PS 
 
 2772 
 S7 
 1896 
 MAIN 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 B M IDS 15D 
 
SOUN'i/IS AND CTHr.R VKRSHIS 
 
 by 
 
 George Santayana 
 
 Nev/ York 
 Stone and Kimball 
 1896 
 
First edition 
 1894 
 
PS 2 772 
 57 
 
 I 
 
 1 SOUGHT on earth a garden of delight, 
 
 Or island altar to the Sea and Air, 
 
 Where gentle music were accounted prayer, 
 
 And reason, veiled, performed the happy rite. 
 
 My sad youth worshipped at the piteous height 
 
 Where God vouchsafed the death of man to share ; 
 
 His love made mortal sorrow light to bear, 
 
 But his deep wounds put joy to shamed flight. 
 
 And though his arms, outstretched upon the tree, 
 
 Were beautiful, and pleaded my embrace, 
 
 My sins were loth to look upon his face. 
 
 So came I down from Golgotha to thee, 
 
 Eternal Mother; let the sun and sea 
 
 Heal me, and keep me in thy dwelling-place. 
 
II 
 
 OLOw and reluctant was the long descent, 
 
 With many farewell pious looks behind, 
 
 And dumb misgivings where the path might wind, 
 
 And questionings of nature, as I went. 
 
 The greener branches that above me bent. 
 
 The broadening valleys, quieted my mind. 
 
 To the fair reasons of the Spring inclined 
 
 And to the Summer's tender argument. 
 
 But sometimes, as revolving night descended. 
 
 And in my childish heart the new song ended, 
 
 I lay down, full of longing, on the steep ; 
 
 And, haunting Still the lonely way I wended. 
 
 Into my dreams the ancient sorrow blended. 
 
 And with these holy echoes charmed my sleep. 
 
Ill 
 
 O WORLD, thou choosest not the better part ! 
 
 It is not wisdom to be only wise, 
 
 And on the inward vision close the eyes, 
 
 But it is wisdom to believe the heart. 
 
 Columbus found a world, and had no chart, 
 
 Save one that faith deciphered in the skies; 
 
 To trust the soul's invincible surmise 
 
 Was all his science and his only art. 
 
 Our knowledge is a torch of smoky pine 
 
 That lights the pathway but one step ahead 
 
 Across a void of mystery and dread. 
 
 Bid, then, the tender light of faith to shine 
 
 By which alone the mortal heart is led 
 
 Unto the thinking of the thought divine. 
 
IV 
 
 1 WOULD I had been born in nature's day, 
 
 When man was in the world a wide-eyed boy, 
 
 And clouds of sorrow crossed his sky of joy 
 
 To scatter dewdrops on the buds of May. 
 
 Then could he work and love and fight and pray, 
 
 Nor heartsick grow in fortune's long employ. 
 
 Mighty to build and ruthless to destroy 
 
 He lived, while masked death unquestioned lay. 
 
 Now ponder we the ruins of the years. 
 
 And groan beneath the weight of boasted gain; 
 
 No unsung bacchanal can charm our ears 
 
 And lead our dances to the woodland fane, 
 
 No hope of heaven sweeten our few tears 
 
 And hush the importunity of pain. 
 
Dreamt I to-day the dream of yesternight, 
 
 Sleep ever feigning one evolving theme, — 
 
 Of my two lives which should I call the dream? 
 
 Which action vanity? which vision sight? 
 
 Some greater waking must pronounce aright, 
 
 If aught abideth of the things that seem. 
 
 And with both currents swell the flooded stream 
 
 Into an ocean infinite of light. 
 
 Even such a dream I dream, and know full well 
 
 My waking passeth like a midnight spell. 
 
 But know not if my dreaming breaketh through 
 
 Into the deeps of heaven and of hell. 
 
 I know but this of all I would I knew: 
 
 Truth is a dream, unless my dream is true. 
 
