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diff --git a/41059-0.txt b/41059-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..75b885d --- /dev/null +++ b/41059-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2428 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41059 *** + + DIVINE ADVENTURES + + A BOOK OF VERSE + + BY + JOHN NIENDORFF + + [Illustration] + + BOSTON + RICHARD G. BADGER + The Gorham Press + 1907 + + + Copyright 1907 by JOHN NIENDORFF + + All Rights Reserved + + + Printed at + THE GORHAM PRESS + Boston, U. S. A. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + Page + +_Cupid and Psyche_ 7 + +_A Toast_ 25 + +_Whisper to My Love_ 25 + +_Ode to a Rural Scene_ 27 + +_Ode to a Bee_ 29 + +_To Death_ 31 + +_A Dirge_ 33 + +_Time and Rhime_ 34 + +_The Poet and the World_ 35 + +_The Guerdon_ 36 + +_A Song_ 37 + +_To X_ 38 + +_On a Festal Night_ 38 + +_To X_ 39 + +_Wandering Willie_ 39 + +_My Lady of Dreams_ 40 + +_To a Mocking Bird_ 46 + +_The Mystery_ 48 + +_Fame_ 48 + +_Good Night My Love_ 49 + +_My South_ 49 + +_To Lloyd Mifflin_ 50 + +_Keats_ 51 + +_A Poet_ 51 + +_The Critics_ 52 + +_Availability_ 52 + +_A Portrait_ 53 + +_On the Death of a Young Lady_ 53 + +_To My Love_ 54 + +_The Storm King_ 55 + +_The Birth of Fancy_ 56 + +_Despair_ 57 + +_The Magazines_ 58 + +_The Sphinx_ 59 + +_A Shell_ 60 + +_To the Traveller_ 61 + +_Song to Death_ 61 + +_The Magical Ring_ 63 + + + + +DIVINE ADVENTURES + +A BOOK OF VERSE + + + + +CUPID AND PSYCHE + +(_The Spirit of the Tale_) + +To M. + + + For in the morning of our love, there came + The spirit singing such entrancing notes, + As sweeps the whole empyrian with a flame, + Wherein, a dream, pure lofty pleasure floats, + And love and beauty find their mellow throats, + In glorious fervor, drinking from the golden bowl, + The wine of joy that binds them soul to soul, + Thou art my muse and thine the phantasy + With spirit hand to guide unconsciously. + For all I bring thee, minion of thy beauty, + This little garland of a memory fruity-- + A simple tale, as old as love is old, + Of virgin art within a golden mold, + Still burning, molten, shaping unto glory-- + A matchless song and yet a simple story. + How mischief led a cold unwitting boy + Along new paths to taste a sudden joy; + How curious Love asport from flower to flower, + Hath found a sense too sweet to overpower, + And yet such magic sweet, that once is tasted, + A moment otherwheres were eons wasted; + How Cupid, wandering in a lovely valley + With arrowed bow, by many a maid must dally, + Till Psyche, like a prisms ingathered hues, + Into a sudden virgin light he woos. + Sweet Psyche princes in a golden land, + And Princess still from bounding strand to strand, + The fairest maid of any. Cupid heavenly born, + Fair son of Beauty's queen, whom to adorn. + Needs but to name, Great Venus Queen of Beauty-- + Whom to adore was but a solemn duty. + This lad whom she hath dowered with all her charms, + A voice resistless and soft amorous arms, + And named him Love, now raptured, lies, + A simple lover in a woman's eyes. + A tale of heart and soul, and so of sorrow, + In afterwhiles when riches stoop to borrow-- + A tale of being's subtlest jewelry + O'erlaying grief with golden filigree. + And I would soar on golden wings of song, + And in the souls empyrian float along, + From height to height of all the heart's dear chimes, + To bless thee for the love that thou hast brought, + With greater life. Let tender tinkling rhimes, + Like pure white doves, lead on the lovely thought. + + + I + + Deep in a woody vale, where crystal streams + Run vaguely like the threads of vanished dreams; + Where fountains tinkle to the yellow sun + Sweet rainbow-tinted hopes, and lightly run, + In joyful race unto the distant ocean; + Where greeny swards are checked with light and shade, + To make a cool retreat for fine emotion; + And velvet lawns, than never weft was laid, + More intricate designed of pleasing hues, + So richly gem'd in Orient pearls of dews + Along quaint aisles in mosques of Samarkand, + To bear some solemn priest in deep devotion; + Where vague far vistas stretch on every hand. + To luring scenes; where happy shepherds amble, + With happy maids, as light as lambs agambol, + Or lie alone, with flocks abrowse by streams, + And rear quaint misty cities out of dreams, + Along far clouds of pearly shape and lining, + In crystal walls and domes of no defining, + And people them with shepherds, maids and gods + That live for love, until the shepherd nods, + And dreams of his own Phillis fairer far,-- + Upon a hillock in a shady grove, + The heart of this fair scene, its central star, + And viewless as the stars of heaven are, + With too much light, stood once the house of love. + A mansion builded of the rarest stone, + Transparent, gem like, carved, and strangely wrought, + As some fine architecture in a dream is sought, + And gird with fancy's fairest flowers blown. + The house of love, and here of balmy days, + Its gentle spirits thrid in dreamy maze. + And here the days are always balmy, here + 'Tis sweet to laugh, and sweet to drop a tear. + Its crystal halls in magic mirror walls, + Stand empty but for one, while myriad falls + Of lover's feet go tripping after her + Or him and wild faint odors sweetly stir + Through all the room from raptured lovers breathing, + While each a rosy crown for aye is wreathing. + This is the house of love, the golden key + Is faith, sweet faith in joy of living, + That doubts the mirror not, nor cares to see + What hidden scenes the glass is loth in giving. + + + II + + Here long ago, so runs the gentle tale, + Sweet Psyche, wondrous fair and pearly pale, + Her young loves virgin brow all softly tinting, + With far faint hues of waking loves first hinting, + And all enraptured Cupid, arm in arm, + Secluded far from rude eyes loveless harm, + Have wiled through many a long and gracious hour, + Like fair twin bees within a fragrant flower. + Such love as they have sipt! Such silent bliss + Of raptured bosoms welded with a kiss! + Such kisses lavished rich and juicy ripe! + Such glorious songs as only lovers pipe! + From morn to morn, the lover's boundless season, + Unvext with chilly thought, or chilled with reason. + Ah! Love thou art a happy reckless boy, + To measure ages with a moments joy! + Adown the streams of golden waterfalls, + On hidden rocks the white faced Lurley calls. + Rash wilful Cupid recks without the cost-- + If Venus favor not then all is lost. + Afar he flies unto her royal throne, + To claim the boon of joys that he would own, + And bring unto the mount his glorious bride, + Immortal thence forever by his side. + But Venus, queen of Beauty, waxes wrath, + To find new beauty cross her royal path. + And shall this son of all her royal favor, + Bind to a watery chit of mortal flavor? + Not so! A mother's newest plans are older, + Than any fancy scheme of youthful molder-- + His fate is hers to mold! Then hie away + To sport, but think no more to disobey. + Old mother Locksmith! Venus is thy name! + Of myriad escapades, all back to thee the blame! + The angry queen hath ruled, and Love, achaffing + At wasted time, hies back to love alaughing. + And he hath sworn that she is fairer far + Than that proud goddess of the morning star, + Albeit queen of Beauty. Here, in mortal line, + Our tale should end beneath the smile parental, + In Iris tinted shower of peace divine, + And blessings less of use than ornamental. + + + III + + But all the mount hath heard this reckless oath, + And all the mount aghast, if Venus wroth, + Be not the Venus terrible. Alas! + Such lovers make sad flowers in the grass. + And woful trees by many a dusky stream + Embar the fire of many a love's young dream. + And grizzly monsters moan in sunken path, + Some fiery love that stirred the gods to wrath. + But beauty's queen hath brooked no passing jest + To penetrate her deep heart's wild unrest. + But in the stilly quiet of her wrath, + Conceives dark pitfalls for the lover's path. + And she that once hath hied to amorous chase, + And grieved outstript in love's immortal race, + Now calls her white winged swans, on fleecy pinions, + To bear her down to earthly love's dominions, + For naught of love or sorrow. From a cave, + Whence flowed her double fountain bitter wave, + Two serpents, green and gray, and mottled golden, + Within her chariots hold hath she close folden; + Cirque-couchant, glittering, whispering sibilant + Deep curses old, they with their fury pant, + To strains the subtle bonds of jealous art, + And plant deep venomed fangs within her heart. + But now the feathry chariot glides along + The airy sea, among the sable throng + Of darkling hours, whose soundless feet are gliding + Unto the amorous dome of Love's abiding. + And they have halted, serpents, swans and queen + Within a grove that shields them with its screen + Of em'rald interlacing. There a little bloom + Of nameless hue, and forest wild perfume, + She plucks, and crusheth in a bowl of jade. + And with her breath a syrup weird hath made, + Whose faint escaping break along dim aisles, + Of forests, brooding mournful eld, beguiles, + Till such a wild heart rending moan hath risen, + As never rose within a tortured prison + To greet a ray of light. But heark'ning not, + She bends above her serpents, breathing hot + Upon their heads, een as they pause to strike, + This mystic lotion. Lo! what wonders like + Hath ever magic seer in lore beholden?