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diff --git a/27297.txt b/27297.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a31953 --- /dev/null +++ b/27297.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2982 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Path Flower and Other Verses, by Olive T. Dargan + +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: Path Flower and Other Verses + +Author: Olive T. Dargan + +Release Date: November 20, 2008 [EBook #27297] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATH FLOWER AND OTHER VERSES *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) + + + + + + + + + +PATH FLOWER + + + + +_All rights reserved_ + + + + + PATH FLOWER + AND + OTHER VERSES + + BY + OLIVE T. DARGAN + + + [Device] + + + MCMXIV + LONDON: J. M. DENT & SONS LTD. + NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + PATH FLOWER 1 + THE PIPER 6 + TO A HERMIT THRUSH 8 + THANKSGIVING 14 + THE ROAD 16 + LA DAME REVOLUTION 23 + THE REBEL 24 + THESE LATTER DAYS 25 + ABNEGATION 26 + THE LITTLE TREE 27 + THE GAME 28 + BALLAD 31 + A DIRGE 37 + HIS ARGUMENT 39 + THE CONQUEROR 40 + TO MOINA 41 + "THERE'S ROSEMARY" 42 + AT THE GRAVE OF HEINE 43 + TO A LOST COMRADE 45 + FOR M. L. P. 46 + TO SLEEP 47 + "LE PENSEUR" 48 + VISION 49 + SAFE 50 + ON BOSWORTH FIELD 52 + OLD FAIRINGDOWN 53 + THE KISS 58 + YOUTH 60 + TO MIRIMOND 62 + SOROLLA 63 + IN THE BLUE RIDGE 66 + YE WHO ARE TO SING 70 + "AND THE LAST SHALL BE FIRST" 73 + MAGDALEN TO HER POET 76 + FRIENDS 85 + TRYST 89 + IN THE STUDIO 90 + LOVERS' LEAP 91 + HAVENED 94 + MID-MAY 102 + THE LOSS 104 + CALLED 105 + SONG OF TO-MORROW 108 + LITTLE DAUGHTERS 110 + + + + + _The author thanks the editors of "Scribner's Magazine," "The + Century," "The Atlantic Monthly," and "M'Clure's" for permission to + reprint the greater part of the verse included in this volume._ + + + + +PATH FLOWER + + + A red-cap sang in Bishop's wood, + A lark o'er Golder's lane, + As I the April pathway trod + Bound west for Willesden. + + At foot each tiny blade grew big + And taller stood to hear, + And every leaf on every twig + Was like a little ear. + + As I too paused, and both ways tried + To catch the rippling rain,-- + So still, a hare kept at my side + His tussock of disdain,-- + + Behind me close I heard a step, + A soft pit-pat surprise, + And looking round my eyes fell deep + Into sweet other eyes; + + The eyes like wells, where sun lies too, + So clear and trustful brown, + Without a bubble warning you + That here's a place to drown. + + "How many miles?" Her broken shoes + Had told of more than one. + She answered like a dreaming Muse, + "I came from Islington." + + "So long a tramp?" Two gentle nods, + Then seemed to lift a wing, + And words fell soft as willow-buds, + "I came to find the Spring." + + A timid voice, yet not afraid + In ways so sweet to roam, + As it with honey bees had played + And could no more go home. + + Her home! I saw the human lair, + I heard the hucksters bawl, + I stifled with the thickened air + Of bickering mart and stall. + + Without a tuppence for a ride, + Her feet had set her free. + Her rags, that decency defied, + Seemed new with liberty. + + But she was frail. Who would might note + The trail of hungering + That for an hour she had forgot + In wonder of the Spring. + + So shriven by her joy she glowed + It seemed a sin to chat. + (A tea-shop snuggled off the road; + Why did I think of that?) + + Oh, frail, so frail! I could have wept,-- + But she was passing on, + And I but muddled "You'll accept + A penny for a bun?" + + Then up her little throat a spray + Of rose climbed for it must; + A wilding lost till safe it lay + Hid by her curls of rust; + + And I saw modesties at fence + With pride that bore no name; + So old it was she knew not whence + It sudden woke and came; + + But that which shone of all most clear + Was startled, sadder thought + That I should give her back the fear + Of life she had forgot. + + And I blushed for the world we'd made, + Putting God's hand aside, + Till for the want of sun and shade + His little children died; + + And blushed that I who every year + With Spring went up and down, + Must greet a soul that ached for her + With "penny for a bun!" + + Struck as a thief in holy place + Whose sin upon him cries, + I watched the flowers leave her face, + The song go from her eyes. + + Then she, sweet heart, she saw my rout, + And of her charity + A hand of grace put softly out + And took the coin from me. + + A red-cap sang in Bishop's wood, + A lark o'er Golder's lane; + But I, alone, still glooming stood, + And April plucked in vain; + + Till living words rang in my ears + And sudden music played: + _Out of such sacred thirst as hers + The world shall be remade._ + + Afar she turned her head and smiled + As might have smiled the Spring, + And humble as a wondering child + I watched her vanishing. + + + + +THE PIPER + + + I met a crone 'twixt wood and wood, + Who pointed down the piper's road + With shaken staff and fearsome glance,-- + "Ware, ware the dance!" + + But when the piper me did greet, + The wind, the wind was in my feet, + The rose and leaf on eager boughs + Unvestalled them of dew-writ vows, + And I as light as leaf and rose + Danced to the summer's close. + + Now every tree is weary grown, + Of singing birds there is not one; + All, all the world droops into grey,-- + O piper Love, must thou yet play? + The wildest note of all he blew, + And fast my worn feet flew. + + Old is the year, the leaf and rose + Are long, long gone; + So chill, so chill the grey wind blows + Through heart and bone; + No grasses warm the winter ways + That wound my feet; + But with unwearied fingers yet, + Bold, undelayed on stop and fret, + Unmercifully sweet, + The piper plays.... + + + + +TO A HERMIT THRUSH + + + Dweller among leaves, and shining twilight boughs + That fold cool arms about thine altar place, + What joyous race + Of gods dost serve with such unfaltering vows? + + Weave me a time-fringed tale + Of slumbering, haunted trees, + And star-sweet fragrances + No day defiled; + Of bowering nights innumerable, + And nestling hours breath-nigh a dryad's heart + That sleeping yet was wild + With dream-beat that thou mad'st a part + Of thy dawn-fluting; ay, and keep'st it still, + Striving so late these godless woods to fill + With undefeated strain, + And in one hour build the old world again. + Wast thou found singing when Diana drew + Her skirts from the first night? + Didst feel the sun-breath when the valleys grew + Warm with the love of light, + Till blades of flower-lit green gave to the wind + The mystery that made sweet + The earth forever,--strange and undefined + As life, as God, as this thy song complete + That holds with me twin memories + Of time ere men, + And ere our ways + Lay sundered with the abyss of air between? + + _List, I will lay + The world, my song, + Deep in the heart of day, + Day that is long + As the ages dream or the stars delay! + Keep thou from me, + Sigh-throated man, + Forever to be + Under the songless wanderer's ban. + I am of time + That counteth no dawn; + Thy aeons yet climb + To skies I have won, + Seeking for aye an unrisen sun!_ + + Soft as a shadow slips + Before the moon, I creep beneath the trees, + Even to the boughs whose lowest circling tips + Whisper with the anemones + Thick-strewn as though a cloud had made + Its drifting way through spray and leafy braid + And sunk with unremembering ease + To humbler heaven upon the mossy heaps. + And here a warmer flow + Urges thy melody, yet keeps + The cool of bowers; as might a rose blush through + Its unrelinquished dew; + Or bounteous heart that knows not woe, + Put on the robe of sighs, and fain + Would hold in love's surmise a neighbour's pain. + + Ah, I have wronged thee, sprite! + So tender now thy song in flight, + So sweet its lingerings are, + It seems the liquid memory + Of time when thou didst try + Thy gleaning wing through human years, + And met, ay, knew the sigh + Of men who pray, the tears + That hide the woman's star, + The brave ascending fire + That is youth's beacon and too soon his pyre,-- + Yea, all our striving, bateless and unseeing, + That builds each day our Heaven new. + More deep in time's unnearing blue, + Farther and ever fleeing + The dream that ever must pursue. + + _Heart-need is sorest + When the song dies: + Come to the forest, + Brother of the sighs. + Heart-need is song-need, + Brother, give me thine! + Song-meed is heart-meed, + Brother, take mine! + I go the still way, + Cover me with night; + Thou goest the will way + Into the light. + Dust and the burden + Thou shall outrun; + Bear then my guerdon, + Song, to the sun!