VI 
 
 Love not as do the flesh-imprisoned men 
 
 Whose dreams are of a bitter bought caress, 
 
 Or even of a maiden's tenderness 
 
 Whom they love only that she loves again. 
 
 For it is but thyself thou lovest then, 
 
 Or what thy thoughts would glory to possess; 
 
 But love thou nothing thou wouldst love the less 
 
 If henceforth ever hidden from thy ken. 
 
 Love but the formless and eternal Whole 
 
 From whose effulgence one unheeded ray 
 
 Breaks on this prism of dissolving clay 
 
 Into the flickering colours of thy soul. 
 
 These flash and vanish; bid them not to stay, 
 
 For wisdom brightens as they fade away. 
 
VII 
 
 1 WOULD I might forget that I am I, 
 And break the heavy chain that binds me fast, 
 Whose Hnks about myself my deeds have cast. 
 What in the body's tomb doth buried He 
 Is boundless ; 't is the spirit of the sky, 
 Lord of the future, guardian of the past, 
 And soon must forth, to know his own at last. 
 In his large life to live, I fain would die. 
 Happy the dumb beast, hungering for food, 
 But calling not his suffering his own; 
 Blessed the angel, gazing on all good. 
 But knowing not he sits upon a throne ; 
 Wretched the mortal, pondering his mood. 
 And doomed to know his aching heart alone. 
 
VIII 
 
 MARTYRED Spirit of this helpless Whole, 
 Who dost by pain for tyranny atone, 
 
 And in the star, the atom, and the stone, 
 Purgest the primal guilt, and in the soul; 
 Rich but in grief, thou dost thy wealth unroll. 
 And givest of thy substance to thine own. 
 Mingling the love, the laughter, and the groan 
 In the large hollow of the heaven's bowl. 
 Fill full my cup ; the dregs and honeyed brim 
 
 1 take from thy just hand, more worthy love 
 For sweetening not the draught for me or him. 
 What in myself I am, that let me prove; 
 Relent not for my feeble prayer, nor dim 
 
 The burning of thine altar for my hymn. 
 
IX 
 
 IlAVE patience; it is fit that in this wise 
 
 The spirit purge away its proper dross. 
 
 No endless fever doth thy watches toss. 
 
 For by excess of evil, evil dies. 
 
 Soon shall the faint world melt before thine eyes, 
 
 And, all life's losses cancelled by life's loss, 
 
 Thou shalt lay down all burdens on thy cross, 
 
 And be that day with God in Paradise. 
 
 Have patience ; for a long eternity 
 
 No summons woke thee from thy happy sleep; 
 
 For love of God one vigil thou canst keep 
 
 And add thy drop of sorrow to the sea. 
 
 Having known grief, all will be well with thee, 
 
 Ay, and thy second slumber will be deep. 
 
Have I the heart to wander on the earth, 
 
 So patient in her everlasting course, 
 Seeking no prize, but bowing to the force 
 That gives direction and hath given birth? 
 Rain tears, sweet Pity, to refresh my dearth, 
 And plough my sterile bosom, sharp Remorse, 
 That I grow sick and curse my being's source 
 If haply one day passes lacking mirth. 
 Doth the sun therefore burn, that I may bask? 
 Or do the tired earth and tireless sea. 
 That toil not for their pleasure, toil for me? 
 Amid the world's long striving, wherefore ask 
 What reasons were, or what rewards shall be ? 
 The covenant God gave us is a task. 
 
XI 
 
 Deem not, because you see me in the press 
 Of this world's children run my fated race, 
 That I blaspheme against a proffered grace, 
 Or leave unlearned the love of holiness. 
 I honour not that sanctity the less 
 Whose aureole illumines not my face. 
 But dare not tread the secret, holy place 
 To which the priest and prophet have access. 
 For some are born to be beatified 
 By anguish, and by grievous penance done ; 
 And some, to furnish forth the age's pride. 
 And to be praised of men beneath the sun; 
 And some are corn to stand perplexed aside 
 From so much sorrow — of whom I am one. 
 
