r'KbUUi 
 U3T47
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSID€ 
 
 L 
 
 Ex Libris 
 ISAAC FOOT 
 
 ,<b A A
 
 Through Human Eyes
 
 Through Human Eyes 
 
 POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 A. BUCKTON 
 
 IFITH ^N INTRODUCTORT POEM 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT BRIDGES 
 
 LONDON 
 
 ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET 
 
 I9OI

 
 To ANNEX 
 
 WHO PROVED ME THAT THE HUMAN HEART HAS 
 
 NEITHER AGE NOR NATIONALITY, AND 
 
 THEREBY MADE ME FREE OF 
 
 THE WORLD
 
 This volume is a npvint of one of the strictly limited 
 
 issues from the press of the Rev, C. H. Daniel, of 
 
 Oxford, with seven pieces added. ** The Victor " 
 
 is here reprinted by kind permission of 
 
 the Editor of " The Speaker."
 
 Contents 
 
 FAGB 
 
 Introductory Poem by Robert Bridges ix. 
 
 To a Robin I 
 
 On hearing a certain Overture 2 
 
 Old Yule Night 3 
 
 The Maid at the Wayside Inn 6 
 
 The Song Celestial 7 
 
 Palmistry in Kensington Gardens 9 
 
 The Victor " 
 
 Alone ^2 
 
 Love's Extremity '3 
 
 Passing '4 
 
 "Love me and only me" - - - I5 
 
 Circlet i6 
 
 Song '7 
 
 Sonnets of Art— To the Amateur i8 
 
 To the Maker I9 
 
 Soul Gazing ^o 
 
 Sappho Disdained ^^ 
 
 Under the Wall 23 
 
 The Heart Comfortless 24 
 
 My Lady's Cup-bearer - - - 25 
 
 Song 26 
 
 At Her Bier 27 
 
 VII
 
 rxcB 
 
 A Child's Dower 29 
 
 Robin in Autumn .-•--■--- 3^ 
 
 Then and Now --------- 3' 
 
 Disillusion 3^ 
 
 Tulip-Flames 34 
 
 Vanishings - - ■ ■ 35 
 
 " To Dare to Own " 3^ 
 
 The Alien 39 
 
 To- 40 
 
 Evening Bells 4' 
 
 Purification - . 42 
 
 The Great Response 43 
 
 Eleanora Duse 47 
 
 Winter 4^ 
 
 An Altered Chart 49 
 
 In Memoriam 5° 
 
 The Heart Worships 5' 
 
 Mary Mother 5^ 
 
 A Wish 54 
 
 The Face Unseen 55 
 
 January Rain 57 
 
 God's Rhyme 59 
 
 On Seeing a Fan of Marie Antoinette 60 
 
 Greater Britons 6' 
 
 Comrades °2 
 
 The Inner Citadel 64 
 
 Mountain Saxifrage "5 
 
 The Sovereign Poet 66 
 
 Vlll
 
 Introductory 
 
 The Singer speaks : — 
 
 Along the meadows 
 
 Lightly going, 
 With luorship and joy 
 
 My heart derflowing, 
 
 Far from town 
 And toil of living, 
 
 To a holy day 
 My spirit giving. . . 
 
 Thou tender flower, 
 I kneel beside thee, 
 
 IVondering why God 
 So beautified thee. 
 
 IX
 
 An answering tJioiight 
 M^ithin nie springeth: 
 
 A bloom of the mind 
 Her vision bringeth: 
 
 Between the dim hills 
 
 Distant asure 
 A ndfiaivery foreground 
 
 Of sparkling pleasure 
 
 I see the company 
 Of figures sainted, 
 
 For whom the picture 
 Of earth was painted, 
 
 Those robdd seers 
 
 JVIio made mans story 
 The crown of Nature, 
 
 Her cause his glory. 
 
 They walk in the city 
 JVhich they have builded, 
 
 The city of God 
 From evil shielded:
 
 To them for canopy 
 The vault of heaven, 
 
 TJie Jloivery earth 
 For carpet is given; 
 
 Whereon I wander 
 Not 7tnknowing, 
 
 With iDorsJiip and joy 
 My heart derfiowing. 
 
 XI
 
 To a Robin 
 
 On a November Evening 
 
 OING, Robin! sing upon the blackened 
 
 ^^ bough ! 
 
 O sing thy song of tearless ecstacy, 
 
 And strike thy courage, ere the winter blow, 
 
 Into the quailing heart of Misery, 
 
 That dare not plead his thin and tattered coat, 
 
 Where thou, sweet Singer of the hidden Sun, 
 
 Dost fill the empty air with thy wild note, 
 
 The challenge of thy slender clarion ! 
 
 No fool to fostered dreams and fallacies 
 
 That what the mortals mar the gods will mc-nd, 
 
 Unmoved thou seest round thee lying low 
 
 The ruin of thy summer palaces, 
 
 And on into the darkness singest thou, 
 
 Sure of the far, the undelaying end !
 
 On Hearing a Certain Overture 
 
 Two notes, my lord ! no more ! 
 
 But pain spoke through their pallid lips 
 
 That left us speechless . . . 
 
 T yl TH AT moan is this of elemental Sound 
 ^ ^ That gathers in some undiscovered 
 Deep 
 Of being, spreading dumb dismay around ? 
 As if some spirit, sighing underground, 
 Did turn himself upon his bed, and weep, 
 Bewailing still, in anguish comfortless. 
 The dark and irremediable wound, 
 To which no penitence can bring redress. 
 Is it thy voice, O Master ? thou, whose tongue 
 And touch have loosened Titan melodies. 
 And left the lyre of passion fully strung ? 
 Whose ear, attuned to stormy harmonies, 
 The secret of one simple chord did miss, 
 The measure of the tears of human bliss !
 
 T 
 
 Old Yule Night: 
 
 On Hearing a Distant Horn. 
 