_ + + O little pagan with the heart of Christ, + I go bewildered from thine altar place, + These brooding boughs and grey-lit forest wings, + Nor know if thou deniest + My destiny and race, + Man's goalward falterings, + To sing the perfect joy that lay + Along the path we missed somewhere, + That led thee to thy home in air, + While we, soil-creepers, bruise our way + Toward heights and sunrise bounds + That wings may know nor feet may win + For all their scars, for all their wounds; + Or have I heard within thy strain + Not sorrow's self, but sorrowing + That thou did'st seek the way more free, + Nor took with us the trail of pain + That endeth not, e'er widening + To life that knows what Life may be; + And ere thou fall'st to silence long + Would golden parting fling: + + _Go, man, through death unto thy star; + I journey not so far; + My wings must fail e'en with my song._ + + + + +THANKSGIVING + + + Supremest Life and Lord of All, + I bring my thanks to thee; + Not for the health that does not fail, + And wings me over land and sea; + Not for this body's pearl and rose, + And radiance made sure + By thine enduring life that flows + In sky-print swift and pure; + + Not for the thought whose glowing power + Glides far, eternal, free, + And surging back in thy full hour + Bears the wide world to me; + Not for the friends whose presence is + The warm, sweet heart of things + Where leans the body for the kiss + That gives the soul its wings; + + Not for the little hands that cling, + The little feet that run, + And make the earth a fitter thing + For thee to look upon; + Not for mine ease within my door, + My roof when rains beat strong, + My bed, my fire, my food in store, + My book when nights are long; + + But, Lord, I know where on lone sands + A leper rots and cries; + Find thou my offering in his hands, + My worship in his eyes. + As thou dost give to him, thy least, + Thou givest unto me; + As he is fed I make my feast, + And lift my thanks to thee. + + + + +THE ROAD + + + On Gilead road the shadows creep; + ('Tis noon, and I forget;) + By Gilead road the ferns are deep, + And waves run emerald, wind-beset, + To some unsanded shore + Of doe and dove and fay; + And I for love of that before, + Forget the hindward way. + + By Gilead road a river runs, + (To what unshadowed sea?) + Bough-hidden here,--there by the sun's + Gold treachery unbared to me. + O Beauty in retreat, + From beckoned eyes you steal, + But the pursuing heart, more fleet, + Lifts your secretest veil. + + A thrush! What unbuilt temples rear + Their domes where thrushes sing! + My heart glides in, a worshipper + At shrines that ne'er knew offering, + Nor eye hath seen, and yet + What soul hath not been there, + Deep in song's fane where we forget + To pray, for we are prayer. + + And now the shadows start and glide; + I hear soft, woodland feet; + And who are they that deeper bide + Where beechen twilights meet? + What tranced beings smile + On things I may not see? + As with a dream they would beguile + Their own eternity? + + I too shall find my own as they; + ('Tis eve, and I forget;) + Here in this world where mortals play + As gods with no god's leave or let. + My hope in high purlieus + Desire erst lockt and kept, + On wing unbarred shall seek and choose,-- + Ay, choose, when I have slept. + + For happy roads may yet be long, + And bliss must sometime bed. + Fern-deep I fall, lose sight and song, + The slim palms close above my head, + And Life, the Shadow, weaves + The charm on sleepers laid + Till Time's spent ghost comes not nor grieves + An hourless Gilead. + + Ay me, I dream my eyes are wet; + I sigh, I turn, I weep. + Alack, that waking we forget + But to remember when we sleep! + O vision of closed eyes, + That burns the heart awake! + O the forgotten truth's reprise + For the forsaken's sake! + + Far land, blood-red, I feel again + Thy hot, unsilenced breath; + Meet thy unburied eyes of pain + That, dying ever, find no death; + See childhood's one gold hour + Bartered for crust and bed, + And man's o'erdriven noon devour + His evening peace and bread. + + I hear men sob,--ay, men,--and shout + To souls on Gilead road: + "Tell us the way--we sent ye out-- + We bought ye free--we paid our blood!" + Gaunt arms make signal mad; + O, feel the woe-waves break! + Does no one hear in Gilead? + Will one, not one turn back? + + Rolls higher from the land blood-red + That sea-surge of despair! + A flame creeps over Gilead, + Unseen, unfelt by any there. + They look not back, the while + Doom shadows round them dance, + And smile meets slow, unstartled smile + As in it sleep's mid-chance. + + "We give our days, we give our blood, + We send ye far to see! + We break beneath the double load + That ye may walk unbowed and free! + 'Tis ours, the healing shade; + 'Tis ours, the singing stream; + 'Tis ours, the charm on sleepers laid; + 'Tis ours, the toil-won dream!" + + Dim grown is Gilead, ashen, lost + To me who hear that cry. + "Our every star is hid with dust; + The way, the way! Let us not die!" + Up from the trampled ferns, + (O Beauty's praying hands!) + I stricken start, as one who turns + From plague's unholy lands. + + Pale is the dream we dream alone, + An unresolving fire, + Till beacon hearts make it their own + And men are lit with man's desire. + I mourn no Gilead fair, + Back to my own I speed, + And all my tears are falling where + They sell the sun for bread. + + Mine too the blow, the unwept scar; + Mine too the flames that sere; + And on my breast not one proud star + That leaves a brother's heaven bare. + Life is the search of God + For His own unity; + I walk stone-bare till all are shod, + No gold may sandal me. + + I come, O comrades, faster yet! + For me no bough-hung shade + Till every burning foot be set + In ferns of Gilead. + The old, old pain of kind, + Once mine, is mine once more; + And I forget the way behind, + So dear is that before. + + + + +LA DAME REVOLUTION + + + Red was the Might that sired thee, + White was the Hope that bore thee, + Heaven and Earth desired thee, + And Hell from thy lovers tore thee; + But barren to the ravisher, + Thou bearest Love thy child, + Immortal daughter, Peace; for her + Waits Man, the Undefiled. + + + + +THE REBEL + + + A riot-maker! Can the fruit + Of frenzy be a gracious thing? + His soul has hands; above the bruit + They lift a song-bird quivering. + + World-wrecker! Shall he trampling go + Till Beauty's drenched and lonely eyes + Mourn a deserted earth? But no! + Men go not down till men arise. + + The game is Life's. She plays to win; + And whirls to dust her overlings; + Her abluent winds shall spare no sin, + Though hidden in the breast of kings; + + And Earth is smiling as she takes + To her old lap their fallen bones, + For down the throbbing ways there wakes + The laughter of her greater sons. + + + + +THESE LATTER DAYS + + + Take down thy stars, O God! We look not up. + In vain thou hangest there thy changeless sign. + We lift our eyes to power's glowing cup, + Nor care if blood make strong that wizard wine, + So we but drink and feel the sorcery + Of conquest in our veins, of wits grown keen + In strain and strife for flesh-sweet sovereignty,-- + The fatal thrill of kingship over men. + What though the soul be from the body shrunk, + And we array the temple, but no god? + What though, the cup of golden greed once drunk, + Our dust be laid in a dishonoured sod, + While thy loud hosts proclaim the end of wars? + We read no sign. O God, take down thy stars! + + + + +ABNEGATION + + + Christ, dear Christ, were the wood-ways sweet + By the long, white highway bare, + Where the hot road dust made grey Thy feet? + Ay,--but the woman's hair! + + Brother, my Christ, when thou camest down + The cup of water to give, + Did a poet die on the mount's cool crown? + Ay,--and for that dost thou live! + + + + +THE LITTLE TREE + + + It pushed a guided way between + The pebbles of her grave; + A poplar hastening to be green + And silver signals wave. + + And we who sought her with the moon, + Were met by branches stirred, + And whiter grew as grew the croon + That seemed her hidden word. + + "O, she would speak!" my heart-beat said; + My eyes were on the mound; + And lowlier hung my waiting head + Above the prisoning ground. + + Then smiled the lad and whispered me,-- + The lad who most did love; + "She stoops to us; the little tree + Is wakened from above!" + + + + +THE GAME + + + 'Tis played with eyes; one uttered word + Would cast the game away. + As silent as a sailing bird, + The shift and change of play. + + So many eyes to me are dear, + So many do me bless; + The hazel, deep as deep wood-mere + Where leaves are flutterless; + + The brown that most bewildereth + With dusking, golden play + Of shadows like betraying breath + From some shy, hidden day; + + The black whose torch is ever trimmed, + Let stars be soon or late; + The blue, a morning never dimmed, + Opposing Heaven to fate; + + The grey as soft as farthest skies + That hold horizon rain; + Or when, steel-darkling, stoic-wise, + They bring the gods again; + + And wavelit eyes of nameless glow, + Fed from far-risen streams; + But oh, the eyes, the eyes that know + The silent game of dreams! + + Three times I've played. Once 'twas a child, + Lap-held, not half a year + From Heaven, looked at me and smiled, + And far I went with her. + + Out past the twilight gates of birth, + And past Time's blindfold day, + Beyond the star-ring of the earth, + We found us room to play. + + And once a woman, spent and old + With unavailing tears, + Who from her hair's down-tangled fold + Shook out the grey-blown years, + + Sat by the trampled way alone, + And lifted eyes--what themes! + I could not pass, I sat me down + To play the game of dreams. + + And once ... a poet's eyes they were, + Though earth heard not his strain; + And since he went no eyes can stir + My own to play again. + + + + +BALLAD + + + When I with Death have gone on quest, + And grief is mellowed in your breast; + When you do nothing fret + If jest come gently in with tea, + And Purr is stroked for want of me; + When thought robust bestirs your mind, + And with a candid start you find + The world must move + To living love + And you forthright on travel set; + + I do not ask you strive to keep + Awake