down + Its head. + + As an Eagle, half strength and half grace, + Most potent to face + Unwinking the splendor of light; + Harrying the East and the West, + Soaring aloft from our sight; + Yet one day or one night dropped to rest, + On the low common earth + Of his birth. + + As a Dove, + Not alone, + In a world of her own + Full of fluttering soft noises + And tender sweet voices + Of love. + + As a Mouse + Keeping house + In the fork of a tree, + With nuts in a crevice, + And an acorn or two; + What cares he + For blossoming boughs, + Or the song-singing bevies + Of birds in their glee, + Scarlet, or golden, or blue? + + As a Mole grubbing underground; + When it comes to the light + It grubs its way back again, + Feeling no bias of fur + To hamper it in its stir, + Scant of pleasure and pain, + Sinking itself out of sight + Without sound. + + As Waters that drop and drop, + Weariness without end, + That drop and never stop, + Wear that nothing can mend, + Till one day they drop-- + Stop-- + And there's an end, + And matters mend. + + As Trees, beneath whose skin + We mark not the sap begin + To swell and rise, + Till the whole bursts out in green: + We mark the falling leaves + When the wide world grieves + And sighs. + + As a Forest on fire, + Where maddened creatures desire + Wet mud or wings + Beyond all those things + Which could assuage desire + On this side the flaming fire. + + As Wind with a sob and sigh + To which there comes no reply + But a rustle and shiver + From rushes of the river; + As Wind with a desolate moan, + Moaning on alone. + + As a Desert all sand, + Blank, neither water nor land + For solace, or dwelling, or culture, + Where the storms and the wild creatures howl; + Given over to lion and vulture, + To ostrich, and jackal, and owl: + Yet somewhere an oasis lies; + There waters arise + To nourish one seedling of balm, + Perhaps, or one palm. + + As the Sea, + Murmuring, shifting, swaying; + One time sunnily playing, + One time wrecking and slaying; + In whichever mood it be, + Worst or best, + Never at rest. + + As still Waters and deep, + As shallow Waters that brawl, + As rapid Waters that leap + To their fall. + + As Music, as Color, as Shape, + Keys of rapture and pain + Turning in vain + In a lock which turns not again, + While breaths and moments escape. + + As Spring, all bloom and desire; + As Summer, all gift and fire; + As Autumn, a dying glow; + As Winter, with nought to show: + + Winter which lays its dead all out of sight, + All clothed in white, + All waiting for the long-awaited light. + + + + A BALLAD OF BODING. + + + There are sleeping dreams and waking dreams; + What seems is not always as it seems. + + I looked out of my window in the sweet new morning, + And there I saw three barges of manifold adorning + Went sailing toward the East: + The first had sails like fire, + The next like glittering wire, + But sackcloth were the sails of the least; + And all the crews made music, and two had spread a feast. + + The first choir breathed in flutes, + And fingered soft guitars; + The second won from lutes + Harmonious chords and jars, + With drums for stormy bars: + But the third was all of harpers and scarlet trumpeters; + Notes of triumph, then + An alarm again, + As for onset, as for victory, rallies, stirs, + Peace at last and glory to the vanquishers. + + The first barge showed for figurehead a Love with wings; + The second showed for figurehead a Worm with stings; + The third, a Lily tangled to a Rose which clings. + The first bore for freight gold and spice and down; + The second bore a sword, a sceptre, and a crown; + The third, a heap of earth gone to dust and brown. + Winged Love meseemed like Folly in the face; + Stinged Worm meseemed loathly in his place; + Lily and Rose were flowers of grace. + + Merry went the revel of the fire-sailed crew, + Singing, feasting, dancing to and fro: + Pleasures ever changing, ever graceful, ever new; + Sighs, but scarce of woe; + All the sighing + Wooed such sweet replying; + All the sighing, sweet and low, + Used to come and go + For more pleasure, merely so. + Yet at intervals some one grew tired + Of everything desired, + And sank, I knew not whither, in sorry plight, + Out of sight. + + The second crew seemed ever + Wider-visioned, graver, + More distinct of purpose, more sustained of will; + With heads erect and proud, + And voices sometimes loud; + With endless tacking, counter-tacking, + All things grasping, all things lacking, + It would seem; + Ever shifting helm, or sail, or shroud, + Drifting on as in a dream. + Hoarding to their utmost bent, + Feasting to their fill, + Yet gnawed by discontent, + Envy, hatred, malice, on their road they went. + Their freight was not a treasure, + Their music not a pleasure; + The sword flashed, cleaving through their bands, + Sceptre and crown changed hands. + + The third crew as they went + Seemed mostly different; + They toiled in rowing, for to them the wind was contrary, + As all the world might see. + They labored at the oar, + While on their heads they bore + The fiery stress of sunshine more and more. + They labored at the oar hand-sore, + Till rain went splashing, + And spray went dashing, + Down on them, and up on them, more and more. + Their sails were patched and rent, + Their masts were bent, + In peril of their lives they worked and went. + For them no feast was spread, + No soft luxurious bed + Scented and white, + No crown or sceptre hung in sight; + In weariness and painfulness, + In thirst and sore distress, + They rowed and steered from left to right + With all their might. + Their trumpeters and harpers round about + Incessantly played out, + And sometimes they made answer with a shout; + But oftener they groaned or wept, + And seldom paused to eat, and seldom slept. + I wept for pity watching them, but more + I wept heart-sore + Once and again to see + Some weary man plunge overboard, and swim + To Love or Worm ship floating buoyantly: + And there all welcomed him. + + The ships steered each apart and seemed to scorn each other, + Yet all the crews were interchangeable; + Now one man, now another, + --Like bloodless spectres some, some flushed by health,-- + Changed openly, or changed by stealth, + Scaling a slippery side, and scaled it well. + The most left Love ship, hauling wealth + Up Worm ship's side; + While some few hollow-eyed + Left either for the sack-sailed boat; + But this, though not remote, + Was worst to mount, and whoso left it once + Scarce ever came again, + But seemed to loathe his erst companions, + And wish and work them bane. + + Then I knew (I know not how) there lurked quicksands full of dread, + Rocks and reefs and whirlpools in the water-bed, + Whence a waterspout + Instantaneously leaped out, + Roaring as it reared its head. + + Soon I spied a something dim, + Many-handed, grim, + That went flitting to and fro the first and second ship; + It puffed their sails full out + With puffs of smoky breath + From a smouldering lip, + And cleared the waterspout + Which reeled roaring round about + Threatening death. + With a horny hand it steered, + And a horn appeared + On its sneering head upreared + Haughty and high + Against the blackening lowering sky. + With a hoof it swayed the waves; + They opened here and there, + Till I spied deep ocean graves + Full of skeletons + That were men and women once + Foul or fair; + Full of things that creep + And fester in the deep + And never breathe the clean life-nurturing air. + + The third bark held aloof + From the Monster with the hoof, + Despite his urgent beck, + And fraught with guile + Abominable his smile; + Till I saw him take a flying leap on to that deck. + Then full of awe, + With these same eyes I saw + His head incredible retract its horn + Rounding like babe's new born, + While silvery phosphorescence played + About his dis-horned head. + The sneer smoothed from his lip, + He beamed blandly on the ship; + All winds sank to a moan, + All waves to a monotone + (For all these seemed his realm), + While he laid a strong caressing hand upon the helm. + + Then a cry well nigh of despair + Shrieked to heaven, a clamor of desperate prayer. + The harpers harped no more, + While the trumpeters sounded sore + An alarm to wake the dead from their bed: + To the rescue, to the rescue, now or never, + To the rescue, O ye living, O ye dead, + Or no more help or hope for ever!-- + The planks strained as though they must part asunder, + The masts bent as though they must dip under, + And the winds and the waves at length + Girt up their strength, + And the depths were laid bare, + And heaven flashed fire and volleyed thunder + Through the rain-choked air, + And sea and sky seemed to kiss + In the horror and the hiss + Of the whole world shuddering everywhere. + + Lo! a Flyer swooping down + With wings to span the globe, + And splendor for his robe + And splendor for his crown. + He lighted on the helm with a foot of fire, + And spun the Monster overboard: + And that monstrous thing abhorred, + Gnashing with balked desire, + Wriggled like a worm infirm + Up the Worm + Of the loathly figurehead. + There he crouched and gnashed; + And his head re-horned, and gashed + From the other's grapple, dripped bloody red. + + I saw that thing accurst + Wreak his worst + On the first and second crew: + Some with baited hook + He angled for and took, + Some dragged overboard in a net he threw, + Some he did to death + With hoof or horn or blasting breath. + + I heard a voice of wailing + Where the ships went sailing, + A sorrowful voice prevailing + Above the sound of the sea, + Above the singers' voices, + And musical merry noises; + All songs had turned to sighing, + The light was failing, + The day was dying-- + Ah me, + That such a sorrow should be! + + There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land + When Love ship went down by the bottomless quicksand + To its grave in the bitter wave. + There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land + When Worm ship went to pieces on the rock-bound strand, + And the bitter wave was its grave. + But land and sea waxed hoary + In whiteness of a glory + Never told in story + Nor seen by mortal eye, + When the third ship crossed the bar + Where whirls and breakers are, + And steered into the splendors of the sky; + That third bark and that least + Which had never seemed to feast, + Yet kept high festival above sun and moon and star. + + + + YET A LITTLE WHILE. + + + I dreamed and did not seek: to-day I seek + Who can no longer dream; + But now am all behindhand, waxen weak, + And dazed amid so many things that gleam + Yet are not what they seem. + + I dreamed and did not work: to-day I work + Kept wide awake by care + And loss, and perils dimly guessed to lurk; + I work and reap not, while my life goes bare + And void in wintry air. + + I hope indeed; but hope itself is fear + Viewed on the sunny side; + I hope, and disregard the world that's here, + The prizes drawn, the sweet things that betide; + I hope, and I abide. + + + + HE AND SHE. + + + "Should one of us remember, + And one of us forget, + I wish I knew what each will do-- + But who can tell as yet?" + + "Should one of us remember, + And one of us forget, + I promise you what I will do-- + And I'm content to wait for you, + And not be sure as yet." + + + + MONNA INNOMINATA. + + A SONNET OF SONNETS. + + + Beatrice, immortalized by "altissimo poeta ... cotanto + amante;" Laura, celebrated by a great though an inferior bard,--have + alike paid the exceptional penalty of exceptional honor, + and have come down to us resplendent with charms, but (at + least, to my apprehension) scant of attractiveness. + + These heroines of world-wide fame were preceded by a bevy + of unnamed ladies "donne innominate" sung by a school of + less conspicuous poets; and in that land and that period which + gave simultaneous birth to Catholics, to Albigenses, and to + Troubadours, one can imagine many a lady as sharing her + lover's poetic aptitude, while the barrier between them might + be one held sacred by both, yet not such as to render mutual + love incompatible with mutual honor. + + Had such a lady spoken for herself, the portrait left us might + have appeared more tender, if less dignified, than any drawn + even by a devoted friend. Or had the Great Poetess of our + own day and nation only been unhappy instead of happy, her + circumstances would have invited her to bequeath to us, in + lieu of the "Portuguese Sonnets," an inimitable "donna innominata" + drawn not from fancy but from feeling, and worthy + to occupy a niche beside Beatrice and Laura. + + + 1. + + "Lo di che han detto a' dolci amici addio."--Dante. + "Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci!"--Petrarca. + + + + Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:-- + Or come not yet, for it is over then, + And long it is before you come again, + So far between my pleasures are and few. + While, when you come not, what I do I do + Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest "when:" + For one man is my world of all the men + This wide world holds; O love, my world is you. + Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang + Because the pang of parting comes so soon; + My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon + Between the heavenly days on which we meet: + Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang + When life was sweet because you called them sweet? + + + 2. + + + "Era gia l'ora che volge il desio."--Dante. + "Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima."--Petrarca. + + + I wish I could remember that first day, + First hour, first moment of your meeting me, + If bright or dim the season, it might be + Summer or Winter for aught I can say; + So unrecorded did it slip away, + So blind was I to see and to foresee, + So dull to mark the budding of my tree + That would not blossom yet for many a May. + If only I could recollect it, such + A day of days! I let it come and go + As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow; + It seemed to mean so little, meant so much; + If only now I could recall that touch, + First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know! + + + 3. + + "O ombre vane, fuor che ne l'aspetto!"--Dante. + "Immaginata guida la conduce."--Petrarca. + + + I dream of you to wake: would that I might + Dream of you and not wake but slumber on; + Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone, + As Summer ended Summer birds take flight. + In happy dreams I hold you full in sight, + I blush again who waking look so wan; + Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone, + In happy dreams your smile makes day of night. + Thus only in a dream we are at one, + Thus only in a dream we give and take + The faith that maketh rich who take or give; + If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake, + To die were surely sweeter than to live, + Though there be nothing new beneath the sun. + + + 4. + + "Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda."--Dante. + "Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore, + E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore."--Petrarca. + + + I loved you first: but afterwards your love + Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song + As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove. + Which owes the other most? my love was long, + And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong; + I loved and guessed at you, you construed me + And loved me for what might or might not be-- + Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong. + For verily love knows not "mine" or "thine;" + With separate "I" and "thou" free love has done, + For one is both and both are one in love: + Rich love knows nought of "thine that is not mine;" + Both have the strength and both the length thereof, + Both of us of the love which makes us one. + + + 5. + + "Amor che a nulla amato amar perdona."