 X3 
 
XII 
 
 Mightier storms than this are brewed on earth 
 That pricks the crystal lake with summer showers. 
 The past hath treasure of sublimer hours, 
 And God is witness to their changeless worth. 
 Big is the future with portentous birth 
 Of battles numberless, and nature's powers 
 Outdo my dreams of beauty in the flowers, 
 And top my revels with the demons' mirth. 
 But thou, glad river that hast reached the plain, 
 Scarce wak'st the rushes to a slumberous sigh. 
 The mountains sleep behind thee, and the main 
 Awaits thee, lulling an eternal pain 
 With patience; nor doth Phoebe, throned on high, 
 The mirror of thy placid heart disdain. 
 
 14 
 
XIII 
 
 OWEET are the days we wander with no hope 
 Along life's labyrinthine trodden way, 
 With no impatience at the steep's delay. 
 Nor sorrow at the swift- descended slope. 
 Why this inane curiosity to grope 
 In the dim dust for gems' unmeaning ray? 
 Why this proud piety, that dares to pray 
 For a world wider than the heaven's cope? 
 Farewell, my burden ! No more will I bear 
 The foolish load of my fond faith's despair. 
 But trip the idle race with careless feet. 
 The crown of olive let another wear; 
 It is my crown to mock the runner's heat 
 With gentle wonder and with laughter sweet. 
 
XIV 
 
 Ihere may be chaos still around the world, 
 This little world that in my thinking hes; 
 For mine own bosom is the paradise 
 Where all my life's fair visions are unfurled. 
 Within my nature's shell I slumber curled, 
 Unmindful of the changing outer skies, 
 Where now, perchance, some new-born Eros flies, 
 Or some old Cronos from his throne is hurled. 
 I heed them not; or if the subtle night 
 Haunt me with deities I never saw, 
 I soon mine eyelid's drowsy curtain draw 
 To hide their myriad faces from my sight. 
 They threat in vain; the whirlwind cannot awe 
 A happy snow-flake dancing in the flaw. 
 
 x6 
 
XV 
 
 A. WALL, a wall around my garden rear, 
 
 And hedge me in from the disconsolate hills; 
 
 Give me but one of all the mountain rills, 
 
 Enough of ocean in its voice I hear. 
 
 Come no profane insatiate mortal near 
 
 With the contagion of his passionate ills ; 
 
 The smoke of battle all the valleys fills, 
 
 Let the eternal sunlight greet me here. 
 
 This spot is sacred to the deeper soul 
 
 And to the piety that mocks no more. 
 
 In nature's inmost heart is no uproar, 
 
 None in this shrine; in peace the heavens roll. 
 
 In peace the slow tides pulse from shore to shore, 
 
 And ancient quiet broods from pole to pole. 
 
 «7 
 
XVI 
 
 A. THOUSAND beauties that have never been 
 Haunt me with hope and tempt me to pursue ; 
 The gods, methinks, dwell just behind the blue; 
 The satyrs at my coming fled the green. 
 The flitting shadows of the grove between 
 The dryads' eyes were winking, and I knew 
 The wings of sacred Eros as he flew 
 And left me to the love of things not seen. 
 'T is a sad love, like an eternal prayer, 
 And knows no keen delight, no faint surcease. 
 Yet from the seasons hath the earth increase, 
 And heaven shines as if the gods were there. 
 Had Dian passed there could no deeper peace 
 Embalm the purple stretches of the air. 
 
 18 
 
XVII 
 
 1 HERE was a time when in the teeth of fate 
 I flung the challenge of the spirit's right; 
 The child, the dreamer of that visioned night, 
 Woke, and was humbled unto man's estate. 
 A slave I am; on sun and moon I wait, 
 Who heed not that I live upon their light. 
 Me they despise, but are themselves so bright 
 They flood my heart with love, and quench my hate. 
 O subtle Beauty, sweet persuasive worth 
 That didst the love of being first inspire. 
 We do thee homage both in death and birth. 
 Thirsting for thee, we die in thy great dearth, 
 Or borrow breath of infinite desire 
 To chase thine image through the haunted earth. 
 