 HE Hornao-ain! aoain ! 
 
 o o 
 
 In the winter night, 
 When stars are bright. 
 It shakes the frozen pane : 
 The banner waves upon the rood, 
 It stirs a Sire's forgotten blood. 
 And starts the sullen vein : 
 It lifts the dog's ear breathlessly, 
 He moans, and listens restlessly — 
 The Horn ! again ! ai^ain ! 
 
 Follow ! follow ! 
 
 O'er hill and hollow. 
 Where never deer was ta'en ! 
 
 By vale and wood. 
 
 O'er stream and flood, 
 Give back the phantom strain ! 
 The mellow mouth is deep and worn, 
 And dim the carving round the Horn 
 
 Where mighty hands have Iain,
 
 Courting the aged finger-tips, — 
 Sound it aloud with trembling lips ! 
 The Horn! airain ! a^^ain! 
 
 The cry is up, 
 The heart is up, 
 And longeth to be gone : 
 For heroes ride to meet the morn, 
 And with them rides great Odin's son ! 
 With thundering hoof and streaming mane 
 He gathers warriors to his train ; 
 Breathe hard and fast. 
 The Night is past, 
 And melts upon the plain ! 
 
 Under the Dawn 
 
 The boats are drawn 
 Down from the flashing beach, 
 
 In the tossing line 
 
 Of the foamy brine, 
 With a golden prow to each, 
 And the glittering light of helm and spear 
 And the sounding cry of a mighty cheer 
 
 To greet the Sun 
 
 And the Day begun, 
 Or e'er the god appear !
 
 But what is he 
 
 That rides with me 
 And clogs my bridal rein ? 
 
 Thicker, fleeter, 
 
 Faster, sweeter, 
 The Horn! again! again! . . • 
 It faints, it fails, it dies away, 
 To join the far, the bright affray. 
 
 Leaving the heart forlorn 
 For the faded light and the vanished dawn 
 
 Of that immortal Day ! 
 
 The Scandinavians associated Yule-Tide with the rising of the 
 sun at the Winter Solstice: celebrating the return of the Bright- 
 haired Sun-God with fires and festivities. 
 
 B
 
 The Maid at the Wayside Inn 
 
 OTRAIGHT in her bed she lay 
 ^^ At close of day, 
 
 All still and white, 
 As the winter's light 
 Faded away. 
 
 Silent the tender tongue 
 
 That, sweet and strong, 
 
 Delayed the ear : 
 
 Is no one here 
 
 To miss the song ? 
 
 Has never a lover presst 
 
 This gentle breast 
 And sown unchid, 
 On lip and lid 
 
 The sweet unrest, 
 
 Bringing a faint new fear 
 
 Of summer near, 
 And made thy name 
 To blush with fame? 
 
 O child ! had I been here 1
 
 The Song Celestial 
 
 I. 
 
 'HP HE RE is a Song, could I but give it 
 -*■ breath, 
 
 That flows all day into my mouth and eyes, 
 That maketh music in the house of death 
 
 And toucheth sorrow, careless of disguise, 
 To break aloud in streaming melody, 
 
 Up-leaping like a fountain, blinding pure. 
 To still the spirit in its agony, 
 
 And keep its moaning low, with sense 
 secure. 
 
 II. 
 
 There is a kingdom born in every lot. 
 
 An equal joy to measure every care, 
 Could tongue but tell it out : but tongue can 
 not. 
 And uttered words are emptier than air : 
 For neither sign, nor sound, nor form of speech 
 
 To man's untutored spirit can convey 
 What all must learn at last, and none may 
 teach, 
 Tho' moons grow dim, and systems pass 
 away. 
 
 7 B — 2
 
 III. 
 
 And so I fall a-singing all alone ; 
 
 And singing cease ; and ceasing, catch 
 again, 
 In sky-born echoes, dropping one by one, 
 
 The Song Celestial without a pain, 
 Like gleams at sunrise of a passing shower 
 
 That saves itself against another day ! 
 Oh, when we need thee, in the darker hour, 
 
 Sweet Voice of singing, be not far away ! 
 
 8
 
 Palmistry 
 
 In Kensington Gardens 
 
 A CHILD'S hand, a dimpled hand, 
 "^^- Laid on its mother's knee 
 
 All carelessly : 
 Short and stout, of lusty make 
 Framed for imperative demand 
 For some one's sake ! 
 
 O little hand 
 
 That thoughtfully I take, 
 What curious fate is thine ? 
 What must thou do, 
 And what unmake. 
 
 Of old or new. 
 
 Of evil deeds or fine ? 
 
 I see this little palm prepare 
 In every act to bless or ban. 
 And even now, to greatly dare 
 The full-grown passion of a man,
 
 To mar or mend, 
 To strike and sway, 
 To lead astray, 
 Or guide the fallen friend : 
 To give the kingly praise and blame. 
 And oh ! perchance a higher deed — 
 To hide the face, for very need. 
 And grace of mortal shame ! 
 
 TO
 
 The Victor 
 
 A Bronze by T>— McG— 
 
 A ND is it thus to be a victor ? thou 
 •^~^ With sunken knee, in strange dejection 
 
 cast, 
 The laurel drooping from thy pallid brow, 
 Thy naked shoulder shuddering at the blast 
 That trumpets forth thy deed with brazen 
 
 breath ? 
 Is life itself more difficult than death ? 
 Or is't the thought of him that thou hast slain — 
 So little less in valour than thyself — 
 That sickens thee at sight of yonder pelf, 
 The piteous recompense of mortal pain ? 
 Or, tranced memory of a dying glance 
 That, fading, robbed thee of one victory 
 That ne'er shall be — thy last and only chance 
 To make thy friend that was thine enemy ? 
 
 II
 
 Alone 
 
 O WAY, sway, tops of the trees 
 ^^ Under the stars so white : 
 Cradle my soul in your branches wet, 
 And carry me there till the moon shall'set 
 Just for to-night ! 
 