-- + Each serpent skin a woman's form enfolden, + That with that breath of drunken magic lotion + Hath sprung to being with an exquisite motion, + And such sweet words, as through a thousand years, + Have gathered music for a tale of tears. + But Lo! one groweth old, and very old,-- + A toothless haggard hideous to behold. + And one hath grown a marvellous sun-bright creature, + Of luscious form and speechless worship's feature. + One stands like sunlight on a crested wave, + And one like murky darkness in a cave. + But each a low obedient knee hath bended, + To hear the queenly will thus long suspended. + And thus the queen, to her the radiant maiden: + "Thou bitter sweet, thou vessel overladen, + "In yonder dome a fairer maid than thou, + "Sees all her beauty in a lover's vow, + "Nor heeds the ripples on that mirror's sheen, + "From troubled depths of her fair self unseen. + "Go thou, and with thine ointed tongue reverse + "The mirror's face, and there thine own immerse; + "Remembering still, thou hast a serpent's tongue, + "That holds thee slave, till thou hast surely flung + "Its glittering barb into that silly heart." + Then, like an apparition of a dream, + The maid hath vanished, with a hellish gleam. + And thus the queen, unto that gruesome hag: + "In yonder dome a youth hath founden beauty + "Within a maid, and swears all foul and sooty, + "That is not there. Thou hast a serpent's eyes, + "And seeth so what dreary falsehood lies, + "In such a mirror. Go reverse the glass, + "And thine the beauty he has wasted on the lass, + "He hath not seen." The hory dame is gone. + And Venus left within the grove alone, + Recalls her swans and mounts the starry air. + + Then she, the new born maid, as false as fair, + Hath found sweet Psyche in the crystal dome, + And creeping, like a mad thing to her soul, + In friendly guise, exacts a hideous toll + For all her blissful life: "How can she bind + "Her sunny soul to such a treacherous mind? + "And she hath wed a libertine, a rake, + "Whom even now her pleasures must forsake + "To drink new pleasures with another bride. + "And if she creeps in silence to his side + "Forsooth unwelcome sights might come unto her." + With such foul words the fiend began to woo her, + And in her pearly ear hath poured the breath, + Of hideous doubt that stabs her soul to death. + And then hath wandered with exultant heart, + Unto the vales of Crete, her glittering dart, + Of barbed tongue, a woman's sweetness singing, + And ever more hath myriad minions clinging, + Unto her heartless laughter. But no more + To grace our tale. And now the haggard hoar, + On Cupid's angry ears, with whisperings + Of faithless women, and the direful springs + Of wasted lives: "And she hath heard the wind + "Sing always, maids are false and men are blind, + "And in a cavern by the ocean side, + "'Tis daily jest of Wind and Sun and Tide, + "How Psyche tweaks the gentle Cupid's nose + "Between the beds; and Psyche false as fair, + "Needs but a whim to lay her treason bare. + "This very night, if he will but deny her, + "If nothing more, at least 'twere time to try her, + "For sooth unwelcome sights might come unto him." + With such foul words the witch began to woo him, + And in his angry ears hath poured the bane, + That sets his heart at riot in his brain. + + + IV + + What wonder then if in the lonely night, + Sweet Psyche weeps to find her love is slighted; + Feels darkness fall upon her trembling light, + And throws to wind the vows her love has plighted! + And she hath risen from her loveless bed, + With all the stealth her grief supplies instead, + And steals to Cupid's fine unguarded room, + Where she must feast her heart on deeper gloom. + Here Cupid, airy souled, hath fall'n asleep, + Too filled of love such watch for long to keep, + And even now with her in blissful dreams, + He roams again, and all the future seems + As sweets of old. No little pains of doubt, + To mar recalling moments with their rout. + All through the halls, such joy of living blent + Her soul and his in single ravishment. + And Oh! they wander in the flow'ry vale, + All through the dewy morn and evening pale, + And each to drink the other's loveliness, + Despising richest nectar. Even the stress, + Of queenly anger now had bode its time, + And fresh Aurora speeding to this clime, + Hath Venus' royal word to grant his prayer, + That with the dawn to clasp his Psyche there, + In perfect love, with all the world their own. + Ah, promised day! his eager soul hath flown, + To meet the morning. On his lonely bed + Reclines his happy visionary head, + In such sweet dreams. An hour hath lightly flown + When o'er his senses steals a softened moan, + As when a soul all pent and warp'd in gloom, + Hath breathed soul deep, some sudden wild perfume, + That is of freedom. Awaked to such surprise, + He sees with heart aghast the famished eyes, + Of Psyche filling to their very brim + With his forbidden beauty, sees for him, + The golden future vanish, sees aghast + For now he knows his lovely dream hath passed; + That soulless doubt hath razed the golden dome + Of his high hopes to desert sandy loam. + The structured palace falls with all its art, + To grieve a valley with an aching heart. + From out a darkened corner of the ruin rises, + And laughs to view the dismal crisis, + That baneful hag. But Ah! what beauty fairer! + What luscious form arrayed in raiment rarer! + And she hath flown to vales of Thessaly, + Where ever more her mocking eyes shall see, + A myriad eyes upon her beauty glisten, + A myriad ears unto her rumor listen. + And Cupid flees in sudden wild despair. + To drown his soul within the bitter fountain, + Nor Venus now may crown his heart laid bare, + Nor any luscious goddess of the mountain. + + + V + + But Psyche wanders, like a saddened rill, + Thrust from a jewelled grotto in the hill, + To perish in a lonely sandy waste, + And all forlorn, with steps that can not haste, + For such absorbing grief, she chides his heart + That was a glittering palace, now a part + Of ruined things. She writes within the sand + Some resolution high her grievous heart hath planned-- + A sign to mark the spot, some time, some how, + A charm to lead her back again. And now + A little shrine within a lonely place, + Which flow'ry vines with subtle interlace, + Hath reared to Demeter, her wearied feet + Have found. And all her soul hath flown to meet + Her prayer's happiness. It is a bowl, + Of crystal dew, where nature paints her soul. + And Psyche now, a gentle worshipper, + Hath bent sad prayerful knees, and pearly ear, + Low for the golden oracle. Sad eyes, + In tangled braid of smiles and tears surprise + The crystal truth. Lo! she hath seen. And death + Seems struggling for her weary, panting breath! + What horrid charm of Circe's baneful art! + It is a serpent's head, green eyed and swart, + With lightning flashes of a forked tongue, + And glittering treachery on its forehead hung. + Oh! for a generous draft of that sweet moly, + To bring dear Psyche back as pure and holy, + As when a maiden in her jewel palace, + She kissed, for love, her nectar's brimming chalice, + That held serene a limned picture there, + Of wealth of beauty framed in golden hair. + But nature's shrine guides not the errant feet + Of little faith. And sudden prayers all unmeet + For crippled love. Ah! where the happy shrine + Of boundless heart, and still a tongue divine, + In lover's oracles? With holy words + Of sweet ablution when the night engirds + Each little tear? When never a smile but darkens + Its firefly gloom? When never an ear that hearkens. + But dulls a moan? And never a scene outspread + In mirror drops, but darts a serpent's head? + Such bitter moan she made, such bitter moan + No grieving Pan on bursting reeds alone, + In madness ever made to startled streams. + No nightingale her saddest tongueless dreams, + Hath sobbed to beauty on a hidden thorn, + To swoon in over-music at the morn. + But soul is exquisite, the flowers essence, + That through its bruises breathes quintessence. + And all the suffering of the dateless world, + Its rarest, gladdest petals hold enfurled. + This is the soul. Yet all its world a thought + Of smiling strands and sunlit oceans, fraught + With homing argosies. And waneless suns + Shine on its passing gonfalons. + What e'er the mask, its keener eyes see through it. + What e'er the ban its laughter will undo it. + What e'er the time, its fleeting thought will span it. + What e'er the deed its ancient hour began it. + And bruised, unfurl the leaf, the bruise is gone, + Yet heal the wound, the essence breathe right on. + This is the soul. But Psyche grieves an hour + Till every petal in the spirit's flower + Is bruised by so much time, and wand'ring far, + She yet hath wandered farther, like a star + Of aimless race, in melancholy deeps. + Her bittered feet have struggled on the steeps. + Her moaning soul hath crossed the stygian river. + And she hath read the runes of never, never, + In wailing spirits of the sunless moors, + And piteous quagmires seeking piteous shores. + And she, whose mirror was a drop of dew, + When golden fancy played upon her ear, + Now