 19 
 
XVIII 
 
 IJLASPHEME not lovc, ye lovers, nor dispraise 
 The wise divinity tliat makes you blind, 
 Sealing the eyes, but showing to the mind 
 The high perfection from which nature strays. 
 For love is God, and in unfathomed ways 
 Brings forth the beauty for which fancy pined. 
 I loved, and lost my love among mankind; 
 But I have found it after many days. 
 Oh, trust in God, and banish rash despair, 
 That, feigning evil, is itself the curse ! 
 My angel is come back, more sad and fair, 
 And witness to the truth of love I bear, 
 With too much rapture for this sacred verse, 
 At the exceeding answer to my prayer. 
 
XIX 
 
 Above the battlements of heaven rise 
 
 The glittering domes of the gods' golden dwelling, 
 
 Whence, like a constellation, passion-quelling, 
 
 The truth of all things feeds immortal eyes. 
 
 There all forgotten dreams of paradise 
 
 From the deep caves of memory upwelling, 
 
 All tender joys beyond our dim foretelling 
 
 Are ever bright beneath the flooded skies. 
 
 There we live o'er, amid angelic powers, 
 
 Our lives without remorse, as if not ours, 
 
 And others' lives with love, as if our own; 
 
 For we behold, from those eternal towers. 
 
 The deathless beauty of all winged hours, 
 
 And have our being in their truth alone. 
 
XX 
 
 1 HESE Strewn thoughts, by the mountain pathway 
 
 sprung, 
 I conned for comfort, till I ceased to grieve. 
 And with these flowering thorns I dare to weave 
 The crown, great Mother, on thine altar hung. 
 Teach thou a larger speech to my loosed tongue, 
 And to mine opened eyes thy secrets give, 
 That in thy perfect love I learn to live, 
 And in thine immortality be young. 
 The soul is not on earth an alien thing 
 That hath her life's rich sources otherwhere; 
 She is a parcel of the sacred air. 
 She takes her being from the breath of Spring, 
 The glance of Phoebus is her fount of light, 
 And her long sleep a draught of primal night. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 Second Series 
 
XXI 
 
 iA-MONG the myriad voices of the Spring 
 
 What were the voice of my supreme desire, 
 
 What were my cry amid the vernal choir, 
 
 Or my complaint before the gods that sing? 
 
 O too late love, O flight on wounded wing, 
 
 Infinite hope my lips should not suspire, 
 
 Why, when the world is thine, my grief require, 
 
 Or mock my dear-bought patience with thy sting? 
 
 Though I be mute, the birds will in the boughs 
 
 Sing as in every April they have sung, 
 
 And, though I die, the incense of heart-vows 
 
 Will float to heaven, as when I was young. 
 
 But, O ye beauties I must never see. 
 
 How great a lover have you lost in me ! 
 
XXII 
 
 X IS love that moveth the celestial spheres 
 In endless yearning for the Changeless One, 
 And the stars sing together, as they run 
 To number the innumerable years. 
 'Tis love that lifteth through their dewy tears 
 The roses' beauty to the heedless sun, 
 And with no hope, nor any guerdon won, 
 Love leads me on, nor end of love appears. 
 For the same breath that did awake the flowers, 
 Making them happy with a joy unknown. 
 Kindled my light and fixed my spirit's goal ; 
 And the same hand that reined the flying hours 
 And chained the whirling earth to Phoebus' throne, 
 In love's eternal orbit keeps the soul. 
 
 26 
 
XXIII 
 
 jL)ut is this love, that in my hollow breast 
 
 Gnaws like a silent poison, till I faint? 
 
 Is this the vision that the haggard saint 
 
 Fed with his vigils, till he found his rest? 
 