the woe that winks for sleep, + Or swell the lessening tear; + I do not ask; dear to me still + May be the eyes regret would fill; + And, sooth, in vain I'd Nature sue + To go a little out for you; + But whether 'tis + Or that or this + Is from the matter there and here. + + Forget the kisses dying not + Till each a thousand more begot; + Such easy progeny + You with small trouble still may have; + (Though women die, love has no grave;) + Forget the quaint, the nest-born ways, + And ponder things more to my praise, + That I may long + Be worth a song + Though deep in tongueless clay I be. + + Admit my eye, than yours less keen, + Still knew a bead of Hippocrene + From baser bubbles bright; + My ear could catch, or short or long, + The echo of true-hammered song; + And many a book we journeyed through; + Some turned us home again, 'tis true, + (Not all who pen + Are more than men,) + And some, like stars, outwore the night. + + Say I could break a lance with Fate, + Took half, at least, my troubles straight, + (Let women have their boast;) + Homed well with chance, and passing where + The gods kept house would take a chair, + Perchance at ease, with naught ado, + With Jove would toss a quip or two; + The nectar stale, + A mug of ale + On goodly earth would serve a toast. + + And if I left thee by a stile + Where thou didst choose to dream, the while + I sought a farther mead, + Or clomb a ridge for flowers that wore + Of earth the less, of stars the more, + I hastened back, confess of me, + To lay my treasure on thy knee; + Nor didst thou hear + Of stone or brere, + Or how my hidden feet did bleed. + + And in the piping season when + The whole round world takes heart again + To rise and dance with Spring; + When robin drives the snow-wind home, + And sweetened is the warmed loam, + When deeper root the violets, + And every bud its fear forgets + With upward glance + For lovers' chance + In Venus' dear and fateful ring; + + Let not a thought of my cold bed + Bechill thy warm heart beating red, + And thy new ardours dim; + But if, good hap, you rove where I + Beneath the twinkling moss then lie, + Be glad to see me decked so gay, + (Spring's the best handmaid without pay,) + I like things new, + In season too, + And fain must smile to be so trim. + + Then hie thee to some bonny brake + Another mate to woo and take, + And as thy soul to love. + Rise with the dew, stay not the noon, + What's good cannot be found too soon, + The wind will not be always south, + Nor like a rose is every mouth, + Time's quick to press, + Do thou no less, + And may the night thy wisdom prove. + + And as all love doth live again + In great or small that loved hath been, + Keep this sole troth with me,-- + Forget my name, my form, my face, + But meet me still in every place, + Since we are what we love, and I + Loved everything beneath the sky. + So may I long + Be worth a song, + Though I who sang forgotten be. + + + + +A DIRGE + + + Mortal child, lay thee where + Earth is gift and giver; + Midnight owl, witch, or bear + Shall disturb thee never! + + Softly, softly take thy place, + Turn from man thy waning face; + Fear not thou must lie alone, + Sleep-mates thou shalt have anon. + + (Clock of Time none commands, + Driveth not the winter floods, + Where the silent, tireless sands + Run the ages of the gods.) + + Thine is not a jealous bed; + Pillow here hath every head; + All that are and all to be + Shall ask a little room of thee. + + (Feet of flame, haste nor creep + Where the stars are of thy pace; + Heart of fire, in shadows sleep, + With the sun in thy embrace.) + + Babe of Time, old in care, + Sweet is Earth, the giver; + Owlet, witch, or midnight bear + Shall disturb thee never. + + + + +HIS ARGUMENT + + + One time I wooed a maid (dear is she yet!) + All in the revel eye of young Love's moon. + Content she made me,--ah, my dimpling mate, + My Springtime girl, who walked with flower-shoon! + But near me, nearer, steals a deep-eyed maid + With creeping glance that sees and will not see, + And blush that would those yea-sweet eyes upbraid,-- + O, might I woo her nor inconstant be! + But is not Autumn dreamtime of the Spring? + (Yon scarlet fruit-bell is a flower asleep;) + And I am not forsworn if yet I keep + Dream-faith with Spring in Autumn's deeper kiss. + Then so, brown maiden, take this true-love ring, + And lay thy long, soft locks where my heart is. + + + + +THE CONQUEROR + + + O Spring, that flutter'st the slow Winter by, + To drop thy buds before his frosty feet, + Dost thou not grieve to see thy darlings lie + In trodden death, and weep their beauty sweet? + Yet must thou cast thy tender offering, + And make thy way above thy mourned dead, + Or frowning Winter would be always king, + And thou wouldst never walk with crowned head. + So gentle Love must make his venturous way + Among the shaken buds of his own pain; + And many a hope-blown garland meekly lay + Before the chilly season of disdain; + But as no beauty may the Spring outglow, + So he, when throned, no greater lord doth know. + + + + +TO MOINA + + + There were no heaven but for lovers' eyes; + Save in their depths do all Elysiums fade; + And gods were dead but for the life that lies + In kisses sweet on sweeter altars laid. + There were no heroes did not lovers ride, + And pyramid high deeds upon new time; + Nor tale for feast, or field, or chimney-side, + And harps were dumb and song had ne'er a rhyme. + Then live, proud heart, in happy fealty, + Nor sigh thee more thy dear bonds to remove; + Thou art not thrall to liege of mean degree, + For all are kings who bear the lance of love; + No wight so poor but may his tatters lose, + And find his purple if his lady choose. + + + + +"THERE'S ROSEMARY" + + + O love that is not love, but dear, so dear! + That is not love because it goes so soon, + Like flower born and dead within one moon, + And yet is love for that it comes full near + The guarded fane where love alone may peer, + Ere like young Spring by Summer soon outshone, + It trembles into death, but comes anon, + As thoughts of Spring will come though Summer's here. + + O star full sweet, though one arose more fair, + Within my heart I'll keep a heaven for thee + Where thou mayst freely come and freely go, + Touching with thy pale gold the twilight air + Where dream-closed buds could never flower show, + Yet fragrant keep the shadowy way for me. + + + + +AT THE GRAVE OF HEINE + + + South-heart of song + In winter drest, + Death mends thy wrong; + That is life's best. + + Bird, who didst sing + From a bare bough, + Call, and what Spring + Will answer now! + + And haste with her + Bud-legacy,-- + O, not to share, + To take of thee! + + Thy night, slow, dark, + Yet song-lit shone, + Till who did hark + Missed not the moon; + + When Morning found + Thy cold, pierced breast, + 'Twas she who moaned, + To thy thorn pressed. + + _Here lies the thorn-wound of the dawn + Through whose high morn the bird sings on._ + + + + +TO A LOST COMRADE + + + We found the spring at eager noon, + And from one cup we drank; + Then on until the forest croon + In twilight tangle sank; + + The night was ours, the stars, the dawn; + The manna crust, bird-shared; + And never failed our magic shoon, + Whatever way we fared. + + If caged at last, ceased not the flow + Of sky-gleam through the bars; + And where were wounds I only know + Tear-kisses hid the scars. + + And when, as round the world death-free + We wind-embodied roam, + I hear the gale that once was thee + Cry "Hollo!" I will come. + + + + +FOR M. L. P. + + + Rose Love lay dreaming where I passed, + Like flower blown from careless stem; + So still I dared to touch at last + Her white robe's hem. + + Rose Love looked up and caught my hand, + Though in her eyes the sea-birds were; + When o'er my brow there blew a strand + Of cold, grey hair. + + Rose Love stood up unriddling this, + Till shadows in my eyes grew old; + Then warmed the lock with sudden kiss; + Now flames it gold. + + + + +TO SLEEP + + + O silent lover of a world day-worn, + Taking the weary light to thy dusk arms, + Stealing where pale forms lie, sun-hurt and torn, + Waiting the balm of thy oblivious charms, + Make me thy captive ere I guess pursuit, + And cast me deep within some dreamless close, + Where hopes stir not, and white, wronged lips are mute, + And Pain's hot wings fold down o'er hushed woes. + And if ere morn thou choosest me to free, + Let it not be, dear jailer, through the door + That timeward opes, but to eternity + Set thou the soul that needs thee nevermore; + So I from sleep to death may softly wend + As one would pass from gentle friend to friend. + + + + +"LE PENSEUR" + + + Warm in this marble, that is stone no more, + Life at wound-pause lifts ear to woundless mind; + Backward the ages their slow clew unwind, + And step by step, and star by star, lead o'er + The trail again, where eyeless passion tore + Its red way to a soul. Mist-bound and blind + No more, the thinker waits, and God grown kind + Flashes a foot-print where He goes before. + + Not to be followed! Falls the cloud again; + Folds the stern form around the striving doubt, + And curve betrays to curve the silent birth + That shall be voice to later times and men; + While lone in unlit dark, within, without, + He sits immortal on a godless earth. + + + + +VISION + + + Look in, O Mystic, on thy lease, + Thou tenant soul in God's demesne; + Forego the show of eyes that fail, + And walk the world that cannot pale, + Thine by a sealed