shrieks where horror strikes her spirit through, + Within the gloomy region of a tear. + + + VI + + But one that she hath met within the gloom, + Some shadow wearied from the lake of doom, + Whom she remembers for her ancient self, + Hath led her from the low and crumbling shelf, + That hangs upon oblivion; bound her tresses, + About her brow with old times fond caresses. + And to the weeping shade of beauty's fall, + Presents a little curious lachrimal, + Which she hath wrought with many quaint enlaying + Of happy times and tears. Presents it, saying, + "This is thy beauty bear it to thy love + "And ask no more. Quick to the light above, + "Thy wings must bear this precious charm away, + "Nor pause till thou deliverest it. The day + "Must wane not on thy loveless spirit lorn, + "So long." Then swifter than the dainty morn + She flies unto her love, and all agleam + Her beating fancy lives her future dream. + How fair! How fair! But even as she flies, + The curious urn must tempt her famished eyes, + And she hath paused. Ah! woe betide the lover, + That halts to dream, and tempt the soul to steep + In th' unrevealed. What lethe fumes discover + In such unfathomed deeps, of death or sleep! + + + VII + + As if a pearl had golden wings and far + Had flown to purple lurings of a star, + From out her jewelled grotto still to seem, + The gladdest spirit of a precious dream, + And fluttering over misty mantled hills, + Hath fallen wearied, where her beauty fills, + Some fair recess within a mossy dingle, + For such a rest, and lieth all amingle + With gladdest flowers that ever quivered through + To kiss so sweet and strange a drop of dew-- + A bit of beauty ravishing the brain, + 'Till unremembered dream touch back again + And sketch sweet rainbows on the raptured soul, + Thus gaining e'en her spirits golden goal + Hath Psyche, curious Psyche fallen asleep. + + Her jewelled urn, in bedded mosses deep, + Hath fall'n aside and lieth like a gem, + Of goddess lost from starry anadem. + And here the sun in drinking up the dew, + Hath paused to find an ancient thirst renew, + And, raptured connoisseur of dewy gems, + Would woo the nymph the stony silence hems. + But on her pearly cheek his amorous kisses, + Fall deadly cold. And all is warm caresses, + Unheeded. Lo! His godly art of change, + He fain work. And make some rare and strange + Addition to the old immortal throng: + Behold! Within the raptured skies of song, + Another music like the morning star! + Poor gentle Echo wandering far + Here finds her dear Narcissus kissing lips, + As sweet as hers. But while the honey drips + Of saddest love he poureth in those ears, + Meander's flowery vale a happy whisper hears: + "Narcissus, dear Narcissus now is free, + "Ah! sweet to sing, e'en though his eyes but see, + "This new divine." And pausing on her wings, + Her heart is free with old remembered things. + Poor wronged Arachne spins, a golden thread, + From oak to oak, and hoping wild has fled, + Along such path with such a beating heart, + To catch some dream that hedged her olden art. + It was not meet, in such an artist soul, + Should lurk a spider's venom, nor the whole + Of godly anger lessens this a bit. + And sad Arachne on her beam aflit, + Within a shower of hopes her soul doth steep, + To weave ah! thus to weave a soul asleep! + And Zephyr gathering anemones, + Among the flower beds her dear form sees, + Whom he of late in scented scarf hath borne, + With such fond care, and over seas of corn, + Of emerald depth far stretched in dreamy waves, + To flowery strands, where happy Flora laves + On April morns, he calls his love to view + This pearly fancy sleeping in the dew. + Sweet Flora goddess of the scented hours + Hath woven a dainty wreath of April flowers-- + The tend'rest bloom she gathers for the scent + In maiden April's lap of wonderment-- + A little wreath round head and feet and wing, + For Love-at-ease to call a fairy ring, + Where those enamored blooms must dance + For breezy joy about a soul in trance. + + + VIII + + Now wing'd Apollo, fing'ring golden strings, + Hath wandered far in his dear ponderings, + And fashioned such a music, wild and free, + As wakes to love the cold anemone, + And saddened Hyacinth forgets to moan, + Beside a sweetness sadder than his own--A + sweeter strain than Orpheus honeyed breath, + Had sung to charm the stygian tides of death. + And Iris on a heavenly message sent, + Hath paused to hear this new forlorn lament. + This tender goddess of all daintiness, + Stands tiptoe holding up her showery dress, + 'Tween dainty fingers, till the spangled folds + Of mingled hues, in wondrous bow she holds, + And leans to learn what wondrous thing of beauty, + Must prompt so sweet a lay. Forgotten duty, + That bade her speed to regions somnolent, + For balmy dreams, to nurse a languishment, + That pales the boyish cheek of dimpled Cupid, + She speeds where all of beauty's minions groupéd, + Do feast their eyes upon the source of song. + And after her still comes a charmed throng, + From music's toils the slaves of loveliness. + Ah! when this radiant scene her eye doth bless + What sighs are born of deep enraptured joy! + And Iris now recalls the languid boy; + For this is Psyche! This the dainty nymph, + Whose love hath paled his cheek to dewy lymph! + And all aflame to do a happy thing, + She bounds away upon her swiftest wing, + To Somnus' gloomy cavern. Scarce a thought, + Might mark the time in which her pinions brought, + Her to the drowsy rug of poppies spread, + Where drowsy Somnus nods his hoary head. + His myriad minions, like the forest leaves, + When some wild gust their autumn rest upheaves, + Rush to her overwhelming. Lethe fumes, + Of sweet seduction, oozing from the glooms, + That shield the murky river, drag to aching + Her wearied eyes, and e'en her sense forsaking, + She fain would rest upon the poppied rug, + Like some pale Orient deep within a drug. + But _beauty_ is the dream of godly sleep, + And scare her eyes have fluttered, when a peep + Of golden fragments tantalize their sense + To waking; thus to try, with soul intense, + To reconstruct some evanescent gleam + Of something they remember. Ah! what dream + So fair as Psyche sleeping in a fairy ring? + So fair as languid love's sad wandering + To grief or joy along a feverish beam? + She wakes the drowsy god, demands a dream: + And quits the sunless cave with winged Morpheus. + And now again the amorous sire of Orpheus, + They meet, and now the sad immortal strain, + Shall lure them on to Psyche's dell again. + What though the Thracian queen may bide but ill, + Miscarrying chance with her imperial will?-- + Sweet Iris hath a gentler thought. She brings, + The dream to see those luminous sleeping wings, + All pied and crested like a tiger moth, + When from a soothing beam his heart is loth, + To part, and basks for very idleness; + Those tiny feet where they so lightly press + As not to weight a daisy to the earth; + Turned dimple breasts, such beauty of one birth + As Nature yields no more; one small hand prest + Against them coldly white, and one carest + By raptured blooms, outstretched upon the grasses; + And oh! her head! what glory there surpasses, + Of golden ringlets curling and uncurling + As gentle Zephyr with a silent purling, + Plays free among them,--scarcely parted lips, + So flower like, a wild bee drops and sips, + So sweet he flies away full honey laden, + Unconscious of his lightness. Such a maiden + That Morpheus eld historian of th' ideal + Must write another canto. Softly steal, + The fine emotions o'er his countenance, + As though a prism's unveiléd hues should dance, + Upon a shy chamelion. Seeing this, + The happy Iris mounts upon his bliss, + With soothing words; "Thou seest the butterfly, + "Whose flooding beam hath drown'd dear Cupid's eye. + "The queen demands thou bring him fairest pleasure, + "Of all the joys thou holdest in thy measure. + "Sweet Psyche's story, whispered by the wind, + "In every dewy flower cup thou'lt find, + "As deeply mirrored as the starry skies. + "Fly to the fretting boy with dear surprise + "Of all thy cunning. Kiss his fevered lips, + "As Psyche then, when doubting falls and slips, + "Still left unmarred their blissful stream of life. + "Sweet whisper tales of life and love arife, + "To guide his swooning fancy from its pain, + "To revel in the life of love again." + The Dream hath kindled to a gorgeous hue, + Out speaking words, and in a drop of dew + Hath read sweet Psyche's tearful story. + And Lo! the boy beholds a growing glory + Of something rich and old; and feels the sense + Of olden kisses planted quick, intense, + And warm caresses softly lingering + To lose no dear sensation. Blushes bring, + In quick succession, while his chin atilt, + 'Tween tender fingers, meets a raptured lilt, + Of love for love, as lovers only know. + And he hath seen the bitter path of woe, + Each ragged rock her feet have limp'd upon; + Each hopeless deep, and heard each bitter moan. + And he hath seen her loving spirit burn, + To ope for him the glory of the urn; + Such glory as her joyful eyes have drunken, + Till drugg'd with their own beauty, they have sunken + Unto a dreamless swoon, where ringed thime + Hath framed an art, to rare to draw in rhime. + Then hath he risen from his joyless bed, + Thrown off his garb of woe, and swiftly sped, + Adown the olden path. And like a thought + His heart hath brought him to this valley fraught + With his rich treasure, all his soul asinging + To name the bubbling hope that he is bringing. + And softly as a warming shadow falls + On flowery paths along the sunny halls, + His gentle words caress her sleeping ear, + With all the magic love that she hath long'd to hear. + A blossom opening to the morning sun, + With white cold cheeks the dew hath dreamed upon, + Hath never opened sweeter eyes than hers. + Such sudden pulsing breast! such light that stirs + Such eyes unmeasured deep! as closely folded + In strong white arms her being is remolded, + And Lo! he leads her scarce a thought beyond, + And there where she hath written in the sand, + As though a wizzard waves a magic wand, + The palace rises, new and passing grand. + + + + +A TOAST + +To R. G. B. + + + My Soul! 