 Sigh, sigh, sound of the breeze, 
 
 Lifting my bed so light : 
 Lace my head in a dreamless net, 
 And kiss my tears, that I may forget, 
 Just for to-night ! 
 
 12
 
 Love's Extremity 
 
 T OVE is the only unsubdued thing, 
 
 -■— ' That knoweth neither slavery nor woe, 
 
 Yet dares himself in subjugation bring 
 
 To serve the lightest circumstance : but oh, 
 
 The sun is dark in heaven, and the stars 
 
 Rush forth in weeping course upon their doom, 
 
 When Love must seem not that he is, and mars 
 
 His fairest parts to build himself a tomb ; 
 
 Lest, like a beggar starving by the way. 
 
 He suffer gentle pity — worse than death ! — 
 
 Accept a lower homage, and betray 
 
 His priceless kingdom for a fading wreath. 
 
 Imperishable, still, he lives to be 
 
 His bitter friend and constant enemy ! 
 
 13
 
 Passing 
 
 P 
 
 LAY, play, wild wet wind, 
 Stringing with tears the grey November bough 
 Play in my hair, 
 And cool the fevered cheek 
 Too hot with summer's glow : 
 Thy chilly tears 
 I would be weeping now. 
 
 Summer is over : spent hangs the rose 
 Over its garden bed, 
 Drenched with dew : 
 The air is full of a homeless sound, 
 The rushing forth of a soul unbound, 
 
 Whither — no man knows ! 
 And yet the darkened way it goes 
 I would be going too. 
 
 The bare leaf beats against the sky, 
 Its slender will outdone : 
 Soon will it fall to its earthy bed 
 In a soundless sleep : 
 
 Cover my head — 
 I would be sleeping soon. 
 
 14
 
 LOVE me and only me, 
 No thins: of mine — 
 Neither my beauty, nor the praise of it, 
 My riches, poverties, or very love ! 
 Forget them all, indeed, if any be, 
 Love me, and only me : 
 
 And know not why, 
 Only that thou dost need me for thyself, 
 Pleading for thine own sake, and not for mine, 
 As I love thee, of great necessity ! 
 
 Can love be dowerless that naked woo'd ? 
 Ah, he was ever rich that never loved ! 
 
 15
 
 Circlet 
 
 IF I had known, as now I know, 
 That fairest Summer cometh late, 
 I ne'er had felt the winter slow. 
 If I had known as now I know 
 That rarest vineyards ripen so ! 
 
 And had I found it light to wait, 
 I ne'er had known, as now I know. 
 
 That fairest Summer cometh late ! 
 
 i6
 
 Song 
 
 TELL-TALE lips of joy, where did ye sup 
 to-night ? 
 The Eye for reaping beauty's ground, 
 The Ear for sifting lovely sound, 
 But Lips to prove 
 The food of Love — 
 Love that liketh well ! 
 
 The watchful Eye and needy Ear 
 Lay wait for many a messenger 
 
 To carry the world's delight ; 
 The Tongue for taste, and the Nostril fine 
 For thieving scents of rose and vine ; 
 But O, th' adventurous Lips fulfil 
 Their own behest, and dearest will ! 
 And Love is brought, 
 And Love is caught, 
 
 In one sweet spell ! 
 
 17
 
 Sonnets of Art 
 I. 
 
 To the Amateur 
 
 HAPPY the man that loves ! I speak not 
 now 
 Of Life, and that diviner mystery, 
 But of a milder love, whose even flow 
 Deepens with ageing life's intensity ; 
 A love for all things made by the hand of man, 
 Dumb pictures of the living mind within, 
 That lovers, passing, pause awhile to scan 
 In soul-delighted silence — knowing therein 
 Man's uttermost — feeling, thought, and tone 
 Nursed in a dream, but rarely looked upon — 
 Slaking the delicate thirst on honeyed wine, 
 The choicest brew that mortal blossoms make — 
 Rapture of roses, and the strong sea-brine — 
 Blessing the maker for the Creature's sake ! 
 
 i8
 
 Sonnets of Art 
 II. 
 
 To the Maimer 
 
 T3UT happier the creator! he that knows, 
 ^-^ Beyond all men, the daily jar and fret — 
 The pang of indefinable regret — 
 The heavenly Vision — and the fading glows ! 
 Others may pass, and gather from the thing 
 His soul hath travailed with, a day's delight : 
 But none shall feel, as he hath felt, the sting 
 Of every blemish in his Art's despite ; 
 Or know the soundless joy, the sudden awe, 
 As his own child he standeth dumb before. 
 As were it not his own ! but something born 
 Out of the far-off, dim-arriving Dawn, 
 To set, for one short hour, his trembling feet 
 Upon the heights where God and manhood 
 meet! 
 
 19
 
 Soul-Gazing 
 
 IN those round worlds, your eyes, I see 
 Countries belonging unto me, 
 And to another, far behind, 
 That, pond'ring still, I may not find — 
 A Dweller in the depths alone. 
 That looketh forth unseen, unknown, 
 Into Immensity! 
 
 Dear Love ! you drop your lids awhile, 
 As shy with meeting but a smile 
 
 A question half-expresst ! 
 I will not ask — nor e'en refrain ; 
 Only lift up your eyes again, 
 
 And let me join my soul in them, and 
 rest! 
 
 20
 
 Sappho Disdained 
 
 # 
 
 "DRIGHT-HAIRED Aphrodite, 
 -"-^ Queen of the coloured throne. 
 Weaver of the wiles of lovers ! 
 Come, O come ! 
 
 My spirit breaks with anguish, 
 
 My body lieth wan, 
 Spent with tears of grief and anger, 
 
 Nigh over- worn. 
 
 Come, as once thou camcst, 
 
 From thy Father's House, 
 
 Hither drawn with fleetest flappings 
 Of thy golden doves. 
 
 As they drew from heaven. 
 
 Darkening half the earth. 
 
 Sudden comfort came upon me — 
 Sudden shame at grief. 
 
 ♦ Compare the Greek. 
 
 21 C
 
 Thou, O Blessed ! askedst 
 
 Low, with laughing eyes — 
 Pardoned only in th' Immortals — 
 *' Wherefore weepest thou ? 
 
 *' Who hath wronged thee, Sappho? 
 Who hath given thee grief? 
 Where the lovely maid that, living, 
 Scorns thy gifts and thee ? 
 
 " Follow, though she fly thee ; 
 
 She shall yield to wooing, 
 And, rejecting gifts to-day, 
 
 Shall soon be giving, — 
 
 *' Yea, and sighing for thee ! " 
 Child of Zeus appear ! 
 Be again my heart's ally. 
 
 And perfect counsellor ! 
 
 22
 
 Under the Wall 
 
 /^VERHEAD the Mimosa bloom 
 ^^ Sways in the Sun : 
 
 Trembling joy in his myriad leaves 
 Lifts the blossom, that sighs and heaves 
 For love of one. 
 
 One that shall come this way, and pass 
 
 Under the wall. 
 With the tranquil blue of Summer skies, 
 And the mirror of love in the open eyes, 
 
 Beholding all ! 
 
 Dust of bloom and golden seed. 
 
 Floating down. 
 Empty low like incense showers 
 All the love of the burning flowers — 
 
 Low for one ! 
 
 Quickly come, O quickly come ! 
 
 The hour is late ! 
 The shadow sleeps on the dial-face. 
 And the hush of noon-day keeps the place 
 
 Where Love doth wait. 
 
 23
 
 The Heart Comfortless 
 
 S 
 
 PRING everywhere 
 Shoots through the air 
 
 With golden glance of Sun and rain : 
 
 Crocuses like fire, 
 
 Warm with desire, 
 
 Breaking the earth, 
 Flash answer back again : 
 The while in heavenly mirth. 
 
 From brake and briar, 
 The yellow thrush and linnet sing 
 *' No joy like that of spring ! " 
 
 Day follows day. 
 
 Golden and gray, 
 And still the gray is gathered in the gold : 
 
 Fold upon fold 
 
 Blossoms are shed, 
 
 Loosing their hold 
 In dear desire to be accomplished. 
 
 Last in the train. 
 
 Sighing in vain, 
 Wan for his summer, the heart maketh moan 
 
 Crying alone 
 Of all things that sing, 
 " No grief, no grief like that of Spring ! " 
 
 24
 
 My Lady's Cup-bearer 
 
 'T^O lie beneath one equal roof, 
 -*' To meet at morn her limpid eyes, 
 To touch her hand at every meal, 
 Methought were Paradise ! 
 
 I asked too little, or too much ! 
 
 The gods, with matchless irony, 
 Granted the prayer of ignorance. 
 
 And gave me— misery. 
 
 25
 
 Song 
 
 /^^ ENTLY comes the breath of love 
 ^-^ To all of gentle mind : 
 But oh, the bitter winds are felt 
 The more unkind ! 
 
 The open hand, the honest heart 
 Invite the fairest morrow, 
 
 But oh, the wider g^ites of love 
 
 Let in the deeper sorrow ! 
 
 And yet, though Grief be very twin 
 To Love, oh, who would dare 
 
 To shut the portals of his heart, 
 And live without a care ? 
 
 26
 
 At Her Bier 
 
 npWO hands together folded — 
 -*- Two Hds shut low — 
 Two lips upon each other, 
 
 Companions now, 
 Needing on earth again 
 
 No playfellow ! 
 
 Dear Breast, where night and day 
 
 My head hath lain. 
 Dear Voice that answers not 
 
 To mine again, 
 Dark — dark for evermore 
 
 To joy and pain — 
 
 More tender than young lilies 
 
 Blowing pale, 
 More secret than the perfume 
 
 Of the vale. 
 Imperious as the sounding 
 
 Of the gale — 
 
 27
 
 I shall not fail to meet you — 
 
 Gatherinor far — 
 For oh ! the thing that made you 
 
 What you are 
 Will draw me worshipping 
 
 To every star ! 
 
 28
 
 A Child's Dower 
 
 A CHEEK that oft my cheek caressed ; 
 "^^ Immeasurable warmth of Breast ; 
 Enfolding Arms : a quiet Voice 
 Whose silence frighted every noise ; 
 The Vision of a form at night, 
 White-footed, bending, robed in white : 
 A Christmas hymn : a certain glade 
 Where Bluebells carpeted the shade ! 
 A book of Heroes : and a Nest 
 With five blue dazzling eggs at rest : 
 A little gutta-percha Boy 
 That played the king in every joy : 
 A Dog's brown eyes : a Windlass well — 
 These are the things that cast a spell, 
 Greater than all Romance can own, 
 On all I since have seen and known ! 
 
 29
 
 Robin in Autumn 
 
 "M" OW Robin sings the dim day long 
 ■^ ^ And pipes his intermittent song 
 
 In all the woods forsaken, 
 In ways where lovers used to meet, 
 And laughing sounds of echoing feet 
 That come no more, till Summer sweet 
 
 The world to wonder waken ! 
 
 Dear to the pensive Heart and proud, 
 Bird of inimitable mood ! 
 
 Art thou with thy clear singing ! 
 Some tear unshed behind thy note 
 Controls the tempest in thy throat, 
 And shakes thy tiny feathered coat, 
 
 And sets the man-heart ringing ! 
 
 No hint of suff'ring have I heard 
 Betray thee yet, dear heedless Bird, 
 
 Though Winter followed after ; 
 Under the hedge's broken pile 
 Thou hid'st thy head a litde while, 
 To greet the first, the faintest smile 
 
 With sound of living laughter ! 
 
 30
 
 Then and Now 
 
 OF old I loved the Autumn days, 
 Dishevelled gardens, reft of store, 
 But trees discrowned, and leafless ways, 
 I love not any more ! 
 