--Dante. + "Amor m'addusse in si gioiosa spene."--Petrarca. + + + O my heart's heart, and you who are to me + More than myself myself, God be with you, + Keep you in strong obedience leal and true + To Him whose noble service setteth free, + Give you all good we see or can foresee, + Make your joys many and your sorrows few, + Bless you in what you bear and what you do, + Yea, perfect you as He would have you be. + So much for you; but what for me, dear friend? + To love you without stint and all I can + To-day, to-morrow, world without an end; + To love you much and yet to love you more, + As Jordan at his flood sweeps either shore; + Since woman is the helpmeet made for man. + + + 6. + + "Or puoi la quantitate + Comprender de l'amor che a te mi scalda."--Dante. + "Non vo' che da tal nodo amor mi scioglia."--Petrarca. + + + Trust me, I have not earned your dear rebuke, + I love, as you would have me, God the most; + Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost, + Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look + Unready to forego what I forsook; + This say I, having counted up the cost, + This, though I be the feeblest of God's host, + The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook, + Yet while I love my God the most, I deem + That I can never love you overmuch; + I love Him more, so let me love you too; + Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such + I cannot love you if I love not Him, + I cannot love Him if I love not you. + + + 7. + + "Qui primavera sempre ed ogni frutto."--Dante. + "Ragionando con meco ed io con lui."--Petrarca. + + + "Love me, for I love you"--and answer me, + "Love me, for I love you"--so shall we stand + As happy equals in the flowering land + Of love, that knows not a dividing sea. + Love builds the house on rock and not on sand, + Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately; + And who hath found love's citadel unmanned? + And who hath held in bonds love's liberty? + My heart's a coward though my words are brave-- + We meet so seldom, yet we surely part + So often; there's a problem for your art! + Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith, + Though jealousy be cruel as the grave, + And death be strong, yet love is strong as death. + + + 8. + + "Come dicesse a Dio: D'altro non calme."--Dante. + "Spero trovar pieta non che perdono."--Petrarca. + + + "I, if I perish, perish"--Esther spake: + And bride of life or death she made her fair + In all the lustre of her perfumed hair + And smiles that kindle longing but to slake. + She put on pomp of loveliness, to take + Her husband through his eyes at unaware; + She spread abroad her beauty for a snare, + Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake. + She trapped him with one mesh of silken hair, + She vanquished him by wisdom of her wit, + And built her people's house that it should stand:-- + If I might take my life so in my hand, + And for my love to Love put up my prayer, + And for love's sake by Love be granted it! + + + 9. + + "O dignitosa coscienza e netta!"--Dante. + "Spirto piu acceso di virtuti ardenti."--Petrarca. + + + Thinking of you, and all that was, and all + That might have been and now can never be, + I feel your honored excellence, and see + Myself unworthy of the happier call: + For woe is me who walk so apt to fall, + So apt to shrink afraid, so apt to flee, + Apt to lie down and die (ah, woe is me!) + Faithless and hopeless turning to the wall. + And yet not hopeless quite nor faithless quite, + Because not loveless; love may toil all night, + But take at morning; wrestle till the break + Of day, but then wield power with God and man:-- + So take I heart of grace as best I can, + Ready to spend and be spent for your sake. + + + 10. + + "Con miglior corso e con migliore stella."--Dante. + "La vita fugge e non s'arresta un' ora."--Petrarca. + + + Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing; + Death following hard on life gains ground apace; + Faith runs with each and rears an eager face, + Outruns the rest, makes light of everything, + Spurns earth, and still finds breath to pray and sing; + While love ahead of all uplifts his praise, + Still asks for grace and still gives thanks for grace, + Content with all day brings and night will bring. + Life wanes; and when love folds his wings above + Tired hope, and less we feel his conscious pulse, + Let us go fall asleep, dear friend, in peace: + A little while, and age and sorrow cease; + A little while, and life reborn annuls + Loss and decay and death, and all is love. + + + 11. + + "Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti."--Dante. + "Contando i casi della vita nostra."--Petrarca. + + + Many in aftertimes will say of you + "He loved her"--while of me what will they say? + Not that I loved you more than just in play, + For fashion's sake as idle women do. + Even let them prate; who know not what we knew + Of love and parting in exceeding pain, + Of parting hopeless here to meet again, + Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view. + But by my heart of love laid bare to you, + My love that you can make not void nor vain, + Love that foregoes you but to claim anew + Beyond this passage of the gate of death, + I charge you at the Judgment make it plain + My love of you was life and not a breath. + + 12. + + "Amor, che ne la mente mi ragiona."--Dante. + "Amor vien nel bel viso di costei."--Petrarca. + + + If there be any one can take my place + And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve, + Think not that I can grudge it, but believe + I do commend you to that nobler grace, + That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face; + Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive + I too am crowned, while bridal crowns I weave, + And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace. + For if I did not love you, it might be + That I should grudge you some one dear delight; + But since the heart is yours that was mine own, + Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right, + Your honorable freedom makes me free, + And you companioned I am not alone. + + + 13. + + "E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore."--Dante. + "Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia."--Petrarca. + + + If I could trust mine own self with your fate, + Shall I not rather trust it in God's hand? + Without Whose Will one lily doth not stand, + Nor sparrow fall at his appointed date; + Who numbereth the innumerable sand, + Who weighs the wind and water with a weight, + To Whom the world is neither small nor great, + Whose knowledge foreknew every plan we planned. + Searching my heart for all that touches you, + I find there only love and love's goodwill + Helpless to help and impotent to do, + Of understanding dull, of sight most dim; + And therefore I commend you back to Him + Whose love your love's capacity can fill. + + + 14. + + "E la Sua Volontade e nostra pace."--Dante. + "Sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome."--Petrarca. + + + Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there + Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this; + Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss? + I will not bind fresh roses in my hair, + To shame a cheek at best but little fair,-- + Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,-- + I will not seek for blossoms anywhere, + Except such common flowers as blow with corn. + Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain? + The longing of a heart pent up forlorn, + A silent heart whose silence loves and longs; + The silence of a heart which sang its songs + While youth and beauty made a summer morn, + Silence of love that cannot sing again. + + + + "LUSCIOUS AND SORROWFUL." + + + Beautiful, tender, wasting away for sorrow; + Thus to-day; and how shall it be with thee to-morrow? + Beautiful, tender--what else? + A hope tells. + + Beautiful, tender, keeping the jubilee + In the land of home together, past death and sea; + No more change or death, no more + Salt sea-shore. + + + + DE PROFUNDIS. + + + Oh why is heaven built so far, + Oh why is earth set so remote? + I cannot reach the nearest star + That hangs afloat. + + I would not care to reach the moon, + One round monotonous of change; + Yet even she repeats her tune + Beyond my range. + + I never watch the scattered fire + Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train, + But all my heart is one desire, + And all in vain: + + For I am bound with fleshly bands, + Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope; + I strain my heart, I stretch my hands, + And catch at hope. + + + + TEMPUS FUGIT. + + + Lovely Spring, + A brief sweet thing, + Is swift on the wing; + Gracious Summer, + A slow sweet comer, + Hastens past; + Autumn while sweet + Is all incomplete + With a moaning blast,-- + Nothing can last, + Can be cleaved unto, + Can be dwelt upon; + It is hurried through, + It is come and gone, + Undone it cannot be done, + It is ever to do, + Ever old, ever new, + Ever waxing old + And lapsing to Winter cold. + + + + GOLDEN GLORIES. + + + The buttercup is like a golden cup, + The marigold is like a golden frill, + The daisy with a golden eye looks up, + And golden spreads the flag beside the rill, + And gay and golden nods the daffodil, + The gorsey common swells a golden sea, + The cowslip hangs a head of golden tips, + And golden drips the honey which the bee + Sucks from sweet hearts of flowers and stores and sips. + + + + JOHNNY. + + FOUNDED ON AN ANECDOTE OF THE FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. + + + Johnny had a golden head + Like a golden mop in blow, + Right and left his curls would spread + In a glory and a glow, + And they framed his honest face + Like stray sunbeams out of place. + + Long and thick, they half could hide + How threadbare his patched jacket hung; + They used to be his Mother's pride; + She praised them with a tender tongue, + And stroked them with a loving finger + That smoothed and stroked and loved to linger. + + On a doorstep Johnny sat, + Up and down the street looked he; + Johnny did not own a hat, + Hot or cold tho' days might be; + Johnny did not own a boot + To cover up his muddy foot. + + Johnny's face was pale and thin, + Pale with hunger and with crying; + For his Mother lay within, + Talked and tossed and seemed a-dying, + While Johnny racked his brains to think + How to get her help and drink, + + Get her physic, get her tea, + Get her bread and something nice; + Not a penny piece had he, + And scarce a shilling might suffice; + No wonder that his soul was sad, + When not one penny piece he had. + + As he sat there thinking, moping, + Because his Mother's wants were many, + Wishing much but scarcely hoping + To earn a shilling or a penny, + A friendly neighbor passed him by + And questioned him: Why did he cry? + + Alas! his trouble soon was told: + He did not cry for cold or hunger, + Though he was hungry both and cold; + He only felt more weak and younger, + Because he wished so to be old + And apt at earning pence or gold. + + Kindly that neighbor was, but poor, + Scant coin had he to give or lend; + And well he guessed there needed more + Than pence or shillings to befriend + The helpless woman in her strait, + So much loved, yet so desolate. + + One way he saw, and only one: + He would--he could not--give the advice, + And yet he must: the widow's son + Had curls of gold would fetch their price; + Long curls which might be clipped, and sold + For silver, or perhaps for gold. + + Our Johnny, when he understood + Which shop it was that purchased hair, + Ran off as briskly as he could, + And in a trice stood cropped and bare, + Too short of hair to fill a locket, + But jingling money in his pocket. + + Precious money--tea and bread, + Physic, ease, for Mother dear, + Better than a golden head: + Yet our hero dropped one tear + When he spied himself close shorn, + Barer much than lamb new born. + + His Mother throve upon the money, + Ate and revived and kissed her son: + But oh! when she perceived her Johnny, + And understood what he had done + All and only for her sake, + She sobbed as if her heart must break. + + + + "HOLLOW-SOUNDING AND MYSTERIOUS." + + + There's no replying + To the Wind's sighing, + Telling, foretelling, + Dying, undying, + Dwindling and swelling, + Complaining, droning, + Whistling and moaning, + Ever beginning, + Ending, repeating, + Hinting and dinning, + Lagging and fleeting-- + We've no replying + Living or dying + To the Wind's sighing. + + What are you telling, + Variable Wind-tone? + What would be teaching, + O sinking, swelling, + Desolate Wind-moan? + Ever for ever + Teaching and preaching, + Never, ah never + Making us wiser-- + The earliest riser + Catches no meaning, + The last who hearkens + Garners no gleaning + Of wisdom's treasure, + While the world darkens:-- + Living or dying, + In pain, in pleasure, + We've no replying + To wordless flying + Wind's sighing. + + + + MAIDEN MAY. + + + Maiden May sat in her bower, + In her blush rose bower in flower, + Sweet of scent; + Sat and dreamed away an hour, + Half content, half uncontent. + + "Why should rose blossoms be born, + Tender blossoms, on a thorn + Though so sweet? + Never a thorn besets the corn + Scentless in its strength complete. + + "Why are roses all so frail, + At the mercy of the gale, + Of a breath? + Yet so sweet and perfect pale, + Still so sweet in life and death." + + Maiden May sat in her bower, + In her blush rose bower in flower, + Where a linnet + Made one bristling branch the tower + For her nest and young ones in it. + + "Gay and clear the linnet trills; + Yet the skylark only, thrills + Heaven and earth + When he breasts the height, and fills + Height and depth with song and mirth. + + "Nightingales which yield to night + Solitary strange delight, + Reign alone: + But the lark for all his height + Fills no solitary throne; + + "While he sings, a hundred sing; + Wing their flight below his wing + Yet in flight; + Each a lovely joyful thing + To the measure of its delight. + + "Why then should a lark be reckoned + One alone, without a second + Near his throne? + He in skyward flight unslackened, + In his music, not alone." + + Maiden May sat in her bower; + Her own face was like a flower + Of the prime, + Half in sunshine, half in shower, + In the year's most tender time. + + Her own thoughts in silent song + Musically flowed along, + Wise, unwise, + Wistful, wondering, weak or strong: + As brook shallows sink or rise. + + Other thoughts another day, + Maiden May, will surge and sway + Round your heart; + Wake, and plead, and turn at bay, + Wisdom part, and folly part. + + Time not far remote will borrow + Other joys, another sorrow, + All for you; + Not to-day, and yet to-morrow + Reasoning false and reasoning true. + + Wherefore greatest? Wherefore least? + Hearts that starve and hearts that feast? + You and I? + Stammering Oracles have ceased, + And the whole earth stands at "why?" + + Underneath all things that be + Lies an unsolved mystery; + Over all + Spreads a veil impenetrably, + Spreads a dense unlifted pall. + + Mystery of mysteries: + _This_ creation hears and sees + High and low-- + Vanity of vanities: + _This_ we test and _this_ we know. + + Maiden May, the days of flowering + Nurse you now in sweet embowering, + Sunny days; + Bright with rainbows all the showering, + Bright with blossoms all the ways. + + Close the inlet of your bower, + Close it close with thorn and flower, + Maiden May; + Lengthen out the