'Tis a beaker of wine, + And the bubbles that flash to the brim, + Are the nameless, wild songs of mine, + And the ruby is sparkling with them. + + Ah! The beaker is sparkling and brimming!-- + We die, but there's life in the bowl, + While the bubbles are rising and swimming-- + Camerado, I pledge thee my soul! + + + + +WHISPER TO MY LOVE + + + Ah Music! Whisper to my love, + Some golden fancy of thy clime-- + Some glorious sound, + To breath around, + A sweetness, sweeter than my rhime, + Of sweet breath thime + In orange grove, + When she may rove, + As wild and free, + As the Dryads be, + That circle there, around, above her, + To tell her that I love her. + + Ah Beauty! Whisper to my love, + Some glorious fervor of thy being, + On golden sands + Of Orient strands; + By limpid lakes where she is fleeing, + And there is seeing + The classic grace + Of her proud race, + As wild and free, + As the Dryads be, + That circle there, around, above her, + To tell her that I love her. + + Ah Pleasure! Whisper to my love, + Some happiness as sweet as thine, + When wild bee sips + The honey drips, + In early May. And lowing kine, + In dreamy line, + Have led her feet + To the pastures sweet, + As wild and free, + As the Dryads be, + That circle there, around, above her, + To tell her that I love her. + + Sweet trine! Oh! whisper to my love, + Such wildest pleasures thou hast known, + Of lake or strand, + Or flow'ry land, + In happy regions all thine own; + Of dreamy zone, + Where all day long, + Hast sung her song, + As wild and free, + As the Dryads be, + That circle there around, above her, + To tell her that I love her. + + + + +ODE TO A RURAL SCENE + + + Oh! Soul of balsam calm, sweet rural scene! + Thy spirit hand hath led me back again, + By pebbly paths, to mossy couches green, + And where the glowworm and the moth have lain, + To lie and dream! + Or on some warm and soothing rock, + Supine, to watch the white clouds flee and flock, + On everchanging wings, + Of childhood's sweet imaginings. + Or seeking out some shadowy stream, + Where playful fishes flash and gleam, and vanish, + A wild thing too, dull leaden footed care to banish, + How I would seem! + + Along the smoky autumn afternoon, + Where fall the brown leaves, wandring aimlessly, + What song of forest pine, what wild bird's tune, + Hath waked me not to life, but still to be + A spirit wild! + To cut me from the hickory bough, + A whistle piping music sweet enow, + And on the swinging vine, + As free as Bacchus, munch the wine, + From purple festoons undefiled; + Or with the wild winds sport from hill to hill, + As happy as the dewy balm they drink and spill,-- + Their nameless child. + + Or where the rain falls, patt'ring in the dust, + Of winding lanes, to seek no shelt'ring place, + But bare the soul to greet the coolly gust, + And laugh to feel the cold rain in the face. + What joys are mine, + Of haunted nook, and hidden dingle, + Where life and dimpling mirth, may meet and mingle, + And clear melodious plot, + To pipe sweet ditties of their lot, + Till the sad soul that did repine, + Shall wake to consciousness as sweet and wild, + As some lone promise-mother's dreaming of her child, + And as divine! + + Along these paths what amorous gods have pass'd! + What wood nymphs vanished down these shadowy lanes! + What happy olden memories here may last + Of shepherd lassies and great amorous swains, + In jocund dance; + Or fairy Mab, the merry queen, + Hath led her pageantry upon the green, + In delicate rigadoon, + Along the midnight's charmed noon! + But not of these my soul's entrance, + If now the mock bird, warbling wildwood notes, + In rich liquidity of myriad tuneful throats, + Tells his romance. + + Or if the red bird preen his richest plume + Upon the dogwood bough; or crested jay, + Hid in some leafy oak's sequestered gloom, + Shall fret and chatter all the live long day. + Perchance to hear + Some music, fainter than a dream, + Range on its pinions till the soul must deem + That it is there and know + It hath been ever singing so. + And thus to grow as fine and clear-- + Like wild-wood sound to come, to dream, to die,-- + And only pray nought else to charm the spirit's eye, + The spirit's ear. + + + + +ODE TO A BEE + + + Thou busy bee! Thou happy murm'ring bee! + How would I follow on thy viewless course, + To clover dell, or lusher linden tree, + And lose within thy honey's charmed source + All that I am, of hope or fondest dream-- + To be as thou a honeyed spirit wild, + No more, no more from golden worth astray + For what may fairer seem, + But drinking still, with spirit undefiled, + The heavy secrets of the summer day. + + No fruitless season mocks thee with its frown, + No dross within thy waxen treasure dome, + No dark remorse may ever weigh thee down, + But laughing Nature bids thee lightly roam + From scene to scene wherever joy may be. + Not aimless wand'ring on from gloom to gloom, + But with a purpose greater than thy days-- + Yet art thou wholly free + To go, to come, to sleep in folded bloom: + No custom bids thee name thy wondrous ways. + + Within thy far and olden Orient vales, + Sweet houris nursed and watched thee long ago. + And thou hast heard the soft and lowly couched tales, + Of lovers luting all the heart's sweet woe + Without the harem's amorous oriels; + And guarded sighs of maidens veiled and pining; + And demon lovers wailing sad nights long + Within the wildest dells; + Or, Sprite of Roses! couched in velvet lining, + Sad thorn struck nightingales' low dying song. + + Old caravans have plundered all thy treasure, + To feed the dark-eyed beauty of the Nile-- + Thou hast not pined, nor lost thy queenly pleasure, + But out of ruins wrought new domes the while. + But lo! they robbed thy rosy land of thee; + Ah then! how blushed the spirit of the west! + That welcomed thee his wild-wood spirit bride, + To flee, to flee, to flee! + What spread of burning wings! What golden quest + For panting bliss in flow'ry fields untried! + + Sweet critic of the fairest and the sweetest, + Thou hast not paused to mar the honey less-- + And who knows where thy winged soul is fleetest? + What holidays thou hast of happiness + To drink the viewless honey of the air? + I saw thee on the golden rod at noon, + At evening by the frail anemone-- + Which beauty charmed thee there? + Didst ease thy heart, or golden weighted shoon, + Within thy far and murm'rous hearted tree? + + Away! away! farewell thou winged sprite! + From dale to dale, from hill to farthest hill. + The radiant blue hath melted round thy flight, + But, like an Ariel dream, I see thee still, + Where thou hast vanished, yet not wholly gone. + And I must sing thee of a treasure dome + Of drossless gold, which thou hast filled unwitting. + Then too to wander on, + Like thee as fain to pause, as fain to roam, + Forever pausing and forever flitting. + + + + +TO DEATH + + + Ah Death! Thou art a strange and delicate thing, + Pale hooded sister of sweet sleep! + That like a patient holy nun, + Upon a battle steep, + Hath watched from sun to sun + Each laboring breath, + That welcomes thee, sweet Death. + Whilst thou with cooling balm + Do quiet lips, where lonely anguish cries, + And draw cool shades for wearied eyes, + And layeth speechless calm + Upon each fevered brow, + With strokings of thy coolly palm. + And thou, and only thou + Hath Alms + More sweet than psalms, + To famished souls + On barren goals. + What draughts of long forgetfulness + Hath held to moaning thirst! + To drink, to drink, and drinking, wildly bless, + That thou, the last, shall be the first. + What depths of great eternal night, + Hast held to failing eyes! + Till, pregnant with the awful sight, + A spirit in them lies + That is not life. + I see thee calming strife, + And age old bitterness. + The young man's mockery of the old + Hath seen thy face and trembles all acold. + I see thee in the bride's deep fathomless eyes, + That flash with sudden consciousness, + While all her pulses rise + To greet sweet motherhood. + I see thee in the lonely wood, + With hardy woodsmen clearing future cities, + And hardy daughters chanting ditties + That are the songs of queens to be. + I see thee in the golden halls of gaity + Where trips the lure of beauty ankle deep, + And where the faded kings and queens in kindly shadows creep. + I see thee in the busy marts of blood and brain, + And in the crowded thoroughfares, + Of ceaseless