 The broken gleams, the winds that rise 
 Assail my soul with aching : 
 
 For now the drifting trees and skies 
 Are all of my own making. 
 
 My heart is bare of mirth and pride, 
 The fields are bare of sheaves, 
 
 And tears, like rain, on every side 
 Are falling from the leaves. 
 
 31
 
 Disillusion 
 
 I. 
 /^ GIVE me touch of thee, or any sense 
 ^-^ To bring thee back, fled Vision of my 
 
 heart ! 
 To this, the twilight of my garden, whence 
 
 Thou didst at dawn so cruelly depart. 
 All day with angry gauds I filled thy place : 
 
 But now, with tears washed pure of rivalry, 
 I keep it bare, lest haply thy sweet face 
 
 Revisit it in hours of reverie. 
 For every joy that lived with thee is dead ; 
 And like to early blighted blossoms shed 
 
 Around a gnarled trunk, forlorn and bare, 
 The fruitless flowers of my Summer lie, 
 And cannot live again ! O let me die, 
 
 Or lose all memory of what ye were ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet, unto me was given the happier lot : 
 A lesser loss than All I could not bear ! 
 
 32
 
 Had I, in grief, provoked the hectic spot 
 
 Upon thy cheek, or, on thy forehead fair, 
 The sudden shadow of a dim distrust, 
 
 I had embittered all I have of sweet. 
 And left a bald and broken shrine, that must 
 
 For evermore have drawn my beggared feet. 
 For ever may I pilgrim now to thee. 
 
 And move to worship in that charmed spot, 
 For ever picture me thy perfect mien, 
 
 And — as thou fadest in obscurity — 
 Awake to know that thou hast never been — 
 
 Ah ! to my widowed heart, this day art not ! 
 
 23
 
 Tulip-Flames 
 
 TULIP-FLAMES in all my border 
 Stand arow — 
 Tulips red their goblets lifting 
 
 All aglow ! 
 Tulips, pale as heart a-flaming, 
 
 Burning slow ! 
 
 Sacrificial in my garden, 
 
 They to me 
 
 Speak of all the fulness offered 
 
 Unto Thee, 
 
 Waiting till one day thou, careless. 
 
 Turn and see ! 
 
 34
 
 Vanishings 
 
 npHE Spirit passeth by, 
 -*- The glories fade, 
 That but an hour since 
 
 Thy pleasure made. 
 The golden blossom trained 
 
 About thy bovver, 
 That decked the dazzlino- noon 
 
 With many a flower. 
 Is wilted now, and wan 
 
 Within the shade ; 
 " The spirit passeth by, 
 
 The glories fade ! " 
 
 Upon the Autumn fields 
 The shadows fall ; 
 
 The chilly twilight steeps 
 And covers all ; 
 
 And in the dying West, 
 Dismantling skies, 
 
 35
 
 The very far-off home 
 
 Of wistful eyes, 
 Are fading, fading fast 
 
 On vale and hill — 
 O unpersuaded Heart, 
 
 Why linger still ? 
 
 The noon will not return, 
 
 The day is dead : 
 The blossom of the hour 
 
 Is vanished. 
 Why wander idly down 
 
 The empty lane, 
 And press from every thorn 
 
 Its drop of pain. 
 And stretch thy hands to keep 
 
 The parting scene, 
 Marring the happy grace 
 
 Of what hath been ? 
 
 Let go the gentle touch 
 Of dying things, 
 
 Nor bid the bird repeat 
 The song it sings, 
 
 For nothing lives again ! 
 But Life, to thee 
 
 36
 
 The hourly child of Life, 
 For this shall be 
 
 More purely worshipped, 
 
 More meek obeyed :- 
 
 " The spirit passeth by. 
 
 And glories fade!" 
 
 Z1
 
 npO dare to own oneself, to recognize 
 -*- The viewless peaks and ancient boundaries 
 Of our dominion, and know them set — 
 And in the near and farther provinces 
 To rule with equal temper, this is Life ! 
 
 38
 
 The Alien 
 
 A Picture 
 
 TTER loosened tresses, dark and long, 
 ^ -*- Upon her naked shoulder hung, 
 
 And shadowed half her cheek 
 With airy curls of tender growth, 
 That seemed to tremble at her mouth, 
 
 As if her lips did speak, 
 
 And they held secret converse there : — 
 Oh, is it fancy, or a prayer 
 
 That holds her thus in trance ? 
 Or dreams she of some other place, 
 Of whispered vow, and bended face 
 
 In sunny far Provence? 
 
 39 1^—2
 
 To 
 
 I KNEW thee not — and marvelled as I 
 dreamed. 
 No image of thy being had I known ; 
 Yet everything that fair and lovely seemed 
 Withdrew itself to thy removed throne ! 
 To thy fair throne removed, it waited there, 
 Till Love should get his manly eyes to see 
 The stormy way his wilful course must bear, 
 To bring my destined spirit home to thee ! 
 For, true in instinct, as a bird untaught. 
 The careless Soul, in cither's heart and breast. 
 Had built itself an answer to its thought, 
 And gathered thither surely to its rest. 
 Had either to his dream been less than true, 
 Our nameless search had long begun anew ! 
 
 40
 
 Evening Bells 
 
 PLAY on, sweet bells ! My fevered soul 
 The old familiar charm obeys, 
 And sinks to rest, 
 As lightly as a tired child, 
 That leans its happy weary head 
 
 Upon its mother's breast ! 
 
 Sweet bells, ring on ! 
 In golden twilight over garnered fields, 
 And silent woods, and solemn evening skies, 
 Above the summer bleat of folded lambs, 
 And, from the village green, the children's cries. 
 
 With waves invisible 
 Flow over all things, and subdue all thought 
 
 To one low undertone : 
 And like the hush of closing choirs 
 In full cathedral aisles, 
 Cease unaware 
 Upon the air, 
 And leave the spirit worshipping alone. 
 
 41
 
 B 
 
 Purification 
 
 LU E — blue — overhead, 
 
 The very swallows gone ! 
 And in the blue 
 A little cloud, 
 That takes my soul 
 A-sailino- on and on. 
 
 Tire not, wistful eyes ! 
 
 Weary mouth, 
 Send your breath 
 
 Up to waft 
 
 The airy raft 
 That takes my soul a-sailing ! 
 
 Sail long, blessed cloud ! 
 
 With thy burden tender, 
 On, till thou art all dissolved 
 
 In the endless blue. 
 And my spirit falls again. 
 Through the heavens, silently, 
 
 Born anew ! 
 
 42
 
 L 
 
 The Great Response 
 
 ET me come nearer Thee, 
 O Perfect Soul ! 
 Down-looking on me, wheresoe'er I tread, 
 With earnest gaze from earth, and sky o'erhead, 
 From clustered flowers, and leaves, and bowers 
 of green — 
 
 Let me come nearer Thee ! 
 
 Seekinof thine intercourse 
 I wander wide 
 O'er hills and valleys, under moon and stars, 
 Rapt in a secret tumult of delight 
 At every passing cloud, and changing light 
 
 On stream and mountain side. 
 
 I kiss thy cheek, fair rose ! 
 Its pearly hue 
 Reflects the darker passion blood of mine : 
 Thy tender breath, responding to the lips, 
 Is sweeter to the soul than new-made wine. 
 
 43
 
 Young veined leaf uncurled, 
 
 And tendril green, 
 Clinging about my finger slenderly, 
 Thou seest not : what wouldst thou have of me? 
 What happy sense hast thou, to know the touch 
 
 Of the unseen ? 
 
 Blue dome of heaven that holds 
 
 The living world 
 Like a green gem within a casket rare, 
 Fretted with brooks, and set in silver seas. 
 What Breast contains ye both, the moving Earth 
 
 And the free Air ? 
 
 And lo ! within my soul 
 
 Some happy Thing 
 Betrayed the secret sigh of deep content: 
 And, from the hollows of the breathless hills 
 There came a quiet Voice : Look round on Me, 
 The Presence, the Desire that all things fills. 
 
 The whole — the part ! 
 
 I rise upon the winds : 
 I draw the stars 
 Thro' realms of night, on paths of trackless 
 thought : 
 
 44
 
 Mine Eye contains the light of Day : mine Arm 
 Unfurls the cloud, and flings the grateful shade 
 Unasked — untaught. 
 
 In glimmering regions, yet unborn, 
 I penetrate 
 The Abyss of Being, and the Springs of 
 
 Thought : 
 I order things that be : and blamelessly 
 Divide the heavens and earth, reproved of 
 nought, 
 
 Of Joy and Power, insatiate ! 
 
 I linger in the twilight land of Grief : 
 
 With health divine 
 Breathing on frozen hearts that know me not ; 
 They lift their marred and chilly lips to me, 
 Swooning into my bosom dreamlessly, 
 For Grief and Death are mine ! 
 
 I gather up the fleeting souls that seem 
 
 All day to die : 
 Their beauty, melting, passcth not away. 
 Withdrawn into the golden mist of Life, 
 They 'merge again upon the seething strife, 
 That worketh endlessly ! 
 
 45
 
 And man, the fairest of my children ! thou 
 
 That battiest madly with thy destiny — 
 Whom I did make for joy and liberty— 
 And fain had lifted up to be with me, 
 
 My Son and fellow-worker — know 
 
 I ONLY AM : unhasting, uncontrolled, 
 
 My Perfect Will 
 Fulfils its perfect Self, around, above. 
 My holy name is One ! O Mortal, yield 
 Unto the soul that would thy being fill — 
 
 The Soul of Love ! 
 
 46
 
 Eleanora Duse 
 
 DEAR Woman of thy kind ! was this thy 
 lot. 
 To paint for men the darkness and the grief — 
 The human prelude to divine relief — 
 The cry for that which comes — and still is not ? 
 Ah God ! those mournful eyes, with silence 
 
 fraught — 
 Dumb sounds — quick murmurs, low and pitiful — - 
 Soft hands reluctant— movements wonderful — 
 Feeling for life, and joy, as one untaught. . . . 
 What would the world not give, that sees in thee 
 Itself made eloquent, itself made great, 
 Most understanded in its mortal fate. 
 And cry for liberty — but once to see 
 That Brow illuminate beyond distress, 
 That smile dissolve in love's own happiness ! 
 
 47
 
 Winter 
 
 OHARP Winter! Bonny Winter! 
 ^^ Challenge the lusty Year 
 To shew so bright array 
 As thou dost here 
 With holly-berries, mistletoe, and yew ! 
 
 Or, folded in thy cloak, 
 
 Standing at dusk alone, 
 Hearing the bitter wind 
 
 Make endless moan 
 Between a sullen sky and snowy plain, 
 
 Smile to thyself, and keep 
 
 Thy darling secret — this — 
 
 The Thing thou carryest 
 The promise is 
 
 And pledge of every summer-day to be ! 
 
 Sharp Winter ! Bonny Winter ! 
 
 Challenge the lusty Year 
 To shew such ruddy cheeks 
 
 And inner cheer 
 As make thy bitter winds and darkest days ! 
 
 48
 
 An Altered Chart 
 
 nPHE aged World, with wrinkled face and 
 -■- breast, 
 
 O'er-scarred and furrowed with the rain of tears, 
 
 The heat and sun-burn of her giant years, 
 
 Abateth little of her youthful zest : 
 
 But lovely still, deceiving with decay, 
 
 In furtive mist she veils the crumbling cape. 
 
 And ships go by, nor see the changing shape. 
 
 Or where the samphire clings from day to day : 
 
 Till, in the glitter of a tideless bay, 
 
 There leaps a livid crack across the land, 
 
 The spue of fiery lips upon the sand. 
 
 And, smoking with the breath of burning snow, 
 
 The citied Coast-line vanishes — and lo, 
 
 A virgin isle a thousand miles away ! 
 
 49
 
 In Memoriam 
 
 R. L. N. 1892. 
 
 /^ N the dim snow-height 
 ^-^ Storm-encompassed, 
 His soul passed out for ever, 
 Spirit-led! 
 
 Name not the quiet smile 
 
 For ever still, 
 The broken years he never 
 
 May fulfil ! 
 
 Ye that have known the touch 
 Of that dead hand, 
 
 Who may approach my grief, 
 Or understand 
 
 How one, climbing alone 
 
 The silent steep, 
 Where once ye gathered to 
 
 His leadership, 
 
 At daybreak nearly met 
 In that fair place — 
 
 For evermore to miss 
 His Unseen Face! 
 
 50
 
 The Heart Worships 
 
 SILENCE in Heaven- 
 Silence on Earth — 
 Silence within ! 
 Thy hush, O Lord, 
 O'er all the world 
 
 Covers the din. 
 
 I do not fear 
 To speak of thee 
 
 In mortal kind : 
 And yet, to all 
 Thy Namelessness 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 Only I need 
 And kneel again 
 
 Thy touch to win ; 
 Silence in Heaven — 
 Silence on Earth — 
 
 Silence within ! 
 
 51
 
 Mary Mother 
 
 npHOU sleepest : but I wake, and watching 
 -*" weep : 
 
 Too soon the hours come when thou wilt keep 
 Thy weary watch alone, and others sleep. 
 
 Thou art not mine ; and I must give thee soon 
 To those that claim thee : Earth, and Sun, and 
 
 Moon 
 Await thy coming, saith the prophet's rune. 
 
 So weak and friendless! Blessed, blessed me ! 
 That such a wonder could have come to be, 
 That I should have the Mother-care of thee ! 
 
 No other Babe has known that smile of thine, 
 
 The parted lips' inimitable line, 
 
 The laughter, gloriously free and fine ! 
 
 But rimmed about the circle of those eyes 
 Lie folded up the thoughts that agonize — 
 The slumbering legend of thy destinies. 
 
 52
 
 In vain with tears I strive to kiss away 
 
 Their trace, and hold thee close, and almost 
 
 pray 
 The watchful night may never break to day. 
 
 Each hour tells the dawn is drawing near : 
 I know not what it brings, or what I fear. 
 And yet — I will be ready when 'tis here. 
 
 But just to-night — this dreamless head of thine, 
 
 The closing fingers delicately fine, 
 
 These baby limbs — are only God's, and mine ! 
 
 53
 
 A Wish 
 
 To the Child Ambrose 
 
 QUICK be thy sense to the touch of flower 
 and bird, 
 Tender thine ear to the mystic undertone 
 That utters heaven and earth in a single word, 
 Patient thy soul to learn itself alone ; 
 
 But oh, litde nameless guest sent here to 
 
 dwell, 
 And oh, lltde mortal friend I love so well. 
 Be this thy heritage here, all gifts above. 
 The fulness, joy — and suffering — which is Love! 
 
 54
 
 The Face Unseen 
 
 n^HE apple-tree leans with its weight against 
 -*■ a sky of gold, 
 And the evening bat comes out from the dusk 
 
 of the wood hard by, 
 Shadows deepen and gather over vale and fold, 
 The winds arise, and rock in the restless trees, 
 
 and sio"h : 
 But my head lies low in the window, with tears 
 
 as cold as stone. 
 With the sense of a child forsaken, the grief of 
 
 a child alone ! 
 
 And yet I have felt it watching ; at noon it 
 
 lingers near, 
 With the hush of a veiled thing, that moves 
 
 withheld in a dream ; 
 I stretch my arms, and listen : but never a 
 
 sound I hear 
 
 55 E— 2
 
 And the sun goes down, and the meadows are 
 
 folded white with steam. 
 But under the stars I know that its eyes and 
 
 cheeks are wet ; 
 And it moves its passionate lips, — but I may 
 
 not see It yet ! 
 
 56
 
 s 
 
 January Rain 
 
 UMMER is sweet: 
 And dim the smell 
 Of lilies down the dusky street 
 
 Where cottaCTe-orardens blow : 
 And fair the sound of a marriao-e-bell 
 At morn : and yet I know 
 Nothing so near 
 To bring a tear 
 In the frozen heart and sad, 
 As the sound and smell of a mighty rain 
 That falls at eve upon the plain, 
 
 When Winter yields, consenting to be glad 
 
 The starling whistles on the bough 
 
 The gusty twilight through : 
 No songster he : but his feathers wet, 
 Storm-ruffled, are with jewels set ; 
 And he turns his jetty eye 
 Careless and proud 
 Upon the cloud. 
 And cons the travelling sky. 
 
 57
 
 And o'er the leas 
 A new-born breeze, 
 A-babbling ere his time, 
 Bringeth a faint delusive scent 
 
 Of poplar twigs, and primrose buds, 
 Deep hidden in the leafless woods 
 Darkened with falling rime, — 
 Which cannot be ! yet heart's content 
 
 Is come to us again. 
 To us who sigh and nothing know, 
 Yet hush the sigh, and listen low 
 Hearing- the solemn evening- blow 
 With January's rain ! 
 
 58
 
 God's Rhyme 
 
 /^^ OD tells a tale to those that listen 
 ^-^ Beginning at Dawn, 
 When Dewdrops glisten 
 Bright-eyed Buds and Babes to christen 
 And winded Seeds are born ! 
 
 At hush of Noon and Harvest-time, 
 Father and mother, 
 Youth and Maid, 
 Proudly silent, sweet and staid 
 Smile at each other, 
 Catching together 
 The song and the secret Rhyme ! 
 
 Best of all. 
 