 Is this the hope that piloted thy quest, 
 
 Knight of the Grail, and kept thy heart from taint ? 
 
 Is this the heaven, poets, that ye paint? 
 
 Oh, then, how like damnation to be blest ! 
 
 This is not love : it is that worser thing — 
 
 Hunger for love, while love is yet to learn. 
 
 Thy peace is gone, my soul ; thou long must yearn. 
 
 Long is thy winter's pilgrimage, till spring 
 
 And late home-coming; long ere thou return 
 
 To where the seraphs covet not, and burn. 
 
XXIV 
 
 Although I decked a chamber for my bride, 
 And found a moonlit garden for the tryst 
 Wherein all flowers looked happy as we kissed, 
 Hath the deep heart of me been satisfied? 
 The chasm 'twixt our spirits yawns as wide 
 Though our lips meet, and clasp thee as I list. 
 The something perfect that I love is missed, 
 And my warm worship freezes into pride. 
 But why — O waywardness of nature ! — why 
 Seek farther in the world? I had my choice, 
 And we said we were happy, you and I. 
 Why in the forest should I hear a cry, 
 Or in the sea an unavailing voice, 
 Or feel a pang to look upon the sky? 
 
 28 
 
XXV 
 
 As in the midst of battle there is room 
 
 For thoughts of love, and in foul sin for mirth ; 
 
 As gossips whisper of a trinket's worth 
 
 Spied by the death-bed's flickering candle-gloom; 
 
 As in the crevices of Caesar's tomb 
 
 The sweet herbs flourish on a little earth: 
 
 So in this great disaster of our birth 
 
 We can be happy, and forget our doom. 
 
 For morning, with a ray of tenderest joy 
 
 Gilding the iron heaven, hides the truth, 
 
 And evening gently woos us to employ 
 
 Our grief in idle catches. Such is youth ; 
 
 Till from that summer's trance we wake, to find 
 
 Despair before us, vanity behind. 
 
 29 
 
XXVI 
 
 Oh, if the heavy last unuttered groan 
 
 That Heth here could issue to the air, 
 
 Then might God's peace descend on my despair 
 
 And seal this heart as with a mighty stone. 
 
 For what sin, Heaven, must I thus atone? 
 
 Was it a sin to love what seemed so fair? 
 
 If thou deny me hope, why give me care? 
 
 I have not lived, and die alone, alone. 
 
 This is not new. Many have perished so. 
 
 Long years of nothing, with some days of grief. 
 
 Made their sad Hfe. Their own hand sought relief 
 
 Too late to find it, impotently slow. 
 
 I know, strong Fate, the trodden way I go. 
 
 Joy lies behind me. Be the journey brief. 
 
 30 
 
XXVII 
 
 OLEEP hath composed the anguish of my brain, 
 
 And ere the dawn I will arise and pray. 
 
 Strengthen me, Heaven, and attune my lay 
 
 Unto my better angel's clear refrain. 
 
 For I can hear him in the night again, 
 
 The breathless night, snow-smothered, happy, grey, 
 
 With premonition of the jocund day. 
 
 Singing a quiet carol to my pain. 
 
 Slowly, saith he, the April buds are growing 
 
 In the chill core of twigs all leafless now; 
 
 Gently, beneath the weight of last night's snowing, 
 
 Patient of winter's hand, the branches bow. 
 
 Each buried seed lacks light as much as thou. 
 
 Wait for the spring, brave heart ; there is no knowing. 
 
 31 
 
XXVIII 
 
 Out of the dust the queen of roses springs; 
 
 The brackish depths of the blown waters bear 
 
 Blossoms of foam ; the common mist and air 
 
 Weave Vesper's holy, pity-laden wings. 
 
 So from sad, mortal, and unhallowed things 
 
 Bud stars that in their crowns the angels wear; 
 
 And worship of the infinitely fair 
 
 Flows from thine eyes, as wise Petrarca sings: 
 
 "Hence comes the understanding of love's scope, 
 
 That, seeking thee, to perfect good aspires, 
 
 Accounting little what all flesh desires; 
 
 And hence the spirit's happy pinions ope 
 
 In flight impetuous to the heaven's choirs : 
 
 Wherefore I walk already proud in hope." 
 