noise, and sightless glares, + That lead to woods again. + I see thee by the nervous ocean, + That trembles still, with wild emotion, + And brings sad pennance for its night of wrath. + I see thee on the lonely mountain path, + That leadeth ever up and down. + I see thee in the golden brown + That burns gay summer's bonny cheeks. + I see thee in the light that seeks + A soberer gown along the afternoon. + I see thee by the harvest's moon, + And hear thee in the reaper's distant song. + And whither this may rise and that be planting soon, + I see thine hooded shadow glide along. + I see thee with the poet on the hills + Of soul's expression. + I see thee with the raptured alchemist's in session, + While each his magic mirror fills + With drossless gold of music, art, and poesy, + Whence o'er the world such beauty spills, + That sorrow cannot be. + I hear thee in the lovers' lilt, + Of careless brightness. + I see thee in the lightness, + Of amorous lips atilt. + + I hear thee in the dreamy serenade, + That wakes the charméd ear of night, + And loosens in some farthest glade, + A mocking bird to lyric flight. + I see thee where the silence falls + On haunted sleep men lie within,-- + And ah! thy dreamless solace calls, + Far, faint and thin. + And ever calls, + Till perfect silence falls. + I see, thee, hear thee, feel thee every where, + O! passing breath! + And life is glorified for thou art there, + O! Death! + + + + +A DIRGE + + + I saw a lassie on the green, + Ah me! Ah me! + No sweeter sight since have I seen, + Nor ever more may see. + + At morning fair, at evening pale, + And overcast. + Oh, stay thou lassie, sad and frail, + Why seek the night so fast? + + I took her hand, 'twas limp and cold, + She had no smile, + And in her eyes gleamed something old + That flickered out the while. + + And then she told such piteous tale, + And heaved a sigh:-- + "I dreamed that beauty could not fail, + "Nor simple pleasure die. + + "I held him long, I held him fast-- + "But he has gone. + "Oh stay me not--this way he past, + "And I must hasten on." + + I saw a wannish haggard in the night,-- + Alone was she. + I heard her laugh, her eyes were bright, + Ah me! ah woe is me! + + + + +TIME AND RHIME + + + Ah Ha! A lack-wit is the Time-- + A foolish piece and niddy-noddy, + To teach her gentle daughter, Rhime, + To flirt and dance with everybody. + + Her cheek was fresh, and passing fair + When very few did come to court her, + And king or swain must worship there, + That dared, or fancied to transport her. + + And often there a sceptered king, + And often there a wit or jester, + Have fondly kneel'd her praise to sing, + And learned how sore it is to pester. + + But now alas! 'Tis come to pass, + She loves the addlest headed dandy. + A bon-bon lyric suits the lass, + Her Epic is a piece of candy. + + + + +THE POET AND THE WORLD + + + A poet came in a golden noon, + His eyes were bright and his soul in tune, + And he sang a song of a nameless bird. + And never a song of songs was sung, + As sweet and as rich as the lay that sprung, + From the forest-wild muse in the lyrical verd. + + An old man dozing and dying alone, + Hath startled enrapt at the wondrous tone, + And thinks on his own youth's minstrelsy. + And his fingers tremble and itch again + And his tongue is lashed in its bed of pain, + To know at last such music may be. + + A youth starts up, with his soul on fire, + And shatters his harp for something higher, + And sings of a glory he has not known, + Till his mad soul sinks on the raging sea, + As sad and as weary as spent wings be, + In the guideless paths where his hopes have flown. + + And a maiden adream in her virgin bower, + Of her love's bright star and its rising hour, + Hath heard the song, and her being is folden + To the starry breast of a winged god, + In the golden paths of a garden untrod, + Which her soul in the lyric depths beholden. + + But the world hath roused on its listless bed + And calls to the ass for his bray instead, + And lo! he hath named the song and the bird! + And the young man lives, and the old man dies, + And the god hath flown from the maiden's eyes, + And the singer is gone, and the song is a word. + + + + +THE GUERDON + + + Sculptors have carved for us stories in stone,-- + Spirits of gods from the chrysalis freeing; + Toiled for us, starved for us, dying unknown, + Still have they sought for the infinite being, + Calling it Beauty,--upbuilding its throne. + And this is the guerdon each bears to his tomb: + "Fortune is fickle, the saddest and gladdest + "Slumber as long as the meanest and maddest-- + "Naught hast thou wraught so enduring as doom." + + Painters have drawn for us marvellous lines, + Hues of the rainbow, and sunset, and morning-- + Pigments an innermost glory divines, + Laurelled, or stultified canvas adorning; + Toiled for us, drunk for us bitterest wines, + And this is the guerdon each bears to his tomb: + "Fortune is fickle--the saddest and gladdest + "Slumber as long as the meanest and maddest + "Naught hast thou drawn so enduring as doom." + + Poets have sung for us sweetest of song, + Aye, they have sung for us, limn'd for us, carved for us. + Laurell'd our fortune, and lightened our wrong-- + Still have they dreamed for us, toiled for us, starved for us-- + We are their passion's most fanciful throng-- + And this is the guerdon each bears to his tomb: + "Fortune is fickle--the saddest, and gladdest, + "Slumber as long as the meanest and maddest, + "Naught hast thou sung so enduring as doom." + + + + +A SONG + + + What is so rare as a pearly cloud, + With a burning sun behind it? + And this is the jewel I wear on my heart, + With a dream to bind it-- + This is the treasure you sought from the start, + Forgetting to find it. + + What is so sweet as the song of a bird, + That wakens the fancy that hears it? + And this is the music I hear in my heart + Whose heaven enspheres it-- + This is the heaven you sought from the start + Forgetting to pierce it. + + What is so glad as the heart of a child, + That gambols as careless as Maytime? + And this is the pleasure I hold to my heart, + Acalling it daytime-- + This is the pleasure you sought from the start, + Forgetting the playtime. + + + + +TO X + + + Boast not, poor man, that thou hast measured time, + And named it feeble seven thousand years, + Lest all the lore and wit of all thy seers + Must brand thee fool, and name thy folly _crime_. + I say that I have seen an eon's rime + Upon thy father's head, and bitter tears, + Quintillions old. And countless fears, + Remembered from an old world's mapless clime. + Nor call thy folly old,--'twas surely born + When thou didst cease to think. Thou hast a child, + Whose beauty brands thee for a thing forsworn. + Leave thou its tender reason undefiled! + For shame to chain the base of all thy glory, + Upon an olden tale, a useless allegory! + + + + +ON A FESTAL NIGHT + + + Above the city hangs a limpid glare, + From hollow laughter's laden festal board: + Thou seest the lover fondling his adored-- + Thou hearest music singing of her hair. + Thou seest the tryst that's neither here nor there. + Thou seest the gallant with his mocking sword, + And honor at his feet;--the miser's hoard, + And Lo! the music, sword, and tryst are there. + Say when has music breathed a song, + Encored so long as yonder jingling gold? + Say when do lover's wand'ring from the throng, + Turn wholly from the mart where love is sold? + Ah man! were gold where erst it did belong + Then love were winged music as of old. + + + + +TO X + + + And thou hast seen yon priest in holy stole, + But thinkest, never yet a jackal's skin, + Embodied more hereditary sin-- + And he with healing ointment for the soul, + May not remember when his own was whole. + Behold a myriad monks he ushereth in + Whom dol'rous chant pronounceth holy kin, + And yet each readeth from a foreign scroll. + When all these jarring sects pronounce decree, + Then must thou wait another _Fiat lux_. + Old Chaos slumbering in eternity, + Hath writ his secret hope in monkish books, + That some shall beckon when his reign shall be-- + And even now the priestly finger crooks. + + + + +WANDERING WILLIE + + + Willie, Willie, merry piper, + Wand'rer too from clime to clime, + Tell me if thy fruit is riper, + Sweeter than my rhime. + + Hast thou pluckt a golden apple, + I have never tasted yet? + Hast thou seen a pearly dapple, + Finer skies than mine have set? + + Hast thou heard a music sweeter, + Than my wildest dreams intone? + Hast thou found a joy completer, + Than a pleasure I have known? + + Willie, Willie, wand'ring ever, + Whither wend thy wayward feet? + Farther still must we dissever, + Only thus again to meet? + + Wander on I would not stay thee-- + Fain were I a wand'rer too. + Drinking where the founts delay thee, + Thirsting all thy deserts through. + + What! though little thou hast gathered, + Golden wealth is that I ween. + What! though nothing thou hast fathered, + Careless fancies are thy yean. + + All thy trees mayhap are fruitless; + All thy hopes be ships afar, + All thy plans mayhap are bootless,-- + Still thou hast the eastern star. + + I, in peace and plenty, yearning, + Yearning for thy wand'rer's crust + Weary, aching, burning, burning, + Fevered failure of the wander-lust. + + Wander on, mayhap I'll meet