shortening hour,-- + Morrows are not as to-day. + + Stay to-day which wanes too soon, + Stay the sun and stay the moon, + Stay your youth; + Bask you in the actual noon, + Rest you in the present truth. + + Let to-day suffice to-day: + For itself to-morrow may + Fetch its loss; + Aim and stumble, say its say, + Watch and pray and bear its cross. + + + + TILL TO-MORROW. + + + Long have I longed, till I am tired + Of longing and desire; + Farewell my points in vain desired, + My dying fire; + Farewell all things that die and fail and tire. + + Springtide and youth and useless pleasure + And all my useless scheming, + My hopes of unattainable treasure, + Dreams not worth dreaming, + Glow-worms that gleam but yield no warmth in gleaming, + + Farewell all shows that fade in showing: + My wish and joy stand over + Until to-morrow; Heaven is glowing + Through cloudy cover, + Beyond all clouds loves me my Heavenly Lover. + + + + DEATH-WATCHES. + + + The Spring spreads one green lap of flowers + Which Autumn buries at the fall, + No chilling showers of Autumn hours + Can stay them or recall; + Winds sing a dirge, while earth lays out of sight + Her garment of delight. + + The cloven East brings forth the sun, + The cloven West doth bury him + What time his gorgeous race is run + And all the world grows dim; + A funeral moon is lit in heaven's hollow, + And pale the star-lights follow. + + + + TOUCHING "NEVER." + + + Because you never yet have loved me, dear, + Think you you never can nor ever will? + Surely while life remains hope lingers still, + Hope the last blossom of life's dying year. + Because the season and mine age grow sere, + Shall never Spring bring forth her daffodil, + Shall never sweeter Summer feast her fill + Of roses with the nightingales they hear? + If you had loved me, I not loving you, + If you had urged me with the tender plea + Of what our unknown years to come might do + (Eternal years, if Time should count too few), + I would have owned the point you pressed on me, + Was possible, or probable, or true. + + + + BRANDONS BOTH. + + + Oh fair Milly Brandon, a young maid, a fair maid! + All her curls are yellow and her eyes are blue, + And her cheeks were rosy red till a secret care made + Hollow whiteness of their brightness as a care will do. + + Still she tends her flowers, but not as in the old days, + Still she sings her songs, but not the songs of old: + If now it be high Summer her days seem brief and cold days, + If now it be high Summer her nights are long and cold. + + If you have a secret keep it, pure maid Milly; + Life is filled with troubles and the world with scorn; + And pity without love is at best times hard and chilly, + Chilling sore and stinging sore a heart forlorn. + + Walter Brandon, do you guess Milly Brandon's secret? + Many things you know, but not everything, + With your locks like raven's plumage, and eyes like an egret, + And a laugh that is music, and such a voice to sing. + + Nelly Knollys, she is fair, but she is not fairer + Than fairest Milly Brandon was before she turned so pale: + Oh, but Nelly's dearer if she be not rarer, + She need not keep a secret or blush behind a veil. + + Beyond the first green hills, beyond the nearest valleys, + Nelly dwells at home beneath her mother's eyes: + Her home is neat and homely, not a cot and not a palace, + Just the home where love sets up his happiest memories. + + Milly has no mother; and sad beyond another + Is she whose blessed mother is vanished out of call: + Truly comfort beyond comfort is stored up in a mother + Who bears with all, and hopes through all, and loves us all. + + Where peacocks nod and flaunt up and down the terrace, + Furling and unfurling their scores of sightless eyes, + To and fro among the leaves and buds and flowers and berries + Maiden Milly strolls and pauses, smiles and sighs. + + On the hedged-in terrace of her father's palace + She may stroll and muse alone, may smile or sigh alone, + Letting thoughts and eyes go wandering over hills and valleys + To-day her father's, and one day to be all her own. + + If her thoughts go coursing down lowlands and up highlands, + It is because the startled game are leaping from their lair; + If her thoughts dart homeward to the reedy river islands, + It is because the waterfowl rise startled here or there. + + At length a footfall on the steps: she turns, composed and steady, + All the long-descended greatness of her father's house + Lifting up her head; and there stands Walter keen and ready + For hunting or for hawking, a flush upon his brows. + + "Good-morrow, fair cousin." "Good-morrow, fairest cousin: + The sun has started on his course, and I must start to-day. + If you have done me one good turn you've done me many a dozen, + And I shall often think of you, think of you away." + + "Over hill and hollow what quarry will you follow, + Or what fish will you angle for beside the river's edge? + There's cloud upon the hill-top and there 's mist deep down the hollow, + And fog among the rushes and the rustling sedge." + + "I shall speed well enough be it hunting or hawking, + Or casting a bait towards the shyest daintiest fin. + But I kiss your hands, my cousin; I must not loiter talking, + For nothing comes of nothing, and I'm fain to seek and win." + + "Here's a thorny rose: will you wear it an hour, + Till the petals drop apart still fresh and pink and sweet? + Till the petals drop from the drooping perished flower, + And only the graceless thorns are left of it." + + "Nay, I have another rose sprung in another garden, + Another rose which sweetens all the world for me. + Be you a tenderer mistress and be you a warier warden + Of your rose, as sweet as mine, and full as fair to see." + + "Nay, a bud once plucked there is no reviving, + Nor is it worth your wearing now, nor worth indeed my own; + The dead to the dead, and the living to the living. + It's time I go within, for it's time now you were gone." + + "Good-bye, Milly Brandon, I shall not forget you, + Though it be good-bye between us for ever from to-day; + I could almost wish to-day that I had never met you, + And I'm true to you in this one word that I say." + + "Good-bye, Walter. I can guess which thornless rose you covet; + Long may it bloom and prolong its sunny morn: + Yet as for my one thorny rose, I do not cease to love it, + And if it is no more a flower I love it as a thorn." + + + + A LIFE'S PARALLELS. + + + Never on this side of the grave again, + On this side of the river, + On this side of the garner of the grain, + Never,-- + + Ever while time flows on and on and on, + That narrow noiseless river, + Ever while corn bows heavy-headed, wan, + Ever,-- + + Never despairing, often fainting, ruing, + But looking back, ah never! + Faint yet pursuing, faint yet still pursuing + Ever. + + + + AT LAST. + + + Many have sung of love a root of bane: + While to my mind a root of balm it is, + For love at length breeds love; sufficient bliss + For life and death and rising up again. + Surely when light of Heaven makes all things plain, + Love will grow plain with all its mysteries; + Nor shall we need to fetch from over seas + Wisdom or wealth or pleasure safe from pain. + Love in our borders, love within our heart, + Love all in all, we then shall bide at rest, + Ended for ever life's unending quest, + Ended for ever effort, change and fear: + Love all in all;--no more that better part + Purchased, but at the cost of all things here. + + + + GOLDEN SILENCES. + + + There is silence that saith, "Ah me!" + There is silence that nothing saith; + One the silence of life forlorn, + One the silence of death; + One is, and the other shall be. + + One we know and have known for long, + One we know not, but we shall know, + All we who have ever been born; + Even so, be it so,-- + There is silence, despite a song. + + Sowing day is a silent day, + Resting night is a silent night; + But whoso reaps the ripened corn + Shall shout in his delight, + While silences vanish away. + + + + IN THE WILLOW SHADE. + + + I sat beneath a willow tree, + Where water falls and calls; + While fancies upon fancies solaced me, + Some true, and some were false. + + Who set their heart upon a hope + That never comes to pass, + Droop in the end like fading heliotrope, + The sun's wan looking-glass. + + Who set their will upon a whim + Clung to through good and ill, + Are wrecked alike whether they sink or swim, + Or hit or miss their will. + + All things are vain that wax and wane, + For which we waste our breath; + Love only doth not wane and is not vain, + Love only outlives death. + + A singing lark rose toward the sky, + Circling he sang amain; + He sang, a speck scarce visible sky-high, + And then he sank again. + + A second like a sunlit spark + Flashed singing up his track; + But never overtook that foremost lark, + And songless fluttered back. + + A hovering melody of birds + Haunted the air above; + They clearly sang contentment without words, + And youth and joy and love. + + O silvery weeping willow tree + With all leaves shivering, + Have you no purpose but to shadow me + Beside this rippled spring? + + On this first fleeting day of Spring, + For Winter is gone by, + And every bird on every quivering wing + Floats in a sunny sky; + + On this first Summer-like soft day, + While sunshine steeps the air, + And every cloud has gat itself away, + And birds sing everywhere. + + Have you no purpose in the world + But thus to shadow me + With all your tender drooping twigs unfurled, + O weeping willow tree? + + With all your tremulous leaves outspread + Betwixt me and the sun, + While here I loiter on a mossy bed + With half my work undone; + + My work undone, that should be done + At once with all my might; + For after the long day and lingering sun + Comes the unworking night. + + This day is lapsing on its way, + Is lapsing out of sight; + And after all the chances of the day + Comes the resourceless night. + + The weeping-willow shook its head + And stretched its shadow long; + The west grew crimson, the sun smouldered red, + The birds forbore a song. + + Slow wind sighed through the willow leaves, + The ripple made a moan, + The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves; + And then I felt alone. + + I rose to go, and felt the chill, + And shivered as I went; + Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still, + What more that willow meant; + + That silvery weeping-willow tree + With all leaves shivering, + Which spent one long day overshadowing me + Beside a spring in Spring. + + + + FLUTTERED WINGS. + + + The splendor of the kindling day, + The splendor of the setting sun, + These move my soul to wend its way, + And have done + With all we grasp and toil amongst and say. + + The paling roses of a cloud, + The fading bow that arches space, + These woo my fancy toward my shroud; + Toward the place + Of faces veiled, and heads discrowned and bowed. + + The nation of the awful stars, + The wandering star whose blaze is brief, + These make me beat against the bars + Of my grief; + My tedious grief, twin to the life it mars. + + O fretted heart tossed to and fro, + So fain to flee, so fain to rest! + All glories that are high or low, + East or west, + Grow dim to thee who art so fain to go. + + + + A FISHER-WIFE. + + + The soonest mended, nothing said; + And help may rise from east or west; + But my two hands are lumps of lead, + My heart sits leaden in my breast. + + O north wind swoop not from the north, + O south wind linger in the south, + Oh come not raving raging forth, + To bring my heart into my mouth; + + For I've a husband out at sea, + Afloat on feeble planks of wood; + He does not know what fear may be; + I would have told him if I could. + + I would have locked him in my arms, + I would have hid him in my heart; + For oh! the waves are fraught with harms, + And he and I so far apart. + + + + WHAT'S IN A NAME? + + + Why has Spring one syllable less + Than any its fellow season? + There may be some other reason, + And I'm merely making a guess; + But surely it hoards such wealth + Of happiness, hope and health, + Sunshine and musical sound, + It may spare a foot from its name + Yet all the same + Superabound. + + Soft-named Summer, + Most welcome comer, + Brings almost everything + Over which we dream or sing + Or sigh; + But then Summer wends its way, + To-morrow,--to-day,-- + Good-bye! + + Autumn,--the slow name lingers, + While we likewise flag; + It silences many singers; + Its slow days drag, + Yet hasten at speed + To leave us in chilly need + For Winter to strip indeed. + + In all-lack Winter, + Dull of sense and of sound, + We huddle and shiver + Beside our splinter + Of crackling pine, + Snow in sky and snow on ground. + Winter and cold + Can't last for ever! + To-day, to-morrow, the sun will shine; + When we are old, + But some still are young, + Singing the song + Which others have sung, + Ringing the bells + Which others have rung,-- + Even so! + We ourselves, who else? + We ourselves long + Long ago. + + + + MARIANA. + + + Not for me marring or making, + Not for me giving or taking; + I love my Love and he loves not me, + I love my Love and my heart is breaking. + + Sweet is Spring in its lovely showing, + Sweet the violet veiled in blowing, + Sweet it is to love and be loved; + Ah, sweet knowledge beyond my knowing! + + Who sighs for love sighs but for pleasure, + Who wastes for love hoards up a treasure; + Sweet to be loved and take no count, + Sweet it is to love without measure. + + Sweet my Love whom I loved to try for, + Sweet my Love whom I love and sigh for, + Will you once love me and sigh for me, + You my Love whom I love and die for? + + + + MEMENTO MORI. + + + Poor the pleasure + Doled out by measure, + Sweet though it be, while brief + As falling of the leaf; + Poor is pleasure + By weight and measure. + + Sweet the sorrow + Which ends to-morrow; + Sharp though it be and sore, + It ends for evermore: + Zest of sorrow, + What ends to-morrow. + + + + "ONE FOOT ON SEA, AND ONE ON SHORE." + + + "Oh tell me once and tell me twice + And tell me thrice to make it plain, + When we who part this weary day, + When we who part shall meet again." + + "When windflowers blossom on the sea + And fishes skim along the plain, + Then we who part this weary day, + Then you and I shall meet again." + + "Yet tell me once before we part, + Why need we part who part in pain? + If flowers must blossom on the sea, + Why, we shall never meet again. + + "My cheeks are paler than a rose, + My tears are salter than the main, + My heart is like a lump of ice + If we must never meet again." + + "Oh weep or laugh, but let me be, + And live or die, for all's in vain; + For life's in vain since we must part, + And parting must not meet again + + "Till windflowers blossom on the sea, + And fishes skim along the plain; + Pale rose of roses let me be, + Your breaking heart breaks mine again." + + + + BUDS AND BABIES. + + + A million buds are born that never blow, + That sweet with promise lift a pretty head + To blush and wither on a barren bed + And leave no fruit to show. + + Sweet, unfulfilled. Yet have I understood + One joy, by their fragility made plain: + Nothing was ever beautiful in vain, + Or all in vain was good. + + + + BOY JOHNNY. + + + "If you'll busk you as a bride + And make ready, + It's I will wed you with a ring, + O fair lady." + + "Shall I busk me as a bride, + I so bonny, + For you to wed me with a ring, + O boy Johnny?" + + "When you've busked you as a bride + And made ready, + Who else is there to marry you, + O fair lady?" + + "I will find my lover out, + I so bonny, + And you shall bear my wedding-train, + O boy Johnny." + + + + FREAKS OF FASHION. + + + Such a hubbub in the nests, + Such a bustle and squeak! + Nestlings, guiltless of a feather, + Learning just to speak, + Ask--"And how about the fashions?" + From a cavernous beak. + + Perched on bushes, perched on hedges, + Perched on firm hahas, + Perched on anything that holds them, + Gay papas and grave mammas + Teach the knowledge-thirsty nestlings: + Hear the gay papas. + + Robin says: "A scarlet waistcoat + Will be all the wear, + Snug, and also cheerful-looking + For the frostiest air, + Comfortable for the chest too + When one comes to plume and pair." + + "Neat gray hoods will be in vogue," + Quoth a Jackdaw: "Glossy gray, + Setting close, yet setting easy, + Nothing fly-away; + Suited to our misty mornings, + _A la negligee_." + + Flushing salmon, flushing sulphur, + Haughty Cockatoos + Answer--"Hoods may do for mornings, + But for evenings choose + High head-dresses, curved like crescents, + Such as well-bred persons use." + + "Top-knots, yes; yet more essential + Still, a train or tail," + Screamed the Peacock: "Gemmed and lustrous + Not too stiff, and not too frail; + Those are best which rearrange as + Fans, and spread or trail." + + Spoke the Swan, entrenched behind + An inimitable neck: + "After all, there's nothing sweeter + For the lawn or lake + Than simple white, if fine and flaky + And absolutely free from speck." + + "Yellow," hinted a Canary, + "Warmer, not less _distingue_." + "Peach color," put in a Lory, + "Cannot look _outre_." + "All the colors are in fashion, + And are right," the Parrots say. + + "Very well. But do contrast + Tints harmonious," + Piped a Blackbird, justly proud + Of bill aurigerous; + "Half the world may learn a lesson + As to that from us." + + Then a Stork took up the word: + "Aim at height and _chic_: + Not high heels, they're common; somehow, + Stilted legs, not thick, + Nor yet thin:" he just glanced downward + And snapped to his beak. + + Here a rustling and a whirring, + As of fans outspread, + Hinted that mammas felt anxious + Lest the next thing said + Might prove less than quite judicious, + Or even underbred. + + So a mother Auk resumed + The broken thread of speech: + "Let colors sort themselves, my dears, + Yellow, or red, or peach; + The main points, as it seems to me, + We mothers have to teach, + + "Are form and texture, elegance, + An air reserved, sublime; + The mode of wearing what we wear + With due regard to month and clime. + But now, let's all compose ourselves, + It's almost breakfast-time." + + A hubbub, a squeak, a bustle! + Who cares to chatter or sing + With delightful breakfast coming? + Yet they whisper under the wing: + "So we may wear whatever we like, + Anything, everything!" + + + + AN OCTOBER GARDEN. + + + In my Autumn garden I was fain + To mourn among my scattered roses; + Alas for that last rosebud which uncloses + To Autumn's languid sun and rain + When all the world is on the wane! + Which has not felt the sweet constraint of June, + Nor heard the nightingale in tune. + + Broad-faced asters by my garden walk, + You are but coarse compared with roses: + More choice, more dear that rosebud which uncloses + Faint-scented, pinched, upon its stalk, + That least and last which cold winds balk; + A rose it is though least and last of all, + A rose to me though at the fall. + + + + "SUMMER IS ENDED." + + + To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose + Scentless, colorless, _this!_ + Will it ever be thus (who knows?) + Thus with our bliss, + If we wait till the close? + + Though we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end + Sooner, later, at last, + Which nothing can mar, nothing mend: + An end locked fast, + Bent we cannot re-bend. + + + + PASSING AND GLASSING. + + + All things that pass + Are woman's looking-glass; + They show her how her bloom must fade, + And she herself be laid + With withered roses in the shade; + With withered roses and the fallen peach, + Unlovely, out of reach + Of summer joy that was. + + All things that pass + Are woman's tiring-glass; + The faded lavender is sweet, + Sweet the dead violet + Culled and laid by and cared for yet; + The dried-up violets and dried lavender + Still sweet, may comfort her, + Nor need she cry Alas! + + All things that pass + Are wisdom's looking-glass; + Being full of hope and fear, and still + Brimful of good or ill, + According to our work and will; + For there is nothing new beneath the sun; + Our doings have been done, + And that which shall be was. + + + + "I WILL ARISE." + + + Weary and weak,--accept my weariness; + Weary and weak and downcast in my soul, + With hope growing less and less, + And with the goal + Distant and dim,--accept my sore distress. + I thought to reach the goal so long ago, + At outset of the race I dreamed of rest, + Not knowing what now I know + Of breathless haste, + Of long-drawn straining effort across the waste. + + One only thing I knew, Thy love of me; + One only thing I know, Thy sacred same + Love of me full and free, + A craving flame + Of selfless love of me which burns in Thee. + How can I think of thee, and yet grow chill; + Of Thee, and yet grow cold and nigh to death? + Re-energize my will, + Rebuild my faith; + I will arise and run, Thou giving me breath. + + I will arise, repenting and in pain; + I will arise, and smite upon my breast + And turn to Thee again; + Thou choosest best, + Lead me along the road Thou makest plain. + Lead me a little way, and carry me + A little way, and listen to my sighs, + And store my tears with Thee, + And deign replies + To feeble prayers;--O Lord, I will arise. + + + + A PRODIGAL SON. + + + Does that lamp still burn in my Father's house, + Which he kindled the night I went away? + I turned once beneath the cedar boughs, + And marked it gleam with a golden ray; + Did he think to light me home some day? + + Hungry here with the crunching swine, + Hungry harvest have I to reap; + In a dream I count my Father's kine, + I hear the tinkling bells of his sheep, + I watch his lambs that browse and leap. + + There is plenty of bread at home, + His servants have bread enough and to spare; + The purple wine-fat froths with foam, + Oil and spices make sweet the air, + While I perish hungry and bare. + + Rich and blessed those servants, rather + Than I who see not my Father's face! + I will arise and go to my Father:-- + "Fallen from sonship, beggared of grace, + Grant me, Father, a servant's place." + + + + SOEUR LOUISE DE LA MISERICORDE. + + (1674.) + + + I have desired, and I have been desired; + But now the days are over of desire, + Now dust and dying embers mock my fire; + Where is the hire for which my life was hired? + Oh vanity of vanities, desire! + + Longing and love, pangs of a perished pleasure, + Longing and love, a disenkindled fire, + And memory a bottomless gulf of mire, + And love a fount of tears outrunning measure; + Oh vanity of vanities, desire! + + Now from my heart, love's deathbed, trickles, trickles, + Drop by drop slowly, drop by drop of fire, + The dross of life, of love, of spent desire; + Alas, my rose of life gone all to prickles,-- + Oh vanity of vanities, desire! + + Oh vanity of vanities, desire; + Stunting my hope which might have strained up higher, + Turning my garden plot to barren mire; + Oh death-struck love, oh disenkindled fire, + Oh vanity of vanities, desire! + + + + AN "IMMURATA" SISTER. + + + Life flows down to death; we cannot bind + That current that it should not flee: + Life flows down to death, as rivers find + The inevitable sea. + + Men work and think, but women feel; + And so (for I'm a woman, I) + And so I should be glad to die + And cease from impotence of zeal, + And cease from hope, and cease from dread, + And cease from yearnings without gain, + And cease from all this world of pain, + And be at peace among the dead. + + Hearts that die, by death renew their youth, + Lightened of this life that doubts and dies; + Silent and contented, while the Truth + Unveiled makes them wise. + + Why should I seek and never find + That something which I have not had? + Fair and unutterably sad + The world hath sought time out of mind; + The world hath sought and I have sought,-- + Ah, empty world and empty I! + For we have spent our strength for nought, + And soon it will be time to die. + + Sparks fly upward toward their fount of fire, + Kindling, flashing, hovering:-- + Kindle, flash, my soul; mount higher and higher, + Thou whole burnt-offering! + + + + "IF THOU SAYEST, BEHOLD, WE KNEW IT NOT." + --Proverbs xxiv. 11, 12. + + 1. + + I have done I know not what,--what have I done? + My brother's blood, my brother's soul, doth cry: + And I find no defence, find no reply, + No courage more to run this race I run + Not knowing what I have done, have left undone; + Ah me, these awful unknown hours that fly + Fruitless it may be, fleeting fruitless by + Rank with death-savor underneath the sun. + For what avails it that I did not know + The deed I did? what profits me the plea + That had I known I had not wronged him so? + Lord Jesus Christ, my God, him pity Thou; + Lord, if it may be, pity also me: + In judgment pity, and in death, and now. + + + 2. + + Thou Who hast borne all burdens, bear our load, + Bear Thou our load whatever load it be; + Our guilt, our shame, our helpless misery, + Bear Thou Who only canst, O God my God. + Seek us and find us, for we cannot Thee + Or seek or find or hold or cleave unto: + We cannot do or undo; Lord, undo + Our self-undoing, for Thine is the key + Of all we are not though we might have been. + Dear Lord, if ever mercy moved Thy mind, + If so be love of us can move Thee yet, + If still the nail-prints in Thy Hands are seen, + Remember us,--yea, how shouldst Thou forget? + Remember us for good, and seek, and find. + + + 3. + + Each soul I might have succored, may have slain, + All souls shall face me at the last Appeal, + That great last moment poised for woe or weal, + That final moment for man's bliss or bane. + Vanity of vanities, yea all is vain + Which then will not avail or help or heal: + Disfeatured faces, worn-out knees that kneel, + Will more avail than strength or beauty then. + Lord, by Thy Passion,--when Thy Face was marred + In sight of earth and hell tumultuous, + And Thy heart failed in Thee like melting wax, + And Thy Blood dropped more precious than the nard,-- + Lord, for Thy sake, not ours, supply our lacks, + For Thine own sake, not ours, Christ, pity us. + + + + THE THREAD OF LIFE. + + 1. + + The irresponsive silence of the land, + The irresponsive sounding of the sea, + Speak both one message of one sense to me:-- + Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand + Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band + Of inner solitude; we bind not thee; + But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free? + What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand?-- + And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek, + And sometimes I remember days of old + When fellowship seemed not so far to seek + And all the world and I seemed much less cold, + And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold, + And hope felt strong and life itself not weak. + + + 2. + + Thus am I mine own prison. Everything + Around me free and sunny and at ease: + Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees + Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing + And where all winds make various murmuring; + Where bees are found, with honey for the bees; + Where sounds are music, and where silences + Are music of an unlike fashioning. + Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew, + And smile a moment and a moment sigh + Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you? + But soon I put the foolish fancy by: + I am not what I have nor what I do; + But what I was I am, I am even I. + + + 3. + + Therefore myself is that one only thing + I hold to use or waste, to keep or give; + My sole possession every day I live, + And still mine own despite Time's winnowing. + Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring + From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanative; + Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve; + And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing. + And this myself as king unto my King + I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me; + Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing + A sweet new song of His redeemed set free; + He bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting? + And sing: O grave, where is thy victory? + + + + AN OLD-WORLD THICKET. + + ..."Una selva oscura."--Dante. + + + Awake or sleeping (for I know not which) + I was or was not mazed within a wood + Where every mother-bird brought up her brood + Safe in some leafy niche + Of oak or ash, of cypress or of beech, + + Of silvery aspen trembling delicately, + Of plane or warmer-tinted sycamore, + Of elm that dies in secret from the core, + Of ivy weak and free, + Of pines, of all green lofty things that be. + + Such birds they seemed as challenged each desire; + Like spots of azure heaven upon the wing, + Like downy emeralds that alight and sing, + Like actual coals on fire, + Like anything they seemed, and everything. + + Such mirth they made, such warblings and such chat + With tongue of music in a well-tuned beak, + They seemed to speak more wisdom than we speak, + To make our music flat + And all our subtlest reasonings wild or weak. + + Their meat was nought but flowers like butterflies, + With berries coral-colored or like gold; + Their drink was only dew, which blossoms hold + Deep where the honey lies; + Their wings and tails were lit by sparkling eyes. + + The shade wherein they revelled was a shade + That danced and twinkled to the unseen sun; + Branches and leaves cast shadows one by one, + And all their shadows swayed + In breaths of air that rustled and that played. + + A sound of waters neither rose nor sank, + And spread a sense of freshness through the air; + It seemed not here or there, but everywhere, + As if the whole earth drank, + Root fathom deep and strawberry on its bank. + + But I who saw such things as I have said, + Was overdone with utter weariness; + And walked in care, as one whom fears oppress + Because above his head + Death hangs, or damage, or the dearth of bread. + + Each sore defeat of my defeated life + Faced and outfaced me in that bitter hour; + And turned to yearning palsy all my power, + And all my peace to strife, + Self stabbing self with keen lack-pity knife. + + Sweetness of beauty moved me to despair, + Stung me to anger by its mere content, + Made me all lonely on that way I went, + Piled care upon my care, + Brimmed full my cup, and stripped me empty and bare: + + For all that was but showed what all was not, + But gave clear proof of what might never be; + Making more destitute my poverty, + And yet more blank my lot, + And me much sadder by its jubilee. + + Therefore I sat me down: for wherefore walk? + And closed mine eyes: for wherefore see or hear? + Alas, I had no shutter to mine ear, + And could not shun the talk + Of all rejoicing creatures far or near. + + Without my will I hearkened and I heard + (Asleep or waking, for I know not which), + Till note by note the music changed its pitch; + Bird ceased to answer bird, + And every wind sighed softly if it stirred. + + The drip of widening waters seemed to weep, + All fountains sobbed and gurgled as they sprang, + Somewhere a cataract cried out in its leap + Sheer down a headlong steep; + High over all cloud-thunders gave a clang. + + Such universal sound of lamentation + I heard and felt, fain not to feel or hear; + Nought else there seemed but anguish far and near; + Nought else but all creation + Moaning and groaning wrung by pain or fear, + + Shuddering in the misery of its doom: + My heart then rose a rebel against light, + Scouring all earth and heaven and depth and height, + Ingathering wrath and gloom, + Ingathering wrath to wrath and night to night. + + Ah me, the bitterness of such revolt, + All impotent, all hateful, and all hate, + That kicks and breaks itself against the bolt + Of an imprisoning fate, + And vainly shakes, and cannot shake the gate. + + Agony to agony, deep called to deep, + Out of the deep I called of my desire; + My strength was weakness and my heart was fire; + Mine eyes that would not weep + Or sleep, scaled height and depth, and could not sleep; + + The eyes, I mean, of my rebellious soul, + For still my bodily eyes were closed and dark: + A random thing I seemed without a mark, + Racing without a goal, + Adrift upon life's sea without an ark. + + More leaden than the actual self of lead + Outer and inner darkness weighed on me. + The tide of anger ebbed. Then fierce and free + Surged full above my head + The moaning tide of helpless misery. + + Why should I breathe, whose breath was but a sigh? + Why should I live, who drew such painful breath? + Oh weary work, the unanswerable why!