 32 
 
XXIX 
 
 What riches have you that you deem me poor, ^ 
 
 Or what large comfort that you call me sad? 
 
 Tell me what makes you so exceeding glad; 
 
 Is your earth happy or your heaven sure? 
 
 I hope for heaven, since the stars endure 
 
 And bring such tidings as our fathers had. 
 
 I know no deeper doubt to make me mad, 
 
 I need no brighter love to keep me pure. 
 
 To me the faiths of old are daily bread; 
 
 I bless their hope, I bless their will to save, 
 
 And my deep heart still meaneth what they said. 
 
 It makes me happy that the soul is brave. 
 
 And, being so much kinsman to the dead, 
 
 I walk contented to the peopled grave. 
 
 33 
 
XXX 
 
 Let my lips touch thy lips, and my desire 
 
 Contagious fever be, to set a-glow 
 
 The blood beneath thy whiter breast than snow — 
 
 Wonderful snow, that so can kindle fire ! 
 
 Abandon to what gods in us conspire 
 
 Thy little wisdom, sweetest; for they know. 
 
 Is it not something that I love thee so? 
 
 Take that from life, ere death thine all require. 
 
 But no ! Then would a mortal warmth disperse 
 
 That beauteous snow to water-drops, which, turned 
 
 To marble, had escaped the primal curse. 
 
 Be still a goddess, till my heart have burned 
 
 Its sacrifice before thee, and my verse 
 
 Told this late world the love that I have learned. 
 
 34 
 
XXXI 
 
 A brother's love, but that I chose thee out 
 From all the world, not by the chance of birth, 
 But in the risen splendour of thy worth. 
 Which, like the sun, put all my stars to rout. 
 A lover's love, but that it bred no doubt 
 Of love returned, no heats of flood and dearth, 
 But, asking nothing, found in all the earth 
 The consolation of a heart devout. 
 A votary's love, though with no pale and wild 
 Imaginations did I stretch the might 
 Of a sweet friendship and a mortal light. 
 Thus in my love all loves are reconciled 
 That purest be, and in my prayer the right 
 Of brother, lover, friend, and eremite. 
 
 35 
 
XXXII 
 
 Let not thy bosom, to my foes allied, 
 Insult my sorrow with this coat of mail. 
 When for thy strong defence, if love assail, 
 Thou hast the world, thy virtue, and my pride. 
 But if thine own dear eyes I see beside 
 Sharpened against me, then my strength will fail, 
 Abandoning sail and rudder to the gale 
 For thy sweet sake alone so long defied. 
 If I am poor, in death how rich and brave 
 Will seem my spirit with the love it gave; 
 If I am sad, I shall seem happy then. 
 Be mine, be mine in God and in the grave, 
 Since naught but chance and the insensate wave 
 Divides us, and the wagging tongue of men. 
 
 36 
 
XXXIII 
 
 A. PERFECT love is nourished by despair. 
 
 I am thy pupil in the school of pain; 
 
 Mine eyes will not reproach thee for disdain, 
 
 But thank thy rich disdain for being fair. 
 
 Aye ! the proud sorrow, the eternal prayer 
 
 Thy beauty taught, what shall unteach again? 
 
 Hid from my sight, thou livest in my brain; 
 
 Fled from my bosom, thou abidest there. 
 
 And though they buried thee, and called thee dead, 
 
 And told me I should never see thee more, 
 
 The violets that grew above thy head 
 
 Would waft thy breath and tell thy sweetness o'er. 
 
 And every rose thy scattered ashes bred 
 
 Would to my sense thy loveliness restore. 
 
 37 
 
XXXIV 
 
 1 HOUGH destiny half broke her cruel bars, 
 Herