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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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