and termless lien + Within His met eternities. + + Yet look thou out from thy still hour + With eyes that know and bear His fire; + Till kindling on thy wonder's verge + The transient days immortal merge + In Him fulfilled as worlds expire + In nestled love, a song, a flower. + + + + +SAFE + + + My dream-fruit tree a palace bore + In stone's reality, + And friends and treasure, art and lore, + Came in to dwell with me. + + But palaces for gods are made; + I shrank to man, or less; + Gold-barriered, yet chill, afraid, + My soul shook shelterless. + + I found a cottage in a wood, + Warmed by a hearth and maid, + And fed and slept, and said 'twas good,-- + Ah, love-nest in the shade! + + The walls grew close, the roof pressed low, + Soft arms my jailers were; + My naked soul arose to go, + And shivered bright and bare. + + No more I sought for covert kind; + The blast blew on my head; + And lo, with tempest and with wind + I felt me garmented. + + Here on the hills the writhing storm + Cloaks well and shelters me; + I wrap me round and I am warm, + Warm for eternity. + + + + +ON BOSWORTH FIELD + + + Here, Richard, didst thou fall, caparisoned + With kingdoms of thy lust; + And here wouldst lie, by Fame's bent gleaners shunned, + But came unto thy dust + A swaggerer, perdy! + Who cried "A horse, a horse!" and straight + Thou wert abroad again on kingly feet + To tread eternity. + + + + +OLD FAIRINGDOWN + + + Soft as a treader on mosses + I go through the village that sleeps; + The village too early abed, + For the night still shuffles, a gipsy, + In the woods of the east, + And the west remembers the sun. + + Not all are asleep; there are faces + That lean from the walls of the gardens; + Look sharply, or you will not see them, + Or think them another stone in the wall. + I spoke to a stone, and it answered + Like an aged rock that crumbles; + Each falling piece was a word. + "Five have I buried," it said, + "And seven are over the sea." + + Here is a hut that I pass, + So lowly it has no brow, + And dwarfs sit within at a table. + A boy waits apart by the hearth; + On his face the patience of firelight, + But his eyes seek the door and a far world. + It is not the call to the table he waits, + But the call of the sea-rimmed forests, + And cities that stir in a dream. + I haste by the low-browed door, + Lest my arms go in and betray me, + A mother jealously passing. + He will go, the pale dwarf, and walk tall among giants; + The child with his eyes on the far land, + And fame like a young, curled leaf in his heart. + + The stream that darts from the hanging hill + Like a silver wing that must sing as it flies, + Is folded and still on the breast + Of the village that sleeps. + Each mute, old house is more old than the other, + And each wears its vines like ragged hair + Round the half-blind windows. + If a child should laugh, if a girl should sing, + Would the houses rub the vines from their eyes, + And listen and live? + A voice comes now from a cottage, + A voice that is young and must sing, + A honeyed stab on the air, + And the houses do not wake. + + I look through the leaf-blowzed window, + And start as a gazer who, passing a death-vault, + Sees life sitting hopeful within. + She is young, but a woman, round-breasted, + Waiting the peril of Eve; + And she makes the shadows about her sweet + As the glooms that play in a pine-wood. + She sits at a harpsichord (old as the walls are), + And longing flows in the trickling, fairy notes + Like a hidden brook in a forest + Seeking and seeking the sun. + + I have watched a young tree on the edge of a wood + When the mist is weaving and drifting. + Slowly the boughs disappear and the leaves reach out + Like the drowning hands of children, + Till a grey blur quivers cold + Where the green grace drank of the sun. + So now, as I gaze, the morrows + Creep weaving and winding their mist + Round the beauty of her who sings. + They hide the soft rings of her hair, + Dear as a child's curling fingers; + They shut out the trembling sun of eyes + That are deep as a bending mother's; + And her bridal body is scarfed with their chill. + + For old and old is the story; + Over and over I listen to murmurs + That are always the same in these towns that sleep; + Where grey and unwed a woman passes, + Her cramped, drab gown the bounds of a world + She holds with grief and silence; + And a gossip whose tongue alone is unwithered + Mumbles the tale by her affable gate; + How the lad must go, and the girl must stay, + Singing alone to the years and a dream; + Then a letter, a rumour, a word + From the land that reaches for lovers + And gives them not back; + And the maiden looks up with a face that is old; + Her smile, as her body, is evermore barren, + Her cheek like the bark of the beech-tree + Where climbs the grey winter. + + Now have I seen her young, + The lone girl singing, + With the full round breast and the berry lip, + And heart that runs to a dawn-rise + On new-world mountains. + The weeping ash in the dooryard + Gathers the song in its boughs, + And the gown of dawn she will never wear. + I can listen no more; good-bye, little town, old Fairingdown. + I climb the long, dark hillside, + But the ache I have found here I cannot outclimb. + O Heart, if we had not heard, if we did not know + There is that in the village that never will sleep! + + + + +THE KISS + + + I stole into the secret room + Where Love lay dying; + Mystic and faint perfume + Met me like sighing; + As heaven had cast a still-born star + He lay nor stirred; the shell-thin hand + Nerveless of high command + Where once the lord-veins sped their fire. + + And I had thought me glad + To let him go. "He reaps + His own," I pious said. + But this, ah, this + Unpleading helplessness! + "Give me thy death," I cried, + And took it from his lips. + The windows burst them wide. + The sun came in; + And Love high at my side + Stood sovereign. + + + + +YOUTH + + + He hears the hour's low hint and springs + To the chariot-side of Truth, while fast + The wild car swings + Through dust and cloud; + And the watchful elders, prophet-proud, + Give o'er his bones + To the wracking stones-- + But he has passed! + + A weft of sky, and castles stare + High from a wizard shore, + Sun-arrowed, tower-strong; + Gold parapets in air + Down-pour, down-pour + Sea-falls of peri song; + Then earth, the dragon's lair; + Cave eyes and burning breath; + And the lance the Grail lords bore + This day flies swift and fair, + This day of the dragon's death. + + Must doff the wind-wreath, find thee lone? + Put on meek age's hood? + Feel but the frost within the dawn? + Wrap courage in a swaddling mood? + His bare throat flings + All-powered nay; + The world, his vast, unfingered lyre, + Stirs in her thousand strings; + Lit with redemptive flame + Burns miracle desire, + And dedicated day + Is long as freedom's dream. + + Youth of the lance, youth of the lyre, + How far, how far shalt go? + Where will the halting be? + Sun-courier, whose roads of fire + Bridge God's delay, + The hearts that know thee, ah, they know, + Ageless in clay, + Sole immortality! + + + + +TO MIRIMOND + +(HER BIRTHDAY, IN DECEMBER) + + + Dost think that Time, to whom stars vainly sue, + Will for thy beauty keep one fixed place? + Or that he may, o'er-weighed with seasons due, + Forget one Spring where veinlet tendrils lace + Rose over rose to make this flower, thy face? + Look round thee now, dear dupe of sweet hey-day! + Of what once blooming joy canst thou find trace + Save in the bosom of a cold decay? + What violet of Summer's yester sway + Usurps these clouds to throne her slender moon? + Look on the wrinkling year, the shrunken way, + The wintry bier of all that gaudy shone, + And gather love ere loveliness wear pall, + If thou, when all is gone, wouldst still have all. + + + + +SOROLLA + + + "I am fleet," said the joy of the sun, + Trembling then on the breast + Of the summer, white, still; + "I am fleet, I am gone!" + Smiling came one + With brush and a will, + Undelaying, unpressed, + And the glancing gold of the tremulous sun + Lingers for man, inescapable, won. + + "Not here, nor yet there," + Cried the waves that fled, + "Shall ye set us a snare. + Motion is breath of us, + Stillness is death of us; + We live as we run, + We pause and are sped!" + Laughing came one + With brush and a will, + And the waves never die and are nevermore still. + + "I pass," said the light + On the joy-child's face; + But softly came one + And it leaves not its place. + Here Time shall replight + His faith with the dawn, + And his ages, gaunt grey, + Ever cycling, behold + Their youth never flown + In a world never old, + Though they pass and repass with their trailing decay. + + "We stay," said the shadows, and hung + On the brush of the master; "we are thine own." + Fearless he flung + The magical chains around them, and said, + "Ye too shall be light, and to life bring the sun!" + And man delayed + By the captive pain's revealing glow + Feeleth earth's breathing woe, + And his vow is made; + "Ye shall pass, ye shadows, yea; + And life, as the sun, be free; + The God in me saith!" + And the shadows go; + For joy is the breath + Of eternity, + And sorrow the sigh of a day. + + + + +IN THE BLUE RIDGE + + + The mountain night is shining, Jim of Tellico, + Shining so it hurts the heart to see + The gleam upon the laurel leaf, the locust shaking snow + To the rippling Nantahala that is laughing up to me, + Hurts till the cry comes and the big tears are free. + O, why should my heart cry to you that will not hear, + Yonder where the ridges lie so still above the town? + But the pain that's calling seems to bring you near, + As the tears in my eyes bring the stars a-swimming down. + + Mother sits and cries, with my baby on her knee; + Father curses deep, a-breathing hard your name; + But never do I hear and never do I see, + I with my head low, working out my shame, + Eyes burning dry and my heart like a flame; + For I hate you then--I hate you, Jim of Tellico, + And grip my needle tighter, every stitch a sin, + The hate growing bigger till the thing I sew + Seems a shroud I'm glad a-making just to lay you in. + + But the slow sun passes with its day-long stare, + Like a bold eye at the window when the blind + Is missing and you mustn't know the eye is there,-- + Just shut your heart up close and hide the thing you mind; + And comes the blessed twilight calling of its kind, + When all the little creatures with soft voices stir, + Little hiding things that cry so tremblingly, + Till I lay my needle by,--O, how the sweet woods whirr! + And fly down to the river that is laughing up to me. + + Then the hate goes out o' me with the moonlight creeping in, + And the water crooning cool-like in my veins. + Who could smell the white azalea thinking then of sin, + Or look on laurel buds a-caring for her pains? + It's just my heart breaks open and the wild flood rains. + O beauty of the moon-mist winding, winding slow, + Till the tall lynns quiver vainly up to hold + One leafy moment more the breathing, gliding flow + Of the loosened wreath of silver lifting into gold! + + The moosewood bride is glowing, all her curls awave, + The colt's-foot in millions makes the ground like a bed, + So sweet-breathed and green now, in winter scarlet brave, + And blossom lips of tulip trees are meeting overhead, + But never shall a tear fall for their love spent and dead. + Doves are building yonder in that clump of maples deep, + Do maple leaves come soonest for they love to hide + The earliest nest and hear the first faint cheep + Telling them of joy too dear, too sweet to bide? + + The joy that was my own, Jim, when our birdling came, + Telling me that love is never spent and dead,-- + Though you left the tears to me, and left to me the shame,-- + For the wildwood broke in blossoms round my bed, + And the fairest on my bosom laid its stainless head. + Can God who made this night His own great heart to please, + And made that other night like this a year ago, + Be mad at us for loving? I fall upon my knees + And beg Him bless you, bless you ever, Jim of Tellico! + + + + +YE WHO ARE TO SING + + + O silence of all silences, where wait + Fame's unblown years whose choir my soul would greet! + Graves, nor dead Time, are sealed so dumb in fate, + For Death and Time must pass on echoing feet. + No grass-locked vault, no sculptured winding-sheet, + No age-embalmed hour with mummied wing, + Is bosomed in such stillness, vast, complete, + As wraps the future, and no prayer may bring + From that unfathomed pause one minstrel murmuring. + + Yet never earth a lyreless dawn shall know; + No moon shall move unharped to her pale home; + No midnight wreathe its chain of choric glow + But answering eye flash rhythmic to the dome. + No path shall lie too deep in forest gloam + For the blithe singer's tread; no winds fore'er + Blow lute-lorn barks o'er unawakened foam; + Nor hidden isle sleep so enwaved but there + Shall touch and land at last Apollo's mariner. + + And soon shall wake that morrow's melody, + When men of labour shall be men of dream, + With hand seer-guided, knowing Deity + That breathes in sonant wood and fluting stream, + Shapes too the wheel, the shaft, the shouldering beam, + Nor ceased to build when Magian toil began + To lift its towered world. What chime supreme + Shall turn our tuneless march to music when + Sings the achieving God in conscious hearts of men! + + And one voice shall be woman's, lifting lay + Till all the lark-heights of her being ring; + Majestic she shall take the chanted way, + And every song-peak's golden bourgeoning + Shall thrill beneath her feet that lyric spring + From ventured crest to crest. Strong, masterless, + She, last in freedom, as the first shall sing, + Who, great in freedom, takes by Love her place, + Wife, mother,--more, her starward moving self--the race. + + Ay, ye shall come, ye spirits girt with light + That falls o'er heaven's hills from dawn to be; + Ye warders in the planet house of night, + Gliding to unguessed doors with prophet key, + And out where dim paths stir with minstrelsy + Wordless and strange to man until your clear + Doubt-shriven strain interprets to the clay. + Oh, might I hear ye as the world shall hear, + Nearer, a poet's journey, to the Golden Year! + + Dear, honoured bards of centuries dim and sped, + Yet glowing ever in your fadeless song, + No dust shall heap its silence o'er ye dead, + No cadent seas shall drown your chorus strong + In more melodious waves. I've lingered long + By your brave harps strung for eternity; + But now runs my wild heart to meet the throng + Who yet shall choir. O wondrous company, + If graves may listen then, I then shall listening be! + + + + +"AND THE LAST SHALL BE FIRST" + + + Of the dumb, bayed god in men, + Of the burdened mother eyes, + Of the little, lifted hands, + Of the passion and the dream + Sighing up from trodden lands, + Fearless, he is born again; + Bold inquisitor of skies, + Treading earth unmastered, free, + And the way grows wide for him + Walking with the day to be. + + Dead the grasp of custom then, + Silent grows her voice and pen; + Part as air the birth-wrong bands, + Break as thread the steel-drawn strands, + Graves no longer over-awe, + Dust is dust and men are men; + A living tongue again gives living law. + + Trophies ours by gold and gun, + Little treasures, houses,--nay, + Guerdons of our dearest fight, + Now are fuel for his sun, + And the dreams that lit the night + Burn as candles in the day. + Yet we made thee, Man of Right, + As our being plead to rise; + Of our straining arm thy might; + Even as we prayed for sight, + Lo, afar thou hadst thy prophet eyes. + + Ay, thy gleaming spear is ours; + Ours thy fearless, golden bow; + And our shining arrows go + From thy bright untaken towers. + Thou art what we will to be, + Sceptre, star, and winged cloud; + We are blood and brawn of thee, + Glowing up through sod and stone, + Burning through thy rended shroud, + Moving with thee, chainless, on, + Till the world, a quickened whole, + Truth-delivered, naked, free, + Once again hath found its deathless soul. + + + + +MAGDALEN TO HER POET + + + Take back thy song; or let me hear what thou + Heardst anciently from me, + The woman; now + This wassail drift on boughless shores; + Once lyre-veined leading thee + To singing doors + Out of the coiling dark; + Teaching thee hark + Earth's virgin candours, blossomed wonderings, + And sanctities inaudible till strings + Of lyric gentleness + Wooed Heaven to confess + Her world, and I was near, + The earliest listener, + Who of my bosom then made Arcady, + And drew thy forest feet to Castaly. + + Take back thy pity. Is it not from man + Who made that world his own? + As barbican + Sends out its darts, and after flings + A dole of myrrh where groan + Is loudest, sings + Thy grace to me, me thus + Unbeauteous + By thee. Uneased thy covenanted bit + From Levite ark till now. Thy judges sit, + Gods ruminant, to keep + Earth pure for dulcet sleep + Of babe and mother. Ay, + Drones yet the lulling lie, + Whilst I, Disease uncinctured, darkly mate + With guard and sentry of thy hierarchate. + + Thine ages, are they fair? Shall they yet draw + Child-homage from our eyes? + The woman awe + As her own babe? Far stretch the avid spans + Of fame-drunk emperies, + And all are man's; + But from what tower of praise + Does Justice gaze? + Art is thy boast? "See how we garland her, + The goddess of our hands?" Yea, yea, but where + Is Truth, save by whose breath + Art is a laurelled death? + "Our churches these, and this + Our Holy Writ; there wis + Our altars high, and sanctuarised sod!" + But what, care-taking soul, hast done with God? + + The bairning time I knew, the whispering breast, + But in thy world no place + Was for my nest, + Fragrant for perilous brooding pause. + Thou went'st thy pace; + My gathered straws + And grasses cast to dust + To make thy lust + A wayside couch. Deep from the nation's root, + The bower-tree where homes are nesting fruit, + Thy blight creeps up unseen + On bitten way to the green, + Till no hope-banneret + Makes Spring in windy fret + Of flagellant boughs that whip my fingers bare, + Too chill at last to build, to bleed, to care. + + Must surge so late with Nature's spawning ruse? + Her stintless passioning + Lest she should lose + The younglet of her dearest pang? + To thee, her tenderling, + She gave lust-fang + To run the jungle's harm; + Now strives thee to disarm, + And fend Life from that weapon lent thy wear + Till thou, forsaking dust, mightst capture her. + What need now of the blood + Whose wasteful plenitude + Swept thee through hostile slime + To shores of light and time, + Man-minim safe mid frost and poison dews + Where naught could live that had not life to lose? + + Yet dost thou foster it as thy veined sun; + Thy Heaven and Holy Rood + Build toppling on + Its strifeful hell; root there thy art, + Thy dreams of tenderest bud; + Gaze on the heart + Of its fetidity, + This wreck of me, + And sing. O God, what death, in eyes so bound, + They see Life's beauty in her draining wound! + Lay thou the blind thing down + With saurian tusk and bone, + With dust of sworded maw + And peril's fossil claw, + Lest sexton Earth even Man inter, nor trover + Of after-law untomb for Love her Lover! + + Her lover yet uncarnate; of thy race + To be; long-dreamed mate + Of her embrace; + Whose godling fruit, too prized, too dear + For bandit breath, shall wait + The Garnerer. + Not then mute, anguished wives, + Dumb in law's gyves, + Shall shrink to mother a soul-famined brood,-- + Unbudding sentiencies of flowerhood, + Shut miracles no wand + May touch, that from the hand + Of Toil, the reaver, fall + To dust, their grudged pall, + Leaving imperial web to those who wear + That woof of blood and tears as gossamer. + + Not then! Where now the wailing way o'erteems, + And baffled starvelings bar + The way of dreams; + Pouring to Want, grey-veined Disease, + To Greed, and lurking War,-- + Brute goblinries + With horde-lip sateless on + God-food dust-thrown,-- + Lover and Love shall pass, each babe of theirs, + Darling of Life, born for the higher wars + Where knights of spirit sway, + Summoned to holiest fray + By heralds never bare + To clodded vision. There, + Shriven and sure, the sun-dipped lance shall leap + Till Dream uncorselet clay and put off sleep. + + For me one rift! Through this sepultural blight + A breath runs living, new; + Unburdening light + As when the flame-borne prophet on + The Syrian ploughman threw + A people's dawn. + The world is Heaven worth, + The cradle earth + Casts orphanhood, a Bethlehem God-swung + From crimson grapple with his lyric young. + Here triumph I, so low, + Knowing that Lust shall go, + With whited, anarch train,-- + Shall pass, this curbless, vain + Usurping deity that would compel + The Mary-longing Love to yet mould Jezebel. + + Drag me with life that keeps Death shadow-near + Till I, unfrighted, wake + His charnel fear + In every face that wariful + Meets mine; this bud-mouth make + Unkissable + With kisses; and up-lap + My soul's youth sap + Till 't withers to a clutch about the gold + You think pays all; yet from this reedy mould, + This swamped, unfructant sedge, + Gentility's marsh edge, + I, on free wing, shall take + My swan-course o'er the brake, + Leaving the chanson of thy sin to thee + Who hast not seen, not touched the unstainable me. + + Yet art thou dear, O singer! When we rest + Past all Life's hostel doors, + On her home crest; + And 'neath our feet the dark vat night + From pain's crushed star-grapes pours + The climbing light; + There thou, beside me then, + With moteless ken, + Remembering these, thy pity and thy song, + Dropped at the cross where thou didst nail me long, + Shalt sereless 'scape the aim + Of hot, lance-darting shame, + For over thee shall fall + The dawn-tressed coronal + Of Love I then shall be, wrapping thee in + The pity at whose touch dies every sin. + + + + +FRIENDS + + + There's one comes often as the sun + And fills my room with morning; comes with step + Light as a youth's that joy has hurried home. + If he should greet my cheek, so might a wind + Blow roses till they touch, silk leaf to leaf, + And on their beauty leave no deeper dye; + But with that touch an old world is untombed, + Gay, festal-gowned; and two with nuptial eyes + Walk arm-locked there, flinging the curls of Greece + From proud, smooth brows. As trapped between two throbs, + Their laughter dies in silent passion's kiss; + And I from glow of ancient dust look up + To meet the untroubled eyes of my friend's bride, + Her pretty, depthless eyes that smile and smile + Possessingly, not grudging alien me + A footstool place about her sceptred love. + And I, too, from imperial largess, smile. + + Another comes more rarely than new moon, + And always with a flower,--one; pours tea + Like an old picture softly made alive, + Sings me a ballad that once teased the ears + Of golden Bess, and reads the book I love. + If he must journey, first he comes to lay + Knight-service on my hand; no passion then + More swift than when a last cool petal falls + To faded summer grass; but as he goes + I see a girl deep in a forest lane, + A narrow lane dark-roofed with locking firs; + And there are purple foxgloves shoulder high, + And round the girl's knees Canterbury bells. + Upon the air is scent of wounded trees, + As though a storm had passed there, and great owls + Ruffle a shade unloved of birds that sing. + But at the green lane's end, far down + A bit of heart-shaped sun tells where the road + Lies wide and open; on the sun the still + Dark shadow of a steed: and by the girl + One who shall ride,--unvisored now, and pale. + "And when I come," he says, to me who know + He'll come that way no more; then hear my door + Closed softly on a sob ten centuries old. + + And there is one whom never sun or moon + Brings to my gate; but when amid a throng + That fills some worldly room I see him pass. + The light about me is of regions where + Cold peaks are blue against a colder sky, + And in the dusk-line where begins the Doubt + Men call the Known, we stand in wingless pause, + Unheavened weariness in untaught feet, + And in our hearts sad longing for the fire + Of stars from whence we came. "The earth," he says, + And warms in his my hand amazed to lie + In strange, near comfort,--blossom of first pain. + Then low we dip into the clinging night + That is the Lethe of God-memories; + Stumble and sink in chains of time and sense + Tangle in treacheries of a weed-hung globe, + And tread the dun, dim verges of defeat + Till spirit chafes to vision, and we learn + What morning is, and where the way of love. + In that gold dawn we part, knowing at last + That earth can not divide us. With a smile + He goes, and Fate leads not but runs before + Like an indulged child. That smile again + I sometimes see across the world--a room. + + + + +TRYST + +(AFTER READING FROM SHAKESPEARE) + + + Night, thou art heavy, with no stars to chain + Thy darkness unto heaven, that thy feet + May dance along these cliffs in gay retreat + Of the pursuing sea; heavy as pain + Where eyes see not the end, or tears that stain + The joy of him who conquers by defeat; + Or this dark sea whose heart doth climb and beat + The stones that make no sign, then falls again. + + Cry with the night and wrestle with the wave, + Ye two-edged winds that cut this shore and me; + I warm me still with thinking of a grave + That can not hold the dust's eternal part; + For here across the centuries and the sea, + A dead hand lies like flame upon my heart. + + + + +IN THE STUDIO + + + Bowed in the firelight's softly climbing gleam, + I sit a shadow, in a shadow's place; + While through the great, grey window vaguely stream + Twilight caresses on each pictured face + That one hour gone was cold in art's repose; + Now each still canvas answers tremblingly, + Till eyes unveil and living spirit glows + Where no light was while the rude Day went by. + And rudest Day, that passed so sternly bare, + Cold as the life that walks without desire, + Unbeauteous as duty or despair, + Plucked by a hope that will not set her free, + Turns back, while memory's soft, informing fire + Falls on her face, and Beauty looks at me. + + + + +LOVERS' LEAP + + + In Greece I found the place, though earth + Has many such; and wandering there alone, + One Autumn evening when the moon rose late, + I heard this song, though none was there to sing. + A ghostly rune, yet left the alarmed dark + Quivering with life, tear-warm and murmuring: + + No morrow is if hearts say no; + Life is gone when love doth go. + No tear to weep, no prayer to pray; + Endeth time with lovers' day. + + This trailing night will pale and flee, + And dawn again creep o'er the sea; + Light's tender hands will earth attire, + Aloft will swim the golden fire, + And every bird begin his lay, + But I shall know there is no day. + + And Spring shall come. With teary cheek, + But heart of Bacchus, she will seek + With healing eyes each winter wound, + Till little minstrels of the ground, + The choral buds, in wonder wake + To croon the dewy songs they take + From brooks that haunt the woodman's glade + And lose a dream in every shade. + And ere the Spring has vanished, + Summer will make her rosy bed + And new loves take with every wind + Till earth be laden with her kind + And foster-bosomed Autumn come + To nurse the darlings of her womb. + + But naught of season, change, or sun, + Recks the heart whose love is done. + Oh, ne'er again will beauty wear + For my sad eyes a robe more fair, + And ne'er again will music make + A sweeter song for my poor sake. + No tear to weep, no prayer to pray! + Endeth time with lover's day. + + No morrow is if hearts say no; + Life is gone when love doth go. + Death, O Death, why dost thou flee + From one whose wish is but for thee? + Here is thy pillow, on my breast. + No dove but would its spiced nest + Forego to couch in this sweet bed + That here I open for thy head. + Thou wilt not hear? Thou wilt not come? + Then must I seek thee in thy home. + Once more lift up this stone-dead heart, + And leap to find thee where thou art! + + + + +HAVENED + + + Come, Flower of Life, and lay thy beauty's rose + Upon the breast that storm and thee divide; + And like true knights whose queen no laggard knows, + Forth gently shall my love-bid fancies ride + To serve thy heart, and bring thy wishes in; + And shuttling rhyme a web shall make thee then + Whilst thou dost gaze, nor thy poor weaver chide. + + Sweet wonder lay upon my opening eyes + That showed me in a gracious court of trees + Whose leaves were clouds that caught and lost sunrise, + And fell in mist upon a twirling breeze + That traced the ground and to a river grew, + Casting its tender spray in tinted dew + As curved its silver way with laughing ease. + + I followed, forest deep, this wooing guide + Through fragrant gloom of cliff and bower o'ergrown, + Free as a fawn the stream 'twas born beside, + Nor held my step with fear at sounds unknown,-- + High murmurings among the cloudy leaves, + As when some dull and dreamy throng receives + Strange lyric stir from power not its own. + + And more and more the murmurs grew like song, + Save that no song could drop such honey-rain; + The lyre-god's self would do it unsweet wrong, + Were he that golden sound to breathe again; + And as my guide into a cave did pass, + That closed seemed, and yet unclosed was, + That airy cadence stooped and bore me in. + + Then wandered life from out my memory, + Gone from desire, as ghost at last must go; + Nor shadow fell, where shadow could not be, + From those dark lures that make our worldly woe. + O Sweet, forgive that my inconstant tongue + Should dim the glories that I moved among + With name of gloom that wrongs the world we know. + + The dome was fair as Heaven, or Heaven, in sooth, + It might have been, but that there shone, + The centre 'neath, a fountain-featured truth + That might no rival of its radiance own. + Ah, this was Heaven's heart, if Heaven be, + And the bright dome but its gold boundary; + Yet gleamed here no crown or mounted throne. + + The music budded till it dropped soft showers; + All things to other changed, though here no mage; + Clouds turned to light, and light to sweeter powers, + And chance and change to all was privilege; + The air was full of phantom-stirring things, + And I not breathed but that I touched new wings, + And sent some dream on airy pilgrimage. + + Ere my delight had held me pausing long + Beneath a cloud that rained me lilies cool, + A stir awoke amid a ferny throng + That leaned their trembling grace above a pool, + And following the flutter of a song + To feathery rest where blossoms minute-young + Oped arms of vermeil soft, and dawning gule, + + Mine eye saw Love. White on a verge's mount, + That swelled to show its burden dear, she lay; + A sighing mist that partly filled the fount, + And o'er the brink sought tenderly to stray, + For her fair body pillowed soft the ground, + Growing glad upward arms to clasp her round + And of each grace take new and sweet account. + + In nymphlike mould her gentle figure ran, + Though nymph so bright did never sport in dell; + Her eyes an angel's were, if angels' can + Be thousand times more fair than dream can tell; + Unfalling tears they held, yet so could please + They might have hermits made forget their knees + And kings find out they had them, such their spell. + + Above her forehead hovered close a star, + Like spirit guard, whose ever-changing ray + Was fed with fires of sacrifice that are + Love's life,--the offerings earth lovers lay + Upon her shrine, and as they pale or glow + She smiles or droops as this true star doth show,-- + Or dim or bright as serve we or betray. + + Beside her was an instrument of tune, + Of changeful beauty as her couch of cloud, + And as I looked she woke it to strange rune, + As in low murmur moved her thoughts aloud,-- + For all Love's thoughts are music,--but to make + That ditty o'er, what heart would undertake, + And with a mortal chant her utterance shroud? + + Anear her stood a youth bare of all guise + Save when a light enwrapped him in its flame; + He bore the ages in his listening eyes, + And prophecy there waited for a name; + Joy loved him best, and gave eternity, + And his lithe, lustrous being seemed to say + "I am the aspiration of all dream." + + Upward he gazed as though he would read o'er + The scroll of rising winds, the burst of suns, + And lists--ah, might it be earth's shore + Freed of her epic hates and tuned groans! + War's passion beat, and woe's sad chorus past, + And all her song pure-winnowed, clear at last, + Pouring the music of her happy moons! + + Then moved his lips, but yet unborn is he + Who may with their resound make sweet his own; + He who shall come as morning walks the sea, + Mate of the Wind when all her harps are one; + So much we know by frail yet quenchless light + That creeps through shadows of our lute-poor night,-- + The brave rose-glimmers of his singing dawn. + + Lo, every dream new-homing from far ways + On silent wing or spirit wave of air, + Came circling o'er his head in hovering maze, + Seen not, nor heard, albeit I knew them there; + But as each passed before his lifted face, + They gleamed to sight, and grace so mounted grace + My eyes seemed there anointed, though afar. + + Then radiant couriers shook the fountain Heart + And turned me thither. Sweet and bold surprise + Took all my being with such tremorous start + I marvelled how aught else had held my eyes. + I could not tell what the bright wonder was + Whose garner-breast held every beauteous cause + Makes earth remember, and forget, the skies. + + There shone the star that lit man's first desire, + And there his hope that latest fluttered bare; + One look translating made me as a lyre + Swept with a joy the heart of Truth might share,-- + Truth that is silent, wanting joy to sing,-- + But ere I breathed had for wondering, + A face out-flashed wreathed with sun-flinging hair. + + Youth was the angel of that countenance, + Where graces sprang in ever fairer throng; + Yet she was old ere any star's birth-dance, + If word of earthly time, or old or young, + Means aught of eyes whose brooding splendour swept + The silences when Uncreation slept + And gave the dream that woke the suns in song. + + Each age that left a glory left it writ + Upon her brow, as with a pen of light + Whose track was pearls, and as each whiter lit + The story there, the court grew softlier bright; + Each dullsome thing--Oh, no thing there was dull! + Flushed o'er itself with glow more beautiful, + As might fair, sleeping gods wake to delight. + + Then all the wonder that made vague her form, + Oped on a figure splendent so to view; + Mine eyes an instant swooned; and as from storm + Of warring rainbows it endeared grew + To shape of her who 'gan descending slow, + Fair Love looked up, and Poesy knelt low: + 'Twas Beauty's self, and mother of the two. + + Whilst yet I gazed all vanished were the three; + And as a sighing shore no more may hold + The mermaid wave that would go out to sea, + So slipped the vision from my fancy bold. + O Flower of Life, no rest for me but this, + To dream awhile, and then awake to press + Upon my heart thy curls' beloved gold! + + + + +MID-MAY + + + Hand clamped to desk, + And eyes on task undone, + I see a meadow pool, + With shaken willows silvering. + O, gods that trouble me, + Wherefore, wherefore?-- + Pan is at the door. + + An arabesque + Of sifted sun + And forest star-grass, cool + With shadows tunnelling: + Witch-work that tauntingly + Webs my bare floor: + Ah, Pan is at the door. + + I'm civilized, + And in my veins + The mountain brook is still + As water in a jar; + But oh, the heart hill-born, + It paineth sore, + For Pan is at the door. + + Ye sacrificed + Of earth, what rains + Have wept their will + And drowned your rebel star, + That ye should sit forlorn, + Telling Greed's score, + When Pan is at the door? + + + + +THE LOSS + + + When thou shalt search thy glass nor find the flower + That there so long smiled gay, unwithering, + And from sad vantage of a forlorn hour + That fore nor aft unmasks one hint of Spring, + Thou mourn'st the barrenness of beauty spent + With no reserved treasure for the day + When all that youth and sunny fortune lent + No more should light adoring eyes to thee, + And fear'st thyself a-cold, by the last storm + Beat to thine inn, a still, uncarping guest, + Thy once bright eye a pilot to the worm + Making his dungeon way to his new feast, + Drop not a tear then for thy beauty fled, + But for the wounds it healed not bow thy head. + + + + +CALLED + + + I rise, I pass; + The feast is on, bright is the board, + Undrained the comrade glass; + Love's sheltering eyes are deep and nigh; + Fame waits with shining word; + But sweeter, goldening the sphere, + A voice falls from another sky; + The wasting world I do not hear, + And no god laughs as I pass by, + A wanderer. + + Unpausing lowers + The gleam of her from other airs, + And Being's guarded doors + Are open wide for journey free + Where wait my chosen stars; + And o'er me, O what lustres break + Of that desire, Reality, + That burns a thousand suns to make + One nightingale to sing for me, + A soul awake! + + Far, far I sped + Down moonless lanes from doubt to doubt; + With hasting, hungry tread + Up slopes of frost unpitying + Where the last star went out; + There fell I in unlifting dark, + And lying while an aeon's wing + Dragged o'er me bare, wind-stript and stark, + As leafless planets dream of Spring, + Dreamed she would hark. + + Then by me bound, + Came one who wore my lost career + With star on star pinned round, + And stood him by my bones to stare. + With pity's ancient sneer + He mocked my bleachen nudity; + Then did she turn, then did she