-- + Yet I, why should I die, + Who had no hope in life, no hope in death? + + Grasses and mosses and the fallen leaf + Make peaceful bed for an indefinite term; + But underneath the grass there gnaws a worm-- + Haply, there gnaws a grief-- + Both, haply always; not, as now, so brief. + + The pleasure I remember, it is past; + The pain I feel is passing, passing by; + Thus all the world is passing, and thus I: + All things that cannot last + Have grown familiar, and are born to die. + + And being familiar, have so long been borne + That habit trains us not to break but bend: + Mourning grows natural to us who mourn + In foresight of an end, + But that which ends not who shall brave or mend? + + Surely the ripe fruits tremble on their bough, + They cling and linger trembling till they drop: + I, trembling, cling to dying life; for how + Face the perpetual Now? + Birthless and deathless, void of start or stop, + + Void of repentance, void of hope and fear, + Of possibility, alternative, + Of all that ever made us bear to live + From night to morning here, + Of promise even which has no gift to give. + + The wood, and every creature of the wood, + Seemed mourning with me in an undertone; + Soft scattered chirpings and a windy moan, + Trees rustling where they stood + And shivered, showed compassion for my mood. + + Rage to despair; and now despair had turned + Back to self-pity and mere weariness, + With yearnings like a smouldering fire that burned, + And might grow more or less, + And might die out or wax to white excess. + + Without, within me, music seemed to be; + Something not music, yet most musical, + Silence and sound in heavenly harmony; + At length a pattering fall + Of feet, a bell, and bleatings, broke through all. + + Then I looked up. The wood lay in a glow + From golden sunset and from ruddy sky; + The sun had stooped to earth though once so high; + Had stooped to earth, in slow + Warm dying loveliness brought near and low. + + Each water-drop made answer to the light, + Lit up a spark and showed the sun his face; + Soft purple shadows paved the grassy space + And crept from height to height, + From height to loftier height crept up apace. + + While opposite the sun a gazing moon + Put on his glory for her coronet, + Kindling her luminous coldness to its noon, + As his great splendor set; + One only star made up her train as yet. + + Each twig was tipped with gold, each leaf was edged + And veined with gold from the gold-flooded west; + Each mother-bird, and mate-bird, and unfledged + Nestling, and curious nest, + Displayed a gilded moss or beak or breast. + + And filing peacefully between the trees, + Having the moon behind them, and the sun + Full in their meek mild faces, walked at ease + A homeward flock, at peace + With one another and with every one. + + A patriarchal ram with tinkling bell + Led all his kin; sometimes one browsing sheep + Hung back a moment, or one lamb would leap + And frolic in a dell; + Yet still they kept together, journeying well, + + And bleating, one or other, many or few, + Journeying together toward the sunlit west; + Mild face by face, and woolly breast by breast, + Patient, sun-brightened too, + Still journeying toward the sunset and their rest. + + + + "ALL THY WORKS PRAISE THEE, O LORD." + + A PROCESSIONAL OF CREATION. + + + All. + + I, All-Creation, sing my song of praise + To God Who made me and vouchsafes my days, + And sends me forth by multitudinous ways. + + Seraph. + + I, like my Brethren, burn eternally + With love of Him Who is Love, and loveth me; + The Holy, Holy, Holy Unity. + + + Cherub. + + I, with my Brethren, gaze eternally + On Him Who is Wisdom, and Who knoweth me; + The Holy, Holy, Holy Trinity. + + + All Angels. + + We rule, we serve, we work, we store His treasure, + Whose vessels are we, brimmed with strength and pleasure; + Our joys fulfil, yea, overfill our measure. + + + Heavens. + + We float before the Presence Infinite, + We cluster round the Throne in our delight, + Revolving and rejoicing in God's sight. + + + Firmament. + + I, blue and beautiful, and framed of air, + At sunrise and at sunset grow most fair; + His glory by my glories I declare. + + + Powers. + + We Powers are powers because He makes us strong; + Wherefore we roll all rolling orbs along, + We move all moving things, and sing our song. + + + Sun. + + I blaze to Him in mine engarlanding + Of rays, I flame His whole burnt-offering, + While as a bridegroom I rejoice and sing. + + + Moon. + + I follow, and am fair, and do His Will; + Through all my changes I am faithful still, + Full-orbed or strait, His mandate to fulfil. + + + Stars. + + We Star-hosts numerous, innumerous, + Throng space with energy untumultuous, + And work His Will Whose eye beholdeth us. + + + Galaxies and Nebulae. + + No thing is far or near; and therefore we + Float neither far nor near; but where we be + Weave dances round the Throne perpetually. + + + Comets and Meteors. + + Our lights dart here and there, whirl to and fro, + We flash and vanish, we die down and glow; + All doing His Will Who bids us do it so. + + + Showers. + + We give ourselves; and be we great or small, + Thus are we made like Him Who giveth all, + Like Him Whose gracious pleasure bids us fall. + + + Dews. + + We give ourselves in silent secret ways, + Spending and spent in silence full of grace; + And thus are made like God, and show His praise. + + + Winds. + + We sift the air and winnow all the earth; + And God Who poised our weights and weighs our worth + Accepts the worship of our solemn mirth. + + + Fire. + + My power and strength are His Who fashioned me, + Ordained me image of His Jealousy, + Forged me His weapon fierce exceedingly. + + + Heat. + + I glow unto His glory, and do good: + I glow, and bring to life both bud and brood; + I glow, and ripen harvest-crops for food. + + + Winter and Summer. + + Our wealth and joys and beauties celebrate + His wealth of beauty Who sustains our state, + Before Whose changelessness we alternate. + + + Spring and Autumn. + + I hope,-- + And I remember,-- + + We give place + Either to other with contented grace, + Acceptable and lovely all our days. + + + Frost. + + I make the unstable stable, binding fast + The world of waters prone to ripple past: + Thus praise I God, Whose mercies I forecast. + + + Cold. + + I rouse and goad the slothful, apt to nod, + I stir and urge the laggards with my rod: + My praise is not of men, yet I praise God. + + + Snow. + + My whiteness shadoweth Him Who is most fair, + All spotless: yea, my whiteness which I wear + Exalts His Purity beyond compare. + + + Vapors. + + We darken sun and moon, and blot the day, + The good Will of our Maker to obey: + Till to the glory of God we pass away. + + + Night. + + Moon and all stars I don for diadem + To make me fair: I cast myself and them + Before His feet, Who knows us gem from gem. + + + Day. + + I shout before Him in my plenitude + Of light and warmth, of hope and wealth and food; + Ascribing all good to the Only Good. + + + Light and Darkness. + + I am God's dwelling-place,-- + And also I + Make His pavilion,-- + Lo, we bide and fly + Exulting in the Will of God Most High. + + + Lightning and Thunder. + + We indivisible flash forth His Fame, + We thunder forth the glory of His Name, + In harmony of resonance and flame. + + + Clouds. + + Sweet is our store, exhaled from sea or river: + We wear a rainbow, praising God the Giver + Because His mercy is for ever and ever. + + + Earth. + + I rest in Him rejoicing: resting so + And so rejoicing, in that I am low; + Yet known of Him, and following on to know. + + + Mountains. + + Our heights which laud Him, sink abased before + Him higher than the highest evermore: + God higher than the highest we adore. + + + Hills. + + We green-tops praise Him, and we fruitful heads, + Whereon the sunshine and the dew He sheds: + We green-tops praise Him, rising from out beds. + + + Green Things. + + We all green things, we blossoms bright or dim, + Trees, bushes, brushwood, corn and grasses slim, + We lift our many-favored lauds to Him. + + + Rose,--Lily,--Violet. + + I praise Him on my thorn which I adorn,-- + And I, amid my world of thistle and thorn,-- + And I, within my veil where I am born. + + + Apple,--Citron,--Pomegranate. + + We, Apple-blossom, Citron, Pomegranate, + We, clothed of God without our toil and fret, + We offer fatness where His Throne is set. + + + Vine,--Cedar,--Palm. + + I proffer Him my sweetness, who am sweet,-- + I bow my strength in fragrance at His feet,-- + I wave myself before His Judgment Seat. + + + Medicinal Herbs. + + I bring refreshment,-- + I bring ease and calm,-- + I lavish strength and healing,-- + I am balm,-- + We work His pitiful Will and chant our psalm. + + + A Spring. + + Clear my pure fountain, clear and pure my rill, + My fountain and mine outflow deep and still, + I set His semblance forth and do His Will. + + + Sea. + + To-day I praise God with a sparkling face, + My thousand thousand waves all uttering praise: + To-morrow I commit me to His Grace. + + + Floods. + + We spring and swell meandering to and fro, + From height to depth, from depth to depth we flow, + We fertilize the world, and praise Him so. + + + Whales and Sea Mammals. + + We Whales and Monsters gambol in His sight + Rejoicing every day and every night, + Safe in the tender keeping of His Might. + + + Fishes. + + Our fashions and our colors and our speeds + Set forth His praise Who framed us and Who feeds, + Who knows our number and regards our needs. + + + Birds. + + Winged Angels of this visible world, we fly + To sing God's praises in the lofty sky; + We scale the height to praise our Lord most High. + + + Eagle and Dove. + + I the sun-gazing Eagle,-- + I the Dove, + With plumes of softness and a note of love,-- + We praise by divers gifts One God above. + + + Beasts and Cattle. + + We forest Beasts,-- + We Beasts of hill or cave,-- + We border-loving Creatures of the wave,-- + We praise our King with voices deep and grave. + + + Small Animals. + + God forms us weak and small, but pours out all + We need, and notes us while we stand or fall: + Wherefore we praise Him, weak and safe and small. + + + Lamb. + + I praise my loving Lord, Who maketh me + His type by harmless sweet simplicity: + Yet He the Lamb of lambs incomparably. + + + Lion. + + I praise the Lion of the Royal Race, + Strongest in fight and swiftest in the chase: + With all my might I leap and lavish praise. + + + All Men. + + All creatures sing around us, and we sing: + We bring our own selves as our offering, + Our very selves we render to our King. + + + Israel. + + Flock of our Shepherd's pasture and His fold, + Purchased and well-beloved from days of old, + We tell His praise which still remains untold. + + + Priests. + + We free-will Shepherds tend His sheep, and feed; + We follow Him while caring for their need; + We follow praising Him, and them we lead. + + + Servants of God. + + We love God, for He loves us; we are free + In serving Him, who serve Him willingly: + As kings we reign, and praise His Majesty. + + + Holy and Humble Persons. + + All humble souls he calls and sanctifies; + All holy souls He calls to make them wise; + Accepting all, His free-will sacrifice. + + + Babes. + + He maketh me,-- + And me,-- + And me,-- + To be + His blessed little ones around His knee, + Who praise Him by mere love confidingly. + + + Women. + + God makes our service love, and makes our wage + Love: so we wend on patient pilgrimage, + Extolling Him by love from age to age. + + + Men. + + God gives us power to rule: He gives us power + To rule ourselves, and prune the exuberant flower + Of youth, and worship Him hour after hour. + + + Spirits and Souls-- + + Lo, in the hidden world we chant our chant + To Him Who fills us that we nothing want, + To Him Whose bounty leaves our craving scant. + + + of Babes-- + + With milky mouths we praise God, from the breast + Called home betimes to rest the perfect rest, + By love and joy fufilling His behest. + + + of Women-- + + We praise His Will which made us what He would, + His Will which fashioned us and called us good, + His Will our plenary beatitude. + + of Men. + + We praise His Will Who bore with us so long, + Who out of weakness wrought us swift and strong, + Champions of right and putters-down of wrong. + + + All. + + Let everything that hath or hath not breath, + Let days and endless days, let life and death, + Praise God, praise God, praise God, His creature saith. + + + + LATER LIFE: A DOUBLE SONNET OF SONNETS. + + + 1. + + Before the mountains were brought forth, before + Earth and the world were made, then God was God: + And God will still be God, when flames shall roar + Round earth and heaven dissolving at His nod: + And this God is our God, even while His rod + Of righteous wrath falls on us smiting sore: + And this God is our God for evermore + Through life, through death, while clod returns to clod. + For though He slay us we will trust in Him; + We will flock home to Him by divers ways: + Yea, though He slay us we will vaunt His praise, + Serving and loving with the Cherubim, + Watching and loving with the Seraphim, + Our very selves His praise through endless days. + + + 2. + + Rend hearts and rend not garments for our sins; + Gird sackcloth not on body but on soul; + Grovel in dust with faces toward the goal + Nor won, nor neared: he only laughs who wins. + Not neared the goal, the race too late begins; + Or left undone, we have yet to do the whole; + The sun is hurrying west and toward the pole + Where darkness waits for earth with all her kins. + Let us to-day, while it is called to-day, + Set out, if utmost speed may yet avail-- + The shadows lengthen and the light grows pale: + For who through darkness and the shadow of death, + Darkness that may be felt, shall find a way, + Blind-eyed, deaf-eared, and choked with failing breath? + + + 3. + + Thou Who didst make and knowest whereof we are made, + Oh bear in mind our dust and nothingness, + Our wordless tearless dumbness of distress: + Bear Thou in mind the burden Thou hast laid + Upon us, and our feebleness unstayed + Except Thou stay us: for the long long race + Which stretches far and far before our face + Thou knowest,--remember Thou whereof we are made. + If making makes us Thine, then Thine we are; + And if redemption, we are twice Thine own: + If once Thou didst come down from heaven afar + To seek us and to find us, how not save? + Comfort us, save us, leave us not alone, + Thou Who didst die our death and fill our grave. + + + 4. + + So tired am I, so weary of to-day, + So unrefreshed from foregone weariness, + So overburdened by foreseen distress, + So lagging and so stumbling on my way, + I scarce can rouse myself to watch or pray, + To hope, or aim, or toil for more or less,-- + Ah, always less and less, even while I press + Forward and toil and aim as best I may. + Half-starved of soul and heartsick utterly, + Yet lift I up my heart and soul and eyes + (Which fail in looking upward) toward the prize: + Me, Lord, Thou seest though I see not Thee; + Me now, as once the Thief in Paradise, + Even me, O Lord my Lord, remember me. + + + 5. + + Lord, Thou Thyself art Love and only Thou; + Yet I who am not love would fain love Thee; + But Thou alone being Love canst furnish me + With that same love my heart is craving now. + Allow my plea! for if Thou disallow, + No second fountain can I find but Thee; + No second hope or help is left to me, + No second anything, but only Thou. + O Love accept, according my request; + O Love exhaust, fulfilling my desire: + Uphold me with the strength that cannot tire, + Nerve me to labor till Thou bid me rest, + Kindle my fire from Thine unkindled fire, + And charm the willing heart from out my breast. + + + 6. + + We lack, yet cannot fix upon the lack: + Not this, nor that; yet somewhat, certainly. + We see the things we do not yearn to see + Around us: and what see we glancing back? + Lost hopes that leave our hearts upon the rack, + Hopes that were never ours yet seemed to be, + For which we steered on life's salt stormy sea + Braving the sunstroke and the frozen pack. + If thus to look behind is all in vain, + And all in vain to look to left or right, + Why face we not our future once again, + Launching with hardier hearts across the main, + Straining dim eyes to catch the invisible sight, + And strong to bear ourselves in patient pain? + + + 7. + + To love and to remember; that is good: + To love and to forget; that is not well: + To lapse from love to hatred; that is hell + And death and torment, rightly understood. + Soul dazed by love and sorrow, cheer thy mood; + More blest art thou than mortal tongue can tell: + Ring not thy funeral but thy marriage bell, + And salt with hope thy life's insipid food. + Love is the goal, love is the way we wend, + Love is our parallel unending line + Whose only perfect Parallel is Christ, + Beginning not begun, End without end: + For He Who hath the heart of God sufficed, + Can satisfy all hearts,--yea, thine and mine. + + + 8. + + We feel and see with different hearts and eyes:-- + Ah Christ, if all our hearts could meet in Thee + How well it were for them and well for me, + Our hearts Thy dear accepted sacrifice. + Thou, only Life of hearts and Light of eyes, + Our life, our light, if once we turn to Thee, + So be it, O Lord, to them and so to me; + Be all alike Thine own dear sacrifice. + Thou Who by death hast ransomed us from death, + Thyself God's sole well-pleasing Sacrifice, + Thine only sacred Self I plead with Thee: + Make Thou it well for them and well for me + That Thou hast given us souls and wills and breath; + And hearts to love Thee; and to see Thee, eyes. + + + 9. + + Star Sirius and the Pole Star dwell afar + Beyond the drawings each of other's strength: + One blazes through the brief bright summer's length + Lavishing life-heat from a flaming car; + While one unchangeable upon a throne + Broods o'er the frozen heart of earth alone, + Content to reign the bright particular star + Of some who wander or of some who groan. + They own no drawings each of other's strength, + Nor vibrate in a visible sympathy, + Nor veer along their courses each toward each: + Yet are their orbits pitched in harmony + Of one dear heaven, across whose depth and length + Mayhap they talk together without speech. + + + 10. + + Tread softly! all the earth is holy ground. + It may be, could we look with seeing eyes, + This spot we stand on is a Paradise + Where dead have come to life and lost been found, + Where Faith has triumphed, Martyrdom been crowned, + Where fools have foiled the wisdom of the wise; + From this same spot the dust of saints may rise, + And the King's prisoners come to light unbound. + O earth, earth, earth, hear thou thy Maker's Word: + "Thy dead thou shalt give up, nor hide thy slain"-- + Some who went weeping forth shall come again + Rejoicing from the east or from the west, + As doves fly to their windows, love's own bird + Contented and desirous to the nest.[1] + + + [Footnote 1: + + "Quali colombe dal disio chiamate + Con l'ali aperte e ferme al dolce nido + Volan per l'aer dal voler portate." + + Dante.] + + 11. + + Lifelong our stumbles, lifelong our regret, + Lifelong our efforts failing and renewed, + While lifelong is our witness, "God is good:" + Who bore with us till now, bears with us yet, + Who still remembers and will not forget, + Who gives us light and warmth and daily food; + And gracious promises half understood, + And glories half unveiled, whereon to set + Our heart of hearts and eyes of our desire; + Uplifting us to longing and to love, + Luring us upward from this world of mire, + Urging us to press on and mount above + Ourselves and all we have had experience of, + Mounting to Him in love's perpetual fire. + + + 12. + + A dream there is wherein we are fain to scream, + While struggling with ourselves we cannot speak: + And much of all our waking life, as weak + And misconceived, eludes us like the dream. + For half life's seemings are not what they seem, + And vain the laughs we laugh, the shrieks we shriek; + Yea, all is vain that mars the settled meek + Contented quiet of our daily theme. + When I was young I deemed that sweets are sweet: + But now I deem some searching bitters are + Sweeter than sweets, and more refreshing far, + And to be relished more, and more desired, + And more to be pursued on eager feet, + On feet untired, and still on feet though tired. + + + 13. + + Shame is a shadow cast by sin: yet shame + Itself may be a glory and a grace, + Refashioning the sin-disfashioned face; + A nobler bruit than hollow-sounded fame, + A new-lit lustre on a tarnished name, + One virtue pent within an evil place, + Strength for the fight, and swiftness for the race, + A stinging salve, a life-requickening flame. + A salve so searching we may scarcely live, + A flame so fierce it seems that we must die, + An actual cautery thrust into the heart: + Nevertheless, men die not of such smart; + And shame gives back what nothing else can give, + Man to himself,--then sets him up on high. + + + 14. + + When Adam and when Eve left Paradise + Did they love on and cling together still, + Forgiving one another all that ill + The twain had wrought on such a different wise? + She propped upon his strength, and he in guise + Of lover though of lord, girt to fulfil + Their term of life and die when God should will; + Lie down and sleep, and having slept arise. + Boast not against us, O our enemy! + To-day we fall, but we shall rise again; + We grope to-day, to-morrow we shall see: + What is to-day that we should fear to-day? + A morrow cometh which shall sweep away + Thee and thy realm of change and death and pain. + + + 15. + + Let woman fear to teach and bear to learn, + Remembering the first woman's first mistake. + Eve had for pupil the inquiring snake, + Whose doubts she answered on a great concern; + But he the tables so contrived to turn, + It next was his to give and hers to take; + Till man deemed poison sweet for her sweet sake, + And fired a train by which the world must burn. + Did Adam love his Eve from first to last? + I think so; as we love who works us ill, + And wounds us to the quick, yet loves us still. + Love pardons the unpardonable past: + Love in a dominant embrace holds fast + His frailer self, and saves without her will. + + + 16. + + Our teachers teach that one and one make two: + Later, Love rules that one and one make one: + Abstruse the problems! neither need we shun, + But skilfully to each should yield its due. + The narrower total seems to suit the few, + The wider total suits the common run; + Each obvious in its sphere like moon or sun; + Both provable by me, and both by you. + Befogged and witless, in a wordy maze + A groping stroll perhaps may do us good; + If cloyed we are with much we have understood, + If tired of half our dusty world and ways, + If sick of fasting, and if sick of food;-- + And how about these long still-lengthening days? + + + 17. + + Something this foggy day, a something which + Is neither of this fog nor of to-day, + Has set me dreaming of the winds that play + Past certain cliffs, along one certain beach, + And turn the topmost edge of waves to spray: + Ah pleasant pebbly strand so far away, + So out of reach while quite within my reach, + As out of reach as India or Cathay! + I am sick of where I am and where I am not, + I am sick of foresight and of memory, + I am sick of all I have and all I see, + I am sick of self, and there is nothing new; + Oh weary impatient patience of my lot!-- + Thus with myself: how fares it, Friends, with you? + + + 18. + + So late in Autumn half the world's asleep, + And half the wakeful world looks pinched and pale; + For dampness now, not freshness, rides the gale; + And cold and colorless comes ashore the deep + With tides that bluster or with tides that creep; + Now veiled uncouthness wears an uncouth veil + Of fog, not sultry haze; and blight and bale + Have done their worst, and leaves rot on the heap. + So late in Autumn one forgets the Spring, + Forgets the Summer with its opulence, + The callow birds that long have found a wing, + The swallows that more lately gat them hence: + Will anything like Spring, will anything + Like Summer, rouse one day the slumbering sense? + + + 19. + + Here now is Winter. Winter, after all, + Is not so drear as was my boding dream + While Autumn gleamed its latest watery gleam + On sapless leafage too inert to fall. + Still leaves and berries clothe my garden wall + Where ivy thrives on scantiest sunny beam; + Still here a bud and there a blossom seem + Hopeful, and robin still is musical. + Leaves, flowers and fruit and one delightful song + Remain; these days are short, but now the nights + Intense and long, hang out their utmost lights; + Such starry nights are long, yet not too long; + Frost nips the weak, while strengthening still the strong + Against that day when Spring sets all to rights. + + + 20. + + A hundred thousand birds salute the day:-- + One solitary bird salutes the night: + Its mellow grieving wiles our grief away, + And tunes our weary watches to delight; + It seems to sing the thoughts we cannot say, + To know and sing them, and to set them right; + Until we feel once more that May is May, + And hope some buds may bloom without a blight. + This solitary bird outweighs, outvies, + The hundred thousand merry-making birds + Whose innocent warblings yet might make us wise + Would we but follow when they bid us rise, + Would we but set their notes of praise to words + And launch our hearts up with them to the skies. + + + 21. + + A host of things I take on trust: I take + The nightingales on trust, for few and far + Between those actual summer moments are + When I have heard what melody they make. + So chanced it once at Como on the Lake: + But all things, then, waxed musical; each star + Sang on its course, each breeze sang on its car, + All harmonies sang to senses wide-awake. + All things in tune, myself not out of tune, + Those nightingales were nightingales indeed: + Yet truly an owl had satisfied my need, + And wrought a rapture underneath that moon, + Or simple sparrow chirping from a reed; + For June that night glowed like a doubled June. + + + 22. + + The mountains in their overwhelming might + Moved me to sadness when I saw them first, + And afterwards they moved me to delight; + Struck harmonies from silent chords which burst + Out into song, a song by memory nursed; + Forever unrenewed by touch or sight + Sleeps the keen magic of each day or night, + In pleasure and in wonder then immersed. + All Switzerland behind us on the ascent, + All Italy before us we plunged down + St. Gothard, garden of forget-me-not: + Yet why should such a flower choose such a spot? + Could we forget that way which once we went + Though not one flower had bloomed to weave its crown? + + + 23. + + Beyond the seas we know stretch seas unknown, + Blue and bright-colored for our dim and green; + Beyond the lands we see, stretch lands unseen + With many-tinted tangle overgrown; + And icebound seas there are like seas of stone, + Serenely stormless as death lies serene; + And lifeless tracks of sand, which intervene + Betwixt the lands where living flowers are blown. + This dead and living world befits our case + Who live and die: we live in wearied hope, + We die in hope not dead; we run a race + To-day, and find no present halting-place; + All things we see lie far within our scope, + And still we peer beyond with craving face. + + + 24. + + The wise do send their hearts before them to + Dear blessed Heaven, despite the veil between; + The foolish nurse their hearts within the screen + Of this familiar world, where all we do + Or have is old, for there is nothing new: + Yet elder far that world we have not seen; + God's Presence antedates what else hath been: + Many the foolish seem, the wise seem few. + Oh foolishest fond folly of a heart + Divided, neither here nor there at rest! + That hankers after Heaven, but clings to earth; + That neither here nor there knows thorough mirth, + Half-choosing, wholly missing, the good part:-- + Oh fool among the foolish, in thy quest. + + + 25. + + When we consider what this life we lead + Is not, and is; how full of toil and pain, + How blank of rest and of substantial gain, + Beset by hunger earth can never feed, + And propping half our hearts upon a reed; + We cease to mourn lost treasures mourned in vain, + Lost treasures we are fain and yet not fain + To fetch back for a solace of our need. + For who that feel this burden and this strain, + This wide vacuity of hope and heart, + Would bring their cherished well-beloved again: + To bleed with them and wince beneath the smart, + To have with stinted bliss such lavish bane, + To hold in lieu of all so poor a part? + + + 26. + + This Life is full of numbness and of balk, + Of haltingness and baffled short-coming, + Of promise unfulfilled, of everything + That is puffed vanity and empty talk: + Its very bud hangs cankered on the stalk, + Its very song-bird trails a broken wing, + Its very Spring is not indeed like Spring, + But sighs like Autumn round an aimless walk. + This Life we live is dead for all its breath; + Death's self it is, set off on pilgrimage, + Travelling with tottering steps the first short stage: + The second stage is one mere desert dust + Where Death sits veiled amid creation's rust:-- + Unveil thy face, O Death who art not Death. + + + 27. + + I have dreamed of Death:--what will it be to die + Not in a dream, but in the literal truth + With all Death's adjuncts ghastly and uncouth, + The pang that is the last and the last sigh? + Too dulled, it may be, for a last good-bye, + Too comfortless for any one to soothe, + A helpless charmless spectacle of ruth + Through long last hours, so long while yet they fly. + So long to those who hopeless in their fear + Watch the slow breath and look for what they dread: + While I supine, with ears that cease to hear, + With eyes that glaze, with heart-pulse running down, + (Alas! no saint rejoicing on her bed), + May miss the goal at last, may miss a crown. + + + 28. + + In life our absent friend is far away: + But death may bring our friend exceeding near, + Show him familiar faces long so dear + And lead him back in reach of words we say. + He only cannot utter yea or nay + In any voice accustomed to our ear; + He only cannot make his face appear + And turn the sun back on our shadowed day. + The dead may be around us, dear and dead; + The unforgotten dearest dead may be + Watching us, with unslumbering eyes and heart, + Brimful of words which cannot yet be said, + Brimful of knowledge they may not impart, + Brimful of love for you and love for me. + + + + "FOR THINE OWN SAKE, O MY GOD." + + + Wearied of sinning, wearied of repentance, + Wearied of self, I turn, my God, to Thee; + To Thee, my Judge, on Whose all-righteous sentence + Hangs mine eternity: + I turn to Thee, I plead Thyself with Thee,-- + Be pitiful to me. + + Wearied I loathe myself, I loathe my sinning, + My stains, my festering sores, my misery: + Thou the Beginning, Thou ere my beginning + Didst see and didst foresee + Me miserable, me sinful, ruined me,-- + I plead Thyself with Thee. + + I plead Thyself with Thee Who art my Maker, + Regard Thy handiwork that cries to Thee; + I plead Thyself with Thee Who wast partaker + Of mine infirmity, + Love made Thee what Thou art, the love of me,-- + I plead Thyself with Thee. + + + + UNTIL THE DAY BREAK. + + + When will the day bring its pleasure? + When will the night bring its rest? + Reaper and gleaner and thresher + Peer toward the east and the west:-- + The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best. + + Meteors flash forth and expire, + Northern lights kindle and pale; + These are the days of desire, + Of eyes looking upward that fail; + Vanishing days as a finishing tale. + + Bows down the crop in its glory + Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold; + The millet is ripened and hoary, + The wheat ears are ripened to gold:-- + Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold? + + The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth + Who knoweth the first and the last: + The Sower Who patiently soweth, + He scanneth the present and past: + He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast." + + Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers + The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown: + On threshers and gleaners and reapers, + O Lord of the harvest, look down; + Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown! + + "Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers, + The Lord of the first and the last: + "O My toilers, My weary, My weepers, + What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast. + Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past." + + + + "OF HIM THAT WAS READY TO PERISH." + + + Lord, I am waiting, weeping, watching for Thee: + My youth and hope lie by me buried and dead, + My wandering love hath not where to lay its head + Except Thou say "Come to Me." + + My noon is ended, abolished from life and light, + My noon is ended, ended and done away, + My sun went down in the hours that still were day, + And my lingering day is night. + + How long, O Lord, how long in my desperate pain + Shall I weep and watch, shall I weep and long for Thee? + Is Thy grace ended, Thy love cut off from me? + How long shall I long in vain? + + O God Who before the beginning hast seen the end, + Who hast made me flesh and blood, not frost and not fire, + Who hast filled me full of needs and love and desire + And a heart that craves a friend, + + Who hast said "Come to Me and I will give thee rest," + Who hast said "Take on thee My yoke and learn of Me," + Who calledst a little child to come to Thee + And pillowedst John on Thy breast; + + Who spak'st to women that followed Thee sorrowing, + Bidding them weep for themselves and weep for their own; + Who didst welcome the outlaw adoring Thee all alone, + And plight Thy word as a King,-- + + By Thy love of these and of all that ever shall be, + By Thy love of these and of all the born and unborn, + Turn Thy gracious eyes on me and think no scorn + Of me, not even of me. + + Beside Thy Cross I hang on my cross in shame, + My wounds, weakness, extremity cry to Thee: + Bid me also to Paradise, also me + For the glory of Thy Name. + + + + "BEHOLD THE MAN!" + + + Shall Christ hang on the Cross, and we not look? + Heaven, earth, and hell stood gazing at the first, + While Christ for long-cursed man was counted cursed; + Christ, God and Man, Whom God the Father strook + And shamed and sifted and one while forsook:-- + Cry shame upon our bodies we have nursed + In sweets, our souls in pride, our spirits immersed + In wilfulness, our steps run all acrook. + Cry shame upon us! for He bore our shame + In agony, and we look on at ease + With neither hearts on flame nor cheeks on flame: + What hast thou, what have I, to do with peace? + Not to send peace but send a sword He came, + And fire and fasts and tearful night-watches. + + + + THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS. + + + Is this the Face that thrills with awe + Seraphs who veil their face above? + Is this the Face without a flaw, + The Face that is the Face of Love? + Yea, this defaced, a lifeless clod, + Hath all creation's love sufficed, + Hath satisfied the love of God, + This Face the Face of Jesus Christ. + + + + "IT IS FINISHED." + + + Dear Lord, let me recount to Thee + Some of the great things thou hast done + For me, even me + Thy little one. + + It was not I that cared for Thee,-- + But Thou didst set Thy heart upon + Me, even me + Thy little one. + + And therefore was it sweet to Thee + To leave Thy Majesty and Throne, + And grow like me + A Little One, + + A swaddled Baby on the knee + Of a dear Mother of Thine own, + Quite weak like me + Thy little one. + + Thou didst assume my misery, + And reap the harvest I had sown, + Comforting me + Thy little one. + + Jerusalem and Galilee,-- + Thy love embraced not those alone, + But also me + Thy little one. + + Thy unblemished Body on the Tree + Was bared and broken to atone + For me, for me + Thy little one. + + Thou lovedst me upon the Tree,-- + Still me, hid by the ponderous stone,-- + Me always,--me + Thy little one. + + And love of me arose with Thee + When death and hell lay overthrown: + Thou lovedst me + Thy little one. + + And love of me went up with Thee + To sit upon Thy Father's Throne: + Thou lovest me + Thy little one. + + Lord, as Thou me, so would I Thee + Love in pure love's communion, + For Thou lov'st me + Thy little one: + + Which love of me brings back with Thee + To Judgment when the Trump is blown, + Still loving me + Thy little one. + + + + AN EASTER CAROL. + + + Spring bursts to-day, + For Christ is risen and all the earth's at play. + + Flash forth, thou Sun, + The rain is over and gone, its work is done. + + Winter is past, + Sweet Spring is come at last, is come at last. + + Bud, Fig and Vine, + Bud, Olive, fat with fruit and oil and wine. + + Break forth this morn + In roses, thou but yesterday a Thorn. + + Uplift thy head, + O pure white Lily through the Winter dead. + + Beside your dams + Leap and rejoice, you merry-making Lambs. + + All Herds and Flocks + Rejoice, all Beasts of thickets and of rocks. + + Sing, Creatures, sing, + Angels and Men and Birds and everything. + + All notes of Doves + Fill all our world: this is the time of loves. + + + + "BEHOLD A SHAKING." + + + 1. + + Man rising to the doom that shall not err,-- + Which hath most dread: the arouse of all or each; + All kindreds of all nations of all speech, + Or one by one of _him_ and _him_ and _her_? + While dust reanimate begins to stir + Here, there, beyond, beyond, reach beyond reach; + While every wave refashions on the beach + Alive or dead-in-life some seafarer. + Now meeting doth not join or parting part; + True meeting and true parting wait till then, + When whoso meet are joined for evermore, + Face answering face and heart at rest in heart:-- + God bring us all rejoicing to the shore + Of happy Heaven, His sheep home to the pen. + + + 2. + + Blessed that flock safe penned in Paradise; + Blessed this flock which tramps in weary ways; + All form one flock, God's flock; all yield Him praise + By joy or pain, still tending toward the prize. + Joy speaks in praises there, and sings and flies + Where no night is, exulting all its days; + Here, pain finds solace, for, behold, it prays; + In both love lives the life that never dies. + Here life is the beginning of our death, + And death the starting-point whence life ensues; + Surely our life is death, our death is life: + Nor need we lay to heart our peace or strife, + But calm in faith and patience breathe the breath + God gave, to take again when He shall choose. + + + + ALL SAINTS. + + + They are flocking from the East + And the West, + They are flocking from the North + And the South, + Every moment setting forth + From realm of snake or lion, + Swamp or sand, + Ice or burning; + Greatest and least, + Palm in hand + And praise in mouth, + They are flocking up the path + To their rest, + Up the path that hath + No returning. + + Up the steeps of Zion + They are mounting, + Coming, coming, + Throngs beyond man's counting; + With a sound + Like innumerable bees + Swarming, humming + Where flowering trees + Many-tinted, + Many-scented, + All alike abound + With honey,-- + With a swell + Like a blast upswaying unrestrainable + From a shadowed dell + To the hill-tops sunny,-- + With a thunder + Like the ocean when in strength + Breadth and length + It sets to shore; + More and more + Waves on waves redoubled pour + Leaping flashing to the shore + (Unlike the under + Drain of ebb that loseth ground + For all its roar.) + + They are thronging + From the East and West, + From the North and South, + Saints are thronging, loving, longing, + To their land + Of rest, + Palm in hand + And praise in mouth. + + + + "TAKE CARE OF HIM." + + + "Thou whom I love, for whom I died, + Lovest thou Me, My bride?"-- + Low on my knees I love Thee, Lord, + Believed in and adored. + + "That I love thee the proof is plain: + How dost thou love again?"-- + In prayer, in toil, in earthly loss, + In a long-carried cross. + + "Yea, thou dost love: yet one adept + Brings more for Me to accept."-- + I mould my will to match with Thine, + My wishes I resign. + + "Thou givest much: then give the whole + For solace of My soul."-- + More would I give, if I could get: + But, Lord, what lack I yet? + + "In Me thou lovest Me: I call + Thee to love Me in all."-- + Brim full my heart, dear Lord, that so + My love may overflow. + + "Love Me in sinners and in saints, + In each who needs or faints."-- + Lord, I will love Thee as I can + In every brother man. + + "All sore, all crippled, all who ache, + Tend all for My dear sake."-- + All for Thy sake, Lord: I will see + In every sufferer, Thee. + + "So I at last, upon My Throne + Of glory, Judge alone, + So I at last will say to thee: + Thou diddest it to Me." + + + + A MARTYR. + + THE VIGIL OF THE FEAST. + + + Inner not outer, without gnash of teeth + Or weeping, save quiet sobs of some who pray + And feel the Everlasting Arms beneath,-- + Blackness of darkness this, but not for aye; + Darkness that even in gathering fleeteth fast, + Blackness of blackest darkness close to day. + Lord Jesus, through Thy darkened pillar cast, + Thy gracious eyes all-seeing cast on me + Until this tyranny be overpast. + Me, Lord, remember who remember Thee, + And cleave to Thee, and see Thee without sight, + And choose Thee still in dire extremity, + And in this darkness worship Thee my Light, + And Thee my Life adore in shadow of death, + Thee loved by day, and still beloved by night. + It is the Voice of my Beloved that saith: + "I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, I go + Whither that soul knows well that followeth"-- + + O Lord, I follow, little as I know; + At this eleventh hour I rise and take + My life into my hand, and follow so, + With tears and heart-misgivings and heart-ache; + Thy feeblest follower, yet Thy follower + Indomitable for Thine only sake. + To-night I gird my will afresh, and stir + My strength, and brace my heart to do and dare, + Marvelling: Will to-morrow wake the whirr + Of the great rending wheel, or from his lair + Startle the jubilant lion in his rage, + Or clench the headsman's hand within my hair, + Or kindle fire to speed my pilgrimage, + Chariot of fire and horses of sheer fire + Whirling me home to heaven by one fierce stage? + Thy Will I will, I Thy desire desire; + Let not the waters close above my head, + Uphold me that I sink not in this mire: + For flesh and blood are frail and sore afraid; + And young I am, unsatisfied and young, + With memories, hopes, with cravings all unfed, + My song half sung, its sweetest notes unsung, + All plans cut short, all possibilities, + Because my cord of life is soon unstrung. + Was I a careless woman set at ease + That this so bitter cup is brimmed for me? + + Had mine own vintage settled on the lees? + A word, a puff of smoke, would set me free; + A word, a puff of smoke, over and gone:... + Howbeit, whom have I, Lord, in heaven but Thee? + Yea, only Thee my choice is fixed upon + In heaven or earth, eternity or time:-- + Lord, hold me fast, Lord, leave me not alone, + Thy silly heartless dove that sees the lime + Yet almost flutters to the tempting bough: + Cover me, hide me, pluck me from this crime. + A word, a puff of smoke, would save me now:... + But who, my God, would save me in the day + Of Thy fierce anger? only Saviour Thou. + Preoccupy my heart, and turn away + And cover up mine eyes from frantic fear, + And stop mine ears lest I be driven astray: + For one stands ever dinning in mine ear + How my gray Father withers in the blight + Of love for me, who cruel am and dear; + And how my Mother through this lingering night + Until the day, sits tearless in her woe, + Loathing for love of me the happy light + Which brings to pass a concourse and a show + To glut the hungry faces merciless, + The thousand faces swaying to and fro, + Feasting on me unveiled in helplessness + + Alone,--yet not alone: Lord, stand by me + As once by lonely Paul in his distress. + As blossoms to the sun I turn to Thee; + Thy dove turns to her window, think no scorn; + As one dove to an ark on shoreless sea, + To Thee I turn mine eyes, my heart forlorn; + Put forth Thy scarred right Hand, kind Lord, take hold + Of me Thine all-forsaken dove who mourn: + For Thou hast loved me since the days of old, + And I love Thee Whom loving I will love + Through life's short fever-fits of heat and cold; + Thy Name will I extol and sing thereof, + Will flee for refuge to Thy Blessed Name. + Lord, look upon me from thy bliss above: + Look down on me, who shrink from all the shame + And pangs and desolation of my death, + Wrenched piecemeal or devoured or set on flame, + While all the world around me holds its breath + With eyes glued on me for a gazing-stock, + Pitiless eyes, while no man pitieth. + The floods are risen, I stagger in their shock, + My heart reels and is faint, I fail, I faint: + My God, set Thou me up upon the rock, + Thou Who didst long ago Thyself acquaint + With death, our death; Thou Who didst long ago + + Pour forth Thy soul for sinner and for saint. + Bear me in mind, whom no one else will know; + Thou Whom Thy friends forsook, take Thou my part, + Of all forsaken in mine overthrow; + Carry me in Thy bosom, in Thy heart, + Carry me out of darkness into light, + To-morrow make me see Thee as Thou art. + Lover and friend Thou hidest from my sight:-- + Alas, alas, mine earthly love, alas, + For whom I thought to don the garments white + And white wreath of a bride, this rugged pass + Hath utterly divorced me from thy care; + Yea, I am to thee as a shattered glass + Worthless, with no more beauty lodging there, + Abhorred, lest I involve thee in my doom: + For sweet are sunshine and this upper air, + And life and youth are sweet, and give us room + For all most sweetest sweetnesses we taste: + Dear, what hast thou in common with a tomb? + I bow my head in silence, I make haste + Alone, I make haste out into the dark, + My life and youth and hope all run to waste. + Is this my body cold and stiff and stark, + Ashes made ashes, earth becoming earth, + Is this a prize for man to make his mark? + + Am I, that very I who laughed in mirth + A while ago, a little, little while, + Yet all the while a-dying since my birth? + Now am I tired, too tired to strive or smile; + I sit alone, my mouth is in the dust: + Look Thou upon me, Lord, for I am vile. + In Thee is all my hope, is all my trust, + On Thee I centre all my self that dies, + And self that dies not with its mortal crust, + But sleeps and wakes, and in the end will rise + With hymns and hallelujahs on its lips, + Thee loving with the love that satisfies. + As once in Thine unutterable eclipse + The sun and moon grew dark for sympathy, + And earth cowered quaking underneath the drips + Of Thy slow Blood priceless exceedingly, + So now a little spare me, and show forth + Some pity, O my God, some pity of me. + If trouble comes not from the south or north, + But meted to us by Thy tender hand, + Let me not in Thine eyes be nothing worth: + Behold me where in agony I stand, + Behold me no man caring for my soul, + And take me to Thee in the far-off land, + Shorten the race and lift me to the goal. + + + + WHY? + + + Lord, if I love Thee and Thou lovest me, + Why need I any more these toilsome days; + Why should I not run singing up Thy ways + Straight into heaven, to rest myself with Thee? + What need remains of death-pang yet to be, + If all my soul is quickened in Thy praise; + If all my heart loves Thee, what need the amaze, + Struggle and dimness of an agony?-- + Bride whom I love, if thou too lovest Me, + Thou needs must choose My Likeness for thy dower: + So wilt thou toil in patience, and abide + Hungering and thirsting for that blessed hour + When I My Likeness shall behold in thee, + And thou therein shalt waken satisfied. + + + + "LOVE IS STRONG AS DEATH." + + + "I have not sought Thee, I have not found Thee, + I have not thirsted for Thee: + And now cold billows of death surround me, + Buffeting billows of death astound me,-- + Wilt Thou look upon, wilt Thou see + Thy perishing me?" + + "Yea, I have sought thee, yea, I have found thee, + Yea, I have thirsted for thee, + Yea, long ago with love's bands I bound thee: + Now the Everlasting Arms surround thee,-- + Through death's darkness I look and see + And clasp thee to Me." + + + + BIRCHINGTON CHURCHYARD. + + + A lowly hill which overlooks a flat, + Half sea, half country side; + A flat-shored sea of low-voiced creeping tide + Over a chalky, weedy mat. + + A hill of hillocks, flowery and kept green + Round Crosses raised for hope, + With many-tinted sunsets where the slope + Faces the lingering western sheen. + + A lowly hope, a height that is but low, + While Time sets solemnly, + While the tide rises of Eternity, + Silent and neither swift nor slow. + + + + ONE SEA-SIDE GRAVE. + + + Unmindful of the roses, + Unmindful of the thorn, + A reaper tired reposes + Among his gathered corn: + So might I, till the morn! + + Cold as the cold Decembers, + Past as the days that set, + While only one remembers + And all the rest forget,-- + But one remembers yet. + + + + BROTHER BRUIN. + + + A dancing Bear grotesque and funny + Earned for his master heaps of money, + Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey, + And cheerful if the day was sunny. + Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood + He tramped, and on some common stood; + There, cottage children circling gaily, + He in their midmost footed daily. + Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle + Were quite enough his brain to puzzle: + But like a philosophic bear + He let alone extraneous care + And danced contented anywhere. + + Still, year on year, and wear and tear, + Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear. + A day came when he scarce could prance, + And when his master looked askance + On dancing Bear who would not dance. + + To looks succeeded blows; hard blows + Battered his ears and poor old nose. + From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon; + He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon, + Capered in fury fast and faster. + Ah, could he once but hug his master + And perish in one joint disaster! + But deafness, blindness, weakness growing, + Not fury's self could keep him going. + One dark day when the snow was snowing + His cup was brimmed to overflowing: + He tottered, toppled on one side, + Growled once, and shook his head, and died. + The master kicked and struck in vain, + The weary drudge had distanced pain + And never now would wince again. + The master growled; he might have howled + Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled. + So gnawed by rancor and chagrin + One thing remained: he sold the skin. + + What next the man did is not worth + Your notice or my setting forth, + But hearken what befell at last. + His idle working days gone past, + And not one friend and not one penny + Stored up (if ever he had any + Friends; but his coppers had been many), + All doors stood shut against him but + The workhouse door, which cannot shut. + There he droned on,--a grim old sinner, + Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner, + Unpitied quite, uncared for much + (The rate-payers not favoring such), + Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare; + Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear + Danced back, a haunting memory. + Indeed, I hope so, for you see + If once the hard old heart relented, + The hard old man may have repented. + + + + "A HELPMEET FOR HIM." + + + Woman was made for man's delight,-- + Charm, O woman! Be not afraid! + His shadow by day, his moon by night, + Woman was made. + + Her strength with weakness is overlaid; + Meek compliances veil her might; + Him she stays, by whom she is stayed. + + World-wide champion of truth and right, + Hope in gloom, and in danger aid, + Tender and faithful, ruddy and white, + Woman was made. + + + + A SONG OF FLIGHT. + + + While we slumber and sleep, + The sun leaps up from the deep,-- + Daylight born at the leap,-- + Rapid, dominant, free, + Athirst to bathe in the uttermost sea. + + While we linger at play-- + If the year would stand at May!-- + Winds are up and away, + Over land, over sea, + To their goal, wherever their goal may be. + + It is time to arise, + To race for the promised prize; + The sun flies, the wind flies, + We are strong, we are free, + And home lies beyond the stars and the sea. + + + + A WINTRY SONNET. + + + A robin said: The Spring will never come, + And I shall never care to build again. + A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome, + My sap will never stir for sun or rain. + The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow, + I neither care to wax nor care to wane. + The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago, + Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main. + When springtime came, red Robin built a nest, + And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight. + Gray hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might + Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core. + The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest, + Dimpled his blue,--yet thirsted evermore. + + + + RESURGAM. + + + From depth to height, from height to loftier height, + The climber sets his foot and sets his face, + Tracks lingering sunbeams to their halting-place, + And counts the last pulsations of the light. + Strenuous thro' day and unsurprised by night + He runs a race with Time, and wins the race, + Emptied and stripped of all save only Grace, + Will, Love,--a threefold panoply of might. + Darkness descends for light he toiled to seek; + He stumbles on the darkened mountain-head, + Left breathless in the unbreathable thin air, + Made freeman of the living and the dead,-- + He wots not he has topped the topmost peak, + But the returning sun will find him there. + + + + TO-DAY'S BURDEN. + + + "Arise, depart, for this is not your rest." + Oh, burden of all burdens,--still to arise + And still depart, nor rest in any wise! + Rolling, still rolling thus to east from west, + Earth journeys on her immemorial quest, + Whom a moon chases in no different guise. + Thus stars pursue their courses, and thus flies + The sun, and thus all creatures manifest + Unrest, the common heritage, the ban + Flung broadcast on all humankind,--on all + Who live; for living, all are bound to die. + That which is old, we know that it is man. + These have no rest who sit and dream and sigh, + Nor have those rest who wrestle and who fall. + + + + "THERE IS A BUDDING MORROW IN MIDNIGHT." + + + Wintry boughs against a wintry sky; + Yet the sky is partly blue + And the clouds are partly bright. + Who can tell but sap is mounting high + Out of sight, + Ready to burst through? + + Winter is the mother-nurse of Spring, + Lovely for her daughter's sake. + Not unlovely for her own; + For a future buds in everything + Grown or blown + Or about to break. + + + + EXULTATE DEO. + + + Many a flower hath perfume for its dower, + And many a bird a song, + And harmless lambs milkwhite beside their dams + Frolic along,-- + Perfume and song and whiteness offering praise + In humble, peaceful ways. + + Man's high degree hath will and memory, + Affection and desire; + By loftier ways he mounts of prayer and praise, + Fire unto fire, + Deep unto deep responsive, height to height, + Until he walk in white. + + + + A HOPE CAROL. + + + A night was near, a day was near; + Between a day and night + I heard sweet voices calling clear, + Calling me: + I heard a whirr of wing on wing, + But could not see the sight; + I long to see my birds that sing,-- + I long to see. + + Below the stars, beyond the moon, + Between the night and day, + I heard a rising falling tune + Calling me: + I long to see the pipes and strings + Whereon such minstrels play; + I long to see each face that sings,-- + I long to see. + + To-day or may be not to-day, + To-night or not to-night; + All voices that command or pray, + Calling me, + Shall kindle in my soul such fire, + And in my eyes such light, + That I shall see that heart's desire + I long to see. + + + + CHRISTMAS CAROLS. + + + 1. + + Whoso hears a chiming for Christmas at the nighest, + Hears a sound like Angels chanting in their glee, + Hears a sound like palm-boughs waving in the highest, + Hears a sound like ripple of a crystal sea. + + Sweeter than a prayer-bell for a saint in dying, + Sweeter than a death-bell for a saint at rest, + Music struck in Heaven with earth's faint replying, + "Life is good, and death is good, for Christ is Best." + + + 2. + + A holy, heavenly chime + Rings fulness in of time, + And on His Mother's breast + Our Lord God ever-Blest + Is laid a Babe at rest. + + Stoop, Spirits unused to stoop, + Swoop, Angels, flying swoop, + Adoring as you gaze, + Uplifting hymns of praise,-- + "Grace to the Full of Grace!" + + The cave is cold and strait + To hold the angelic state. + More strait it is, more cold, + To foster and infold + Its Maker one hour old. + + Thrilled through with awestruck love, + Meek Angels poised above, + To see their God look down. + "What, is there never a Crown + For Him in swaddled gown? + + "How comes He soft and weak + With such a tender cheek, + With such a soft, small hand?-- + The very Hand which spann'd + Heaven when its girth was plann'd. + + "How comes He with a voice + Which is but baby-noise?-- + That Voice which spake with might: + 'Let there be light!' and light + Sprang out before our sight. + + "What need hath He of flesh + Made flawless now afresh? + What need of human heart?-- + Heart that must bleed and smart, + Choosing the better part. + + "But see: His gracious smile + Dismisses us a while + To serve Him in His kin. + Haste we, make haste, begin + To fetch His brethren in." + + Like stars they flash and shoot, + The Shepherds they salute. + "Glory to God" they sing; + "Good news of peace we bring, + For Christ is born a King." + + + 3. + + Lo! newborn Jesus, + Soft and weak and small, + Wrapped in baby's bands + By His Mother's hands, + Lord God of all. + + Lord God of Mary, + Whom His Lips caress + While He rocks to rest + On her milky breast + In helplessness. + + Lord God of shepherds + Flocking through the cold, + Flocking through the dark + To the only Ark, + The only Fold. + + Lord God of all things, + Be they near or far, + Be they high or low; + Lord of storm and snow, + Angel and star. + + Lord God of all men,-- + My Lord and my God! + Thou who lovest me, + Keep me close to Thee + By staff and rod. + + Lo! newborn Jesus, + Loving great and small, + Love's free Sacrifice, + Opening Arms and Eyes + To one and all. + + + + A CANDLEMAS DIALOGUE. + + + "Love brought Me down; and cannot love make thee + Carol for joy to Me? + Hear cheerful robin carol from his tree, + Who owes not half to Me + I won for thee." + + "Yea, Lord, I hear his carol's wordless voice; + And well may he rejoice + Who hath not heard of death's discordant noise. + So might I too rejoice + With such a voice." + + "True, thou hast compassed death; but hast not thou + The tree of life's own bough? + Am I not Life and Resurrection now? + My Cross balm-bearing bough + For such as thou?" + + "Ah me, Thy Cross!--but that seems far away; + Thy Cradle-song to-day + I too would raise, and worship Thee and pray: + Not empty, Lord, to-day + Send me away." + + "If thou wilt not go empty, spend thy store; + And I will give thee more, + Yea, make thee ten times richer than before. + Give more and give yet more + Out of thy store." + + "Because Thou givest me Thyself, I will + Thy blessed word fulfil, + Give with both hands, and hoard by giving still; + Thy pleasure to fulfil, + And work Thy Will." + + + + MARY MAGDALENE AND THE OTHER MARY. + + A SONG FOR ALL MARIES. + + + Our Master lies asleep and is at rest; + His Heart has ceased to bleed, His Eye to weep. + The sun ashamed has dropt down in the west; + Our Master lies asleep. + + Now we are they who weep, and trembling keep + Vigil, with wrung heart in a sighing breast, + While slow time creeps, and slow the shadows creep. + + Renew Thy youth, as eagle from the nest; + O Master, who hast sown, arise to reap: + No cock-crow yet, no flush on eastern crest; + Our Master lies asleep. + + + + PATIENCE OF HOPE. + + + The flowers that bloom in sun and shade + And glitter in the dew, + The flowers must fade. + The birds that build their nest and sing + When lovely spring is new, + Must soon take wing. + + The sun that rises in his strength + To wake and warm the world, + Must set at length. + The sea that overflows the shore + With billows frothed and curled, + Must ebb once more. + + All come and go, all wax and wane, + O Lord, save only Thou + Who dost remain + The Same to all eternity. + All things which fail us now + We trust to Thee. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Note: + +Some apparent printers' errors in the original have been +retained here, including "fufilling" and "aguish." There +are also many inconsistently hyphenated words that sometimes +occur without a hyphen. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Christina G. Rossetti + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 19188.txt or 19188.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/8/19188/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins, Jeffrey Johnson and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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