thee, + Wand'ring in the waning glow + Rhiming still for joy to greet thee, + Piping on thy piccolo. + + + + +MY LADY OF DREAMS + + + 'Tis the maiden April calling,-- + Calling to the languid South,-- + Where she lounges in the sunshine + With a secret at her mouth. + + Where she lounges with the sunshine + Closely fondled to her breast. + Calling for that fickle lover, + Wanders with his old unrest. + + And her lips are full and luscious, + Where a thousand joys have kissed-- + Ah! I must unto her garden, + Lo! I tremble for the tryst. + + For her couch it is a languor + Cushioned for a passion rest, + Woven out of dreams and sunshine, + Pillowed with her pulsing breast. + + And I clasp her warm embraces, + Kissing deep her dewy lips, + Like a bee upon a blossom, + Where the honey breathes and drips; + + Lie within her warm embraces + Till the wildest passions wane-- + Fall to dreaming of Nirvana + Pictured through a golden rain. + + There adream with dreaming April + In the gentle southern land, + Hearing footsteps onward pressing, + Only she might understand. + + Feel the cool wind fan the forehead, + Drink the mellow wine he brings, + Till the spirit drunk to fervor + Sweeps its own Æolean strings. + + Hear the music of the vanished, + Join the far and lyric throng + Of the rare and radiant singers + In the starry skies of song. + + Hear with soul all hushed and quickened, + Wrapt in fine unconscious ears, + Music singing unto music, + In the bright Æolean spheres. + + Till the Past is wed to Present + In the golden hall of Time, + And the Future brings a garland + From his pure and crystal clime. + + Seeing then that life is rainfall, + Falling on a dreaming sea, + With a touch of speeding rainbows, + Hinting all eternity. + + Seeing then, that dreaming ocean, + Drinking all the golden rain-- + Call it death or dark oblivion, + Drinks and yields it back again. + + Seeing past is not the total, + Seeing present not the last-- + Is the future uncreated? + Nay 'tis older than the past. + + Is today a mighty time-wall + Beaten outward by the waves? + Nay, it is the crystal mirror + Where an image still enslaves. + + Seeing space is only measured + With an atom of the soul; + Seeing Space and Time are brothers + Racing from what goal to goal? + + Seeing systems all unnumbered, + Numbered by their vanished race; + Seeing Time among his diamonds, + Launching systems unto Space. + + Till the Soul turns back to April + Faint with seeing, and the seen + There in dreams to wait and linger + For the rainfalls iris sheen. + + Ah! 'tis only dreams that linger, + For a vision or a sound-- + Ling'ring only, asking never + How and whence, or whither bound. + + Only dreams that linger, hearing + Songs across the blue clad hills + From the lakes of cool savannahs, + Where the mirror fills and fills. + + Hearing from the cool savannahs + Magic strains and elfin horns, + Heralding across the plainlands + Greater than the olden morns. + + Dawnings to the world from dreamland + Where the souls of song are tryst + Covering over facts and angles + With the artful truth of mist. + + Then the world is recreated + With the Supermen of dreams, + With the men from out the future + Coming down the crystal streams; + + Comes the painter mixing soul-tints + In his fine unconscious eye-- + Comes the sculptor opening marbles + Where his dreaming godheads lie; + + Comes embodied music seeing + All of Heaven in a sound-- + Call him man or rapt musician, + Neither yet is wholly bound. + + Comes the poet sweeping soul-strings + Lo! the painter dreams again, + Finds another golden pigment + In the minelands of his brain. + + Comes the poet sweeping soul-strings, + Lo! the sculptor dreams again, + Frees a rarer winged spirit + In his blue marmorean brain. + + Comes the poet sweeping soul-strings, + Lo! the music dreams again, + Finds another golden concord + In the silence of his brain. + + There again the Bard of Avon, + Music names him not in words, + Singing to a raptured eon + All that life and death engirds. + + There is Shelly, diamond hearted, + Singing lightning scintilant, + Wanting still a rarer lustre, + Sweeter ever than his want. + + There is framed and fashioned music, + Keats the golden tongue of song. + Browning crowned with highest heaven + Ruling all of right and wrong. + + There is Mifflin toying jewels, + His own magic art hath wrought, + Tracing dreams and fancies + In the crystal depths of thought. + + There is Carman of the Northland + Singing all the music of the north. + Beauty urging on his music, + Wagering all her soul is worth. + + Goethe arm in arm with Hauptman + In the vine-clad hills of Rhine, + Hushed to catch the simplest whisper + From the great Norwegian Pine. + + All the Kings of dainty fancy, + All the Kings of mighty song, + All the Kings of love and laughter, + All the Kings of right and wrong, + + All the Kings of all the kingdoms, + To the farthest bounds of art, + Meeting on the swards of dreamland, + Ages can not bind apart. + + Thus the world is recreated + With the Supermen of time, + Bearing on in royal pageant, + All of fullness and of prime. + + Thus the world is recreated + With the Supermen of dreams, + Footsteps onward pressing, + Plashing oars on crystal streams. + + Silver lakes, and cool savannahs, + Mirrored in the blue clad hills, + Dream miragéd, dim oases + Where the spirit drinks and fills. + + Wanting not a dear companion, + Wanting not the yester years, + Thus the world is recreated, + And the ring'd horizon clears. + + And I turn again to April, + Maiden princess of the south; + Lo! the secret now has blossomed + To a white rose at her mouth. + + + + +TO A MOCKING BIRD + +A Rhapsody + + + Hail! Sweetest rhapsodist + Of virgin song unfettered yet! + Sweet honey-bee of sound, + What flow'ry meads hast found, + Of wilding pain and rapture, + In spirit births, a moment's capture? + A part of all that thou hast met, + Sweet mocking bird! + + How far above, how far beyond, + All dream or spirit fancy, + Each fountain burst of purest song! + To what fair region dost belong? + What roseate glory followeth after + Thy natures gladdest laughter,-- + Thine infinite necromancy, + Sweet mocking bird? + + Within thy song, as in thy night, + What matchless dearth of fact! + Old Art bent low in arabesque, + Transmuting life to things grotesque. + And his golden mist, a still low call, + From model-nature's all-in-all, + Bids thee all rapture reinact, + Sweet mocking bird. + + And when is nature more complete, + Than in thy midnight hour? + When every angle meet and mingle, + Within thy misty laden dingle, + And spirit pauseth in the heart, + To rectify its ancient art, + By the shadow on the flower, + Sweet mocking bird. + + And when has music kissed a string + Till such a lyric breath intone? + Of all the joy, of all the pain, + Sweet summer holds to earth again. + The far sweet pain of bursting Hours, + Whose sparkling eyes, in tears of flowers, + Yield thee a drink that's all thine own, + Sweet mocking bird. + + Ah! Light of dreams! when spirit hears + Such music calls, can life forget? + Each night thou lightest up the gloom + Within my spirits stifled room, + And beckoneth on to hopes afar, + My singer and my star, my star! + The all of all that thou hast met, + Sweet mocking bird! + + + + +THE MYSTERY + + + The gos'mer web that mistifies, + Lies not on any whole or part, + Or stop or start, but in the art, + Men hang upon their eyes. + + And haply in an age afar, + Two men may see the self-same mote-- + The selfsame beam, with motes afloat, + And learn what souls and systems are. + + + + +FAME + + + Triumphant Day's grand pageantry + At song, and all the garlands won, + Far in the west the queenly Eve, + Blue misty mantled, takes her leave, + Tiaraed with a Sun. + + And Lo! Sweet night, a nut-brown maid, + With silent wonder pursing lips, + Or humming soft a bird's low song, + Trips down the hall. Behold the throng + Bow to her finger tips. + + + + +GOOD NIGHT MY LOVE + + + Thy dewy dreams, thine Ariel dreams, + Then turn thee to thy dainty dreams, + Thine airy shell is now alight, + To bear thee down Æolean streams, + Good night, my love, good night, good night. + + By misty strands of phantom lands, + By golden shores and phantom lands, + Across the sea of starry light + To drop thee on enchanted strands-- + Good night, my love, good night, good night. + + Afar from me and there with thee, + Ah! could I journey there with thee, + Across the sea of starry light; + But nay, 'tis thine own journey's sea-- + Good night, my love, good night, good night. + + But golden Morn must sound her horn, + And when the morning's triton horn + Is heralding thy homing flight, + I'll meet thee on the shores of morn,-- + Good night, my love, good night, good night. + + + + +MY SOUTH + + + Of the languorous South with her wine-stained mouth, + And her easy ways, I sing. + Ah! see where she stands, my lady of lands, + With a rose in her hair and a gracious air, + Where her lovers cling. + + Will she play me false for the promised waltz, + In that easiest way of hers? + Ah see! she is fair as the rose in her hair, + And the sweet love drips from her honied lips, + When her fancy stirs. + + Will she lightly resist for the promised tryst + With a smile of her easy ways? + Ah see! she is smiling with a sweetness beguiling + All sorrow to laughter till it dances thereafter + In a golden maze. + + Alas! alack-a-day! she dances away! + Haphazard her favor confers. + Ah! see where she dances, and her sunlit glances + All scattered apart! But I store in my heart + A smile of hers. + + + + +TO LLOYD MIFFLIN + +A Poet + + + And thou hast oped the matrix of sweet thought, + And graven on the gem rare imagery. + Or piercing free thine arts reality, + Hast found uncarven gods, as richly wraught; + Such tints of soul, such matchless colors fraught + With all thy beings dearest phantasy; + Such fair illusive forms that luring flee, + Within the crystal web of fancy caught. + Till to thine eyes, a radiant cosmos spreads + In crystaline delight from pole to pole, + Of godly folk at play on flowry meads, + And one fair form of beauties finished whole! + Then through the golden mist one fancy threads: + It is the god of gods, thy pristine soul. + + + + +KEATS + + + Thou golden fragment of the sweetest dream, + That ever smiled beside the gates of morn, + And left enraptured Beauty half forlorn + And half entranced. Still for thy vanished gleam + That spirit-maiden weeps. On her refulgent stream + No more the tinted bark is lightly borne, + But frail as thought by streaming phantoms torn, + She waits forever thy returning beam. + A golden dream of art's divinity + And held bright Beauty's jeweled anadem; + Of music breathing immortality + Till stonéd silence falls a carven gem. + And but a fragment! Ah! couldst thou have sated + A bursting heart, what worlds had been created! + + + + +A POET + + + As one, who gath'ring flowers in a dream, + Hath found a vanished passion all in bloom, + And wild sweet odors lifting in the gloom + Of olden time, but casts it on a stream, + To mar the silver moon's reflectant beam, + And laugh at circles sweeping on to doom, + In dusky marges, shining in her brume, + Hath England found thee. Thus her silly deem! + Ah! Shame that she, whose head is vaunted so, + Hath vision narrowed to a needle's eye. + And only far from home, doth England know + That she has doomed another son to die. + But fair Columbia brings her wreath of woe, + Sweet Rhine, a tear, and lyric France a sigh. + + + + +THE CRITICS + + + And when thy soul had made a simple song + And laughed for very glee to sing and sound it, + Outside the walls, the dim mysterious throng + Wrought keen and barbed darts wherewith to wound it: + There was a fault, a fearful deadly fault, + And loud they screamed a very bull's-eye named it; + As one they saw, as one they would assault-- + Each kneeling archer drew his dart and aimed it. + And lo! How fared a myriad archetypes! + A myriad fancies, sounds, and colors riddled! + And harps! and horns! and flutes! and lutes! and pipes! + And O! the laugh as each some vict'ry twiddled! + But still the dainty spirit sang its song + And laughed its laugh unconscious of a wrong. + + + + +AVAILABILITY + + + And shall I join this scramble after fame, + Astonish so the free delightful spirit, + To bind his song, that fettered ears may hear it, + And win an encore, or a sounding name? + Or shall his broad imperial wings go lame, + To make a semblance of existing merit? + Or fly no more less favor disinherit, + And yield his lightness to an ordered game? + Not so! and never for the fickle throng, + One soaring rapture less in fancy free! + But sing thou bonden music's saddest wrong + My spirit-bird, 'til shackles melt for thee-- + Still sing, for never yet thy spirit's song, + May bend to crass availability. + + + + +A PORTRAIT + + + She was a breath of forest-wild perfume + So sweet, one could but stand and drink it in, + Until the soul should burst; a dream so thin + And airy fine, it seemed a spirit's bloom, + And left a haunting fragrance in the room + When it had vanished. Garb'd in snowy lynn + So rare one knew not where it did begin-- + A scented sunbeam in a human gloom. + And thou hast called her woman, woman only, + When thou hadst music yearning at thy tongue + To call her Heaven. Aching fancy lonely + Still breathes that fragrance in a song unsung, + Or wandering, lost deep in a golden dream, + Hears sweet white Lurley from a vanished stream. + + + + +ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY + + + Ah! Thou wert fairer than the early morn, + Thy dress all spangled with the dewy flowers-- + A lynn soft woven in the wondrous hours + That hedged about thy dreams. But Lo! the horn + Of some far Triton from the sea up-borne + Across the bluey hills, and tinted showers + Faint limning scenes of Elfin grots and bowers, + Bound thee in thrall by misty strands forlorn. + Thou couldst not longer bide the sweet low calling + Of some sad sea-soul for his wand'ring nymph. + Thou couldst not yield to mortal love's enthralling + And Nerius calling in thy spirits coralled lymph. + O! if our hearts have sweeter balm than tears, + It is the call that kissed thy dreaming ears. + + + + +TO MY LOVE + + + I can not say how much I love thee, words, + Like wearied petrels, fall on shoreless seas. + But O! I love thee! Simple words of these + Float on the stormy soul, like halcyon birds, + With speechless calm. A golden zone engirds + The thee and me in worlds of nameless ease, + And promise fairer far than Æetes'. + No clouds there tempest tost, but phantom herds + Of golden fleece feed in the fields of blue, + And sunny harbors lull the freighted ships + Of tender song, the while thine hero woo, + For aye sweet message from thine honeyed lips; + Or catch some music from thy spheres above thee,-- + A song of songs to tell how dear I love thee. + + + + +THE STORM KING + + + The storm-king playeth his organ tonight-- + O! weep for the mortals that heareth at sea! + The King of the storm! What god in his might, + May still the dread music, or silence the key? + + The lightning, the thunder, the rain, and the blast-- + How he driveth each note to its ultimate goal! + And the roll of dead worlds in the infinite vast, + How they roll in his soul, in his madness of soul! + + The lightning, the thunder, the blast, and the rain-- + How he playeth each note for its ultimate soul! + 'Til his caverns great center grows blacker again, + With the deep where his musics great nebulas roll! + + And grandeur, mad grandeur, the sweep of his song, + The raging and lurid storm grandeur of night, + Till the Souls of the Ages, to him but a throng, + Of beetling black nebula, crash in their flight. + + How he laugheth, and laugheth, this maddest of Kings! + How he rageth, and rendeth his organ assunder! + Now soaring, now crashing to nethermost springs-- + The maddest of music but never a blunder. + + For he smiteth the sea, and he teareth the land, + And never a prayer but he laugheth to scorn! + A King and a God--should he render less grand + For sake of the ghoul haunted beeches of morn? + + + + +THE BIRTH OF FANCY + + + I dreamed, and ah! the dream was sweeter far, + Than any dream of cloud-born poet ever; + Or love-lorn maiden praying to a star + On Agne's Eve. I thought a glorious quiver, + Of ecstasy was trembling, full with tears, + Deep in the eyes of a maternal thought, + And Time, beyond the outposts of the years, + Was hushed expectant, all of wonder fraught. + For Fancy cradled in a golden cloud + Had risen in a dream of boundless glory,-- + While on his brow his soul had overflowed, + And swiftly scaled a purple promontory. + Then back again, in speed as dreamy fleet, + And laid a snow-white feather at my feet. + + + + +DESPAIR + + + Alas! so sick at heart! My lips are dumb. + Dull inquisition racks the aching brain. + I work no more, but fight the growing pain + Of losing hours. Night of heart! No moonbeams come + To bring thee twilight. Still, ah! still the hum + Of artless industry--the spirit's chain + That binds for life sake. Still the fight for gain + That binds it to th' arena, pale and numb. + And I that hoped to do so much indeed, + To clear a path in spite of time and room, + To sing a song, ah! now I faint, I bleed, + A conquered victim. See the conqueror loom, + A careless frown and sword his only creed,-- + And watching close the turning thumb of doom. + + + + +THE MAGAZINES + + + If Orpheus came to Maga with a song + As sad as tongueless sorrow dying, + So sweet the weeping world should throng + To hear the strain, but come not flying + The Maga pennant, unassailable, + Then faith! the song were not available. + + If Orpheus, singing in the lonely hills, + Should charm the world to raptured wonder, + And Maga came in wraps and frills, + And dainty tears, to cry his blunder. + Then faith! the world might wait laconical, + If Maga readjust his monicle. + + But if perchance the godly singer, + Should pass, like bitter grief with time. + What Ho! The dandy crooks his finger, + And menials bring each Orphean rhime. + And Maga's bards, and Maga's sages, + Write epitaphs on tombs of pages. + + + + +THE SPHINX + + + Beside the falls of ancient walls, + And golden Halls, + Entomb'd forever, + On lonely sands, with phantom bands, + A figure stands, + Called never, never. + + Her eyes are green, as em'rald sheen, + With glories seen, + In distant ages; + As dongon keep, her eyes are deep, + And there asleep, + Enchanted Mages. + + A thousand years of hopes and fears, + With dying cheers, + Her cohort only. + A thousand miles of vanished piles, + Of olden whiles + Her Empire lonely. + + From night to morn of glory shorn, + She stands forlorn, + Her only glory. + From sun to frost, a night uncrossed, + Forever lost, + An endless story. + + + + +A SHELL + + + Full wondrous wrought, and passing strange, + Of many a sea-born tint-- + Some old and deathless work of change, + For fairy wonderment. + + But what of that strange elfin sprite, + That in this rainbow hall + Once moved? What woe, or what delight, + Did make its all in all? + + How roamed it through the scenery? + Of ocean's old expanse? + Or dreamed, in fragrant greenery, + O'er some sweet sea romance? + + Was't haughty King, or was it slave, + In its unknown kingdom there? + Or loved, in elfin grot or cave, + Some sweet shell-maiden fair? + + Alas! like some old haunted palace, + The silence, how profound! + Where mem'ry's drunk from death's deep chalice, + And turned the chalice down. + + + + +TO THE TRAVELLER + + + Because thy winged spirit ever craves + Then must thou range wide seas and distant lands-- + To see, to know, thy burning thirst demands + No sweeter drink. To kneel in sainted naves + For art sake; marvel by Egyptian graves; + Seek paynim shrines with strange fantastic bands + Or pause to weep where sad Pompeii stands, + So richly jewelled in her granite waves. + Ah! 'Tis to know, till every cup is drained, + And passion wane in pale satiety. + Then but to dare the boundless unattained,-- + Thy self a world, thy thirst its history. + Ah! such a world! such wash of human waves + On human shores, where still the thirst enslaves. + + + + +SONG TO DEATH + + + Ah Death! what a weakling art makes thee-- + The art of the frighten'd to death; + Gay curtains where glory forsakes thee-- + A straw for the clutching last breath. + + Where finds in religion a balm + So soothing, so cool and so far? + What solemn great hush and what calm? + Degraded to Portals ajar! + + O where is the lyric of rest--? + O where is the song of the soul--? + Unfettered, unmastered, undrest + A nude and a beautiful whole. + + O where is thy lyric of room,-- + Unclouded immeasurable night? + O where is the song of the doom + Still flawless of hope or afright--? + + Ah! cool as the night is the song + The dewy fresh song of my soul, + Sung always far over the throng + To a dewy unblemishing goal; + + Some music still wand'ring, unstrung + Ungarnished, unmastered with art, + That haply some feverish young + May garner for treasure of heart. + + But never the song that is sung-- + The sweet measured tongue laps of art, + That silvers old age for the young, + Or maketh a ball room of heart. + + Too great is the prestige O! Death, + Where Day ever bendeth at noon + For false chanting, or clutching for breath + At sight of the guerdon so soon. + + Too great is thy prestige O! Death! + To flatter with scorn or with fright. + No promise so vain as that breath, + So great so great is thy night! + + + + +THE MAGICAL RING + + + 'Tis an ash circled bower, + Of berries and musk, + And the fairies' first hour, + Neither daylight nor dusk; + + And fancy is thridding + In vistas of green, + Where the moth is out bidding + The cock for his sheen; + + And the bee with his treasure, + Is at rest on a stone-- + The measure of pleasure, + The depth of his own; + + The blue-bells are tinkling, + The mocking birds woo,-- + In a beautiful sprinkling + Of scintilant dew, + + Far down in the grasses, + In a magical ring, + A clinking their glasses, + Sits Puck and the King. + + * * * * + + "Methinks, saith the King, + If the dome of our palace, + Were as happy a thing, + As the dome in this chalice, + + "Of glittering dew, + And half so resplendent, + As fancy is too, + In this liquor impendent; + + "Methinks, saith the King, + Then life were as jolly, + In this magical ring, + As its spirit of folly; + + "Methinks, saith the King, + Titania were sweeter, + And this magical ring + Were magic completer. + + "For the vixen is wild, + With this Squire from the highlands-- + Like a sailor beguiled, + To magical islands, + + "At sound of a voice, + To plunge in the sea foam, + And, dying, rejoice, + That the island should be foam. + + "Methinks, saith the King + This rascal were better, + Far out of the ring, + In handcuff and fetter. + + "For he talketh of love, + And faith, hope, and charity, + And a spirit above, + As the spirit of parity. + + "And thou, saith the King, + Hath certain the gumption, + To see thus the spring + Of pleasure's consumption. + + "Of late thou hast wandered, + To see and be seen, + And much thou hast squandered + My riches, I ween. + + "Relate thine indentures, + Important of state, + And all thine adventures, + Of worth to relate." + + _Saith Puck_ + + "A trace of wine's on the breath of summer, + And the spirit of June is a pure delight, + And the brimmer of light is sparkling and bright + With a cheer for the gladdest comer. + + "Aloft in the oak a dove was cooing, + And a little gray bird on sycamore twig, + Was a pause abreath with a feathery sprig, + And flittered away to his wooing. + + "I peep'd in a bloom and a bee was in it, + I peered on a leaf and a moth slept there. + Ah! was ever a dream so deliciously rare, + And all for a tip-toed minute!" + + Then Oberon winketh, + Reward to his Puck, + And solemnly drinketh, + The nation much luck. + + "Good! Then let us be merry, + And call up the court-- + Each knight and his deary, + For song and for sport. + + "But none that are gloomy, + What ever the cost-- + Though the palace be roomy, + Their space is all lost." + + Puck boweth full low, + And a blue-bell he tinkleth, + And the courtiers inflow, + As thick as stars twinkleth. + + And the King, from his wand, + Hath showered his graces, + On the rich and the grand, + And the favored of places. + + Saluteth this grandee, + And passeth that by; + This sport, or that dandy, + To the tail of each eye. + + "God een! my brave hearties, + Thou Fat and thou Thin, + How barren our parties + If thou art not in! + + "Thou Nut and thou Cherry, + Thou Leaf and Thou Bloom, + Thou Bud and thou Berry, + All welcome to room. + + "Thou Red, and thou Yellow, + Thou Purple, thou Green, + And--who is that fellow, + With blood in his een? + + "Thou Lobster, come kneel here, + Behold thou the King! + What folly to steal here + To this magical ring!" + + Saith Puck, "'tis a ranger + In the light of the queen." + Saith the ranger "And stranger + To thy pleasure, I ween. + + "I come from the people, + With the people I dwell. + I favor the steeple, + I favor the bell. + + "Ten thousand are weary, + That furnish thee sport, + Their homes are adreary, + To furnish thy court." + + (_A faint low rumble of thunder cometh from over the hills_,) + _and Oberon saith_, + + "'Tis an orator, Hollo! + We've something here new! + Whatever may follow, + We'll hear the thing through. + + "Continue, thou swine herd, + Right gladly we'll hear, + Of the grunts of thy fine herd, + And the stys that are drear." + + The orator boweth, + And unrolleth a scroll. + And such sentences floweth, + To the cheek by jowl: + + _To the greatest of Kings, + Whom Time in his fleetings + Hath gifted with wings, + From his people, with greetings:_ + + "We are weary of wine and of laughter, + We are weary of women and song! + Come back dear Brother October, + And bear us sober along!" + + Then the palace, to dome, + With merriment ringeth, + And, dashing the foam, + The revellers singeth: + + (_A Song_) + + Ah! the clink of our glasses + How they clink as we drink! + And memory passes, + Too pleasant to think. + + (_The Orator_) + + "Too much there is singing and dancing, + Sweet sorrow is scorned for her weeds. + Come back dear Brother October + And chant us thine anthem of deeds!" + + (_The Revellers_) + + Here's one to each other, + Another as deep, + And life is a brother, + Too pleasant to weep. + + (_The Orator_) + + (_While a dark cloud appeareth on the horizon_.) + + "Sweet thought is outclassed and outbidden, + Gay summer too high on her wings! + Come back dear Brother October + And chant us thy requiem of Kings!" + + (_Consternation among revellers. The King starteth + up, but Puck singeth_:) + + (_While the lightning flasheth_.) + + Here's one to our lasses, + How nimbly they dance! + And the bright of our glasses + Is the light of their glance. + + (_And the revellers_.) + + Here's one to the vintry, + How brightly he shines! + May never the wintry, + Drink deep of his wines. + + (_The Orator_) + + (_He rolleth his parchment and speaketh._) + + "'Tis young blood counts and moneyless brains! + And the heart and soul of devil-may-care + Is abroad in the land, with a fig for the pains, + To do and to dare! to do and to dare!" + + (_The Revellers._) + + (_While the storm rageth._) + + Ah! the clink of our glasses, + How they clink as we drink! + And memory passes. + Too pleasant to think. + + (_And the court adjourneth._) + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: + + + Text in italics is surrounded with underscores: _italics_. + + A page number error in the Table of Contents has been corrected. + + Obvious typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from + the original. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Divine Adventures, by John Niendorff + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41059 *** |