care, + And pausing where I might not see + She let the winds blow back her hair + And cover me. + + + + +SONG OF TO-MORROW + + + Sound, O Harp of Being, set + Deathless in the winds of time! + All thine ancient part forget, + Wailing lust, and strife, and crime! + Clouds of hate are now sweet rain: + Thou shall never moan again. + + Harp of Being, O forget + Hesper dead that played on thee, + All her golden fingers wet + With the blood of misery! + Morning sweeps along thy strings; + Thou art done with yester things. + + Bright thou art with drops that fell + Watering earth's long-buried Spring; + Thou hast quivered safe through Hell + Where Love found immortal wing; + Sound, while Life unfrenzied calls + Joy to hallowed Bacchanals! + + Harp of Dawn, forget, forget! + Sound thee of the hours now come + When the vine and violet + Bind to earth the fallen drum. + Palsied as a dying star + Fails the shaken torch of war! + + From each pennoned pinnacle + Of the cities of the free, + Clasped in time invisible, + Flows the wonder flown to thee; + Thou so swift to throb and start + With the singing earth's new heart! + + By the light that sets mind free, + By the night that once it wore, + By the soul man is to be, + By the beast he is no more; + By thy past, unmeasured pain, + Thou shalt never moan again. + + + + +LITTLE DAUGHTERS + + +I + + What is sweeter, sweet, than you? + Not the fairy dew + Of these bee-sipped pastures where + Time, unsandalled, unaware, + Rests him ere he tire. + + Shall I his forgotten hour + Strike for thee? + Fatefully, + Lift the wand that wakes + Woman in the flower? + Then o'er dream's horizon breaks + Rose of other fire; + From a world more sweet + Rival rise the fragrant floods; + Breath that makes + Thy morning meadows dun, + Mutes their dew-bells, misty hoods + Every leaf that shone; + Sets thy daisy-fondled feet + Twinkling to be gone; + Down the ways and up the ways, + Hope-fleet, trampling care + As curling buds, + Iris goal joy-near; + Then a-creep on praying knees, + Frail shoulders bent to bear + Heaven's falling sphere. + + Ah, not yet, heart's wonder! + A little hour we'll stay, + And thou wilt give me grace of dawn + For travelled, dusk array. + This gown of mottled years, + By noon and gnome-light spun, + Enchant me to surrender + To Ariel ministers; + Here poised with thee before + Thy summer world's wide door, + And glory that is hers; + This soft, unclamorous sky + That makes a lotus ship of every eye + Upventuring; song's sail that pilotless + Drifts down, a wing's caress + On billowed field and climbing shore + Whose veiny tidelets beat and cling, + Bloom-labouring, + Invincibly sweet and far, + Up looming cone and scaur, + And clambering spill + To lap of ledge and aproned hill + The heaped and whispering greenery + Of beauty's burden that unburdens me! + + And thou, the fairest thing + In this fair shaman-ring, + Shall my sore magic loose thee wandering? + Has Life such faltering need, + Mid outlands where she runs, + She cannot reach the suns + Save thou dost bleed? + Shall she go fleet, + With heart of stouter cheer, + Because thou givest her + Thy little, bruised feet? + + Thou'dst earn thy Heaven? Dear, I know + Heaven must not ban thee shining so! + Why shouldst thou laden bow, + And climb, and slip, and toil, + And blanch thy cheek to keep thy soul as white, + Inviolate as now? + O, we have dreams we shall not put away + Till earth be fair as they; + When all this work-night coil + Shall be unwound by wizard fingers bright + That send our own to play; + And wisdom, wiser than we know, shall find + The birth trail to the mind; + Nor spirit waver, panting here and yon + Seeking sun-vantage, for all heights are won. + Shall not we then be as the flowers, + Drinking dew dowers + As now thou dost? + Glad petals that unclose + About Life's heart,--at last the perfect Rose? + Sweet, I will trust + Love and the morn; + Fold here the wakeful wand, + Leave thee in dewy bond + Of blossomy sleep. + Who knows but thou hast won the steep + By silent, angel way, + Hidden and heavenly, + That leaves no trace of thorn? + Star-flower, keep thy sky; + If man must climb, let him go up to thee; + A daisy may be nearer God than he-- + Than I. + + +II + + What crime was hers, that she lies hushed, + Dead with the price, while you and I, + With lifted head, walk sinless by? + Pause then,--but spare + That easy tear; the tale I'll bare. + Mid stones that pushed + Her eager life back, grudged her room + For root without one bloom, + There strangely blushed + Some little dreams,--not gloriously fine + As yours and mine, + But vague, and veiled, and few; + She hardly knew their names, but felt the stir + That filled her heart with whispers as they grew, + And knew that life lay in them, life for her. + When Hunger came she turned her breast + And let him feed. Cold followed, gripped + Her veins and sipped + The thin blood thinner; both she pressed + As close as lovers, lest + A darker fiend might creep within + Her empty arms; lest she might buy, + With one swift hour of sin, + A poisoned ease from tooth of need,-- + A little food, a little fire, and die; + And she had dreams to shelter, little dreams to feed. + Oh, unresisting dumb! + In wide earth's harvest-gold + She asked no share, + If in the dust a crumb + Might be for her; + If she might round her aching body fold + One hour's undriven sleep,-- + But one hour more, + Safe from the Want that pried + Her thin and shaken door,-- + That hour the shivering dawn denied + With scream that cut life through, + And made her wretched pillow seem a rose + Her clinging cheek would keep + In soft, ungoaded death! And ah, suppose + A few more pence the day + Were richly hers, to make youth gay + With ribbon or a flower ere it flew! + (So soon toil's wrinkles come!) + Then would she make her dreams a fairer home; + Then would her heart be stronger where they grew; + Then would she walk more bravely knowing them; + Then would her eyes be brighter showing them. + Yet did they whisper, yet they stirred + Uptremblingly, till half their breath + Was music, half was song; + Told of free hours and a wild heath + Where wind and sun ran dappling; of a bird + Bough-throned, whose trill + Turned all the forest leaves to wings,-- + His singing young; + Of a moon-goldened hill + Where blossoms danced; of sweeter, holier things; + A sea-beach grey, + Where waves were drowned twilight, and the day + Hung in a pause that softly, suddenwise, + Became a soul. She too would have a soul, + And hours with God and friends; no more give all, + Now there were dreams, to the machine. + Then rose with young, star-driven eyes + To face the lords of gain, + And here she lies. + + Lift up the cotton, thinned with wear, + That hides the poor, starved shoulder; bare + The bruise shows, like a printed paw. + Haste, draw the dumb, frayed sheet again, + And think you cover so the stain + Upon our hearts; for--have the truth!-- + 'Twas we who put the club of law + Into bought hands to strike her battling youth. + She kept her virtue's gold, + Fought hunger, fiend, and cold + Unvanquished; when the might of Hell + Rose in law's name and ours, she broken fell. + O friend, when next you smooth the golden head + Like nestled morning 'gainst your knee, + Look farther,--see + Fair girlhood dead. + These lips, unvisited by love, were sweet + As are thy fondling's; this want-hollowed cheek + A little ease had made + Playground of dimples, joy's rose-seat; + And could these eyes ope they would speak + Of one who bought her dreams of Death and paid. + If blind thou shrinkest yet + To meet Truth bare, + Then as thou'st dealt with this pale maid + Life shall thine own besiege. + Injustice holds + No sanctuary folds; + To fence out care + We must the planet hedge; + Justice is God, and waits + Behind our blood-built tower-gates; + And as indifference + Was once our soul's pretence, + Who then shall heed us, who shall understand, + When our crushed hearts lie in the vengeant hand? + But is she dead? Faint on my ears + A far-off singing falls, + Sweet from time's sleep + Amid the stainless years + Yet unawake to men. + Nearer it calls, + Like music through a rain, + And o'er the distant ridges sweep + Soft garments and young feet. O maidens, ye + Are like a cloud in beauty,--nay, more swift! + If that the milky stream of stars could lift + Its clustered glory, hasten free, + And while we marvelled pass from east to west, + Then ye would mirrored be! + + The hills seem lit with brides, + And she whose death-cold breast + Was shrouded here, is't she who guides + This fearless company + Sure of earth's welcome as a maiden Spring? + And in their eyes the dreams she fought for, + In their hands the flowers she sought for, + On their lips the songs that here she did not sing! + + Not dead! While Destiny hath need + Of living dream and deed, + Ay, she shall deathless be! + While aught availeth, and God is, + For in her hope lay His! + O, ye who mar Love's face + Ere Love be born, leave not this place, + Pass not this white form by, + Till from assaulted skies ye hear the cry, + "She is not dead till ye have murdered Me!" + + + + + Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. + at Paul's Work, Edinburgh + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. + Original spellings have been retained. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Path Flower and Other Verses, by Olive T. 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