 Where last leaves fall. 
 The old man, leaning, hears 
 With a tired smile, more sweet for tears, 
 In the sinking Sun, and the Winter rain 
 In the Sob of Death, in the Night of Pain, 
 The Story begin again 
 
 (Made for a fresco of "the Seasons" in a National Siliool.) 
 
 59
 
 On Seeing a Fan of Marie Antoinette 
 in the House of a Republican Friend 
 
 T17HERE is the Httle hand that once 
 
 ' ^ controlled 
 
 This pretty coquetry of gilt and pearl, 
 That dared the sceptred power as lightly hold, 
 And led about the dance's mazy whirl, 
 Dreaming it could the god of Custom hurl 
 From the high altars of dead Royalty, 
 And still around its sacred symbol furl 
 The remnants of a people's loyalty ? 
 Alas ! this brittle toy availed naught 
 To waft aside the stench of bitter fame 
 From centuries of ruined hearts, distraught 
 Too long by grief, too savage in their shame 
 To dream their heirs would touch with soft 
 
 regret 
 The place where those young finger-tips have 
 
 met! 
 
 60
 
 Greater Britons 
 
 TSLAND-NURTURED Brood of the 
 
 -*- ancient Sea, 
 
 Safe-girdled from the primal shocks of race, 
 
 Solving in undisturbed tranquillity 
 
 Your inner sorrows, and your outward place, 
 
 To you was given, by some august decree, 
 
 The living message of a People's life, 
 
 The Faith in Being through the things that be, 
 
 The Growth that waxeth out of mellowing 
 
 strife ! 
 Great through the destiny that gathered here 
 The boldest thought of far and many a land. 
 Great through your solitude, and great by 
 
 Prayer, 
 God's Matter, lo ! is given into your hand, 
 Yours, as ye serve His Mind, by Whom ye 
 
 are — 
 Maker of Politics in Earth and Star ! 
 
 6i
 
 Comrades 
 
 AT O stranger thou to me ! in early days 
 -*- ^ I felt thee a companion at my side ; 
 Thy step, unseen, kept even pace with me 
 Through meadows wide ! 
 
 And thou wast with me as the frozen year 
 Turned in his darkened course to Spring 
 anew, 
 And where the tender beeches leafed again, 
 Thou knewst it too ! 
 
 For us amid the hum of forest ways 
 
 The giant boughs their silken shade unfurled, 
 And blindly in primaeval nakedness 
 Great ferns uncurled ! 
 
 By secret paths beside a tangled stream 
 
 We searched the fairy pools of waving moss ; 
 And plundered purple banks of violets 
 That knew no loss. 
 
 62
 
 Or paused to listen, with suspended breath, 
 
 And instant answering of eye to eye, 
 In some young hazel-copse, to catch the first 
 Far cuckoo-cry ! 
 
 Upon the Downs we chased the summer clouds 
 
 That travel furtively from glade to glade ; 
 And wandered down the luminously dim 
 Enchanted shade ; 
 
 Or ran together on the shining sands 
 With naked feet, and toiled the livelong day, 
 To laugh at last, and let the waters sweep 
 Our walls away ! 
 
 And then, of starry fish, and limpet shell, 
 
 And rosy tamarisk, and seaweed wet, 
 We sat and wove us perishable crowns 
 With pebbles set. 
 
 And ever in my wanderings and dreams 
 
 Of all that I should ever do and be, 
 Upon the summit of my joy I set 
 A throne for thee ! 
 
 63
 
 The Inner Citadel. 
 
 'T^HE first upraised look in which 
 ■^ Thy spirit met with mine 
 Assailed my long-accustomed brow 
 Like sudden flush of wine ! 
 
 The bars and barriers fled away 
 That kept my spirit whole : 
 
 They gaspt to let the vision by 
 That passed into my soul — 
 
 Thy gentle Image, entering In, 
 To take, by leaveless grace, 
 
 A Citadel I had not known, 
 An undlvincd place ! 
 
 And still — of all the nameless things 
 For which I worship thee 
 
 Is this the strangest, that thyself 
 Betrayed myself to me ! 
 
 64
 
 Mountain Saxifrage 
 
 On the Stelvio Pass 
 
 "D Y what divinest touch of Alchemy 
 
 -*-^ Did barren rock and thin blue air combine 
 
 To build a thing so delicately fine, 
 
 Native with joy, and perfect power to be ? 
 
 What force could draw the senseless atoms 
 
 nigh. 
 And, out of dew, and cloud, and common clay, 
 Compose this magically fair array — 
 These breathing children of the earth and sky, 
 Were it not e'en the same resistless grace 
 That weaveth fiercest elements in place ; 
 And, mixing vaster music out of strife, 
 Draweth from hells below, and heavens above, 
 The slumbering mystery the world calls Life, 
 The waking Life th' adoring soul calls Love ! 
 
 6s
 
 The Sovereign Poet 
 
 An Answer 
 
 HE sitteth not above the dust of Time, 
 High in the starlight of Eternity — 
 The Poet, Sovereign-born of every clime, 
 Hearing the clang of Earth a sunny chime 
 
 In far enchanted spheres ! 
 
 Her sighs and tears 
 Of mortal rage and love, whate'er they be. 
 Are dear to him as God's reality : 
 And not a joy or sorrow can surprise, 
 But long hath had a home within his eyes. 
 
 The pulsings of his heart ! 
 
 His chosen part 
 Is on the market place, and in the street ; 
 His ample stature and his careless feet 
 The nearest most familiar thing we know : 
 
 High and low 
 The hummings of his songs are in the air, 
 Nursing the timid voice of everything, 
 
 66
 
 Till, in the cry of rapture or despair, 
 We wonder if 'tis he, or we that sing, 
 
 There comes so full a note, so loud a strain : 
 And, when he wanders to the Hills again, 
 We take our pipes a ndfollow too, and know — 
 Or think we know — more surely where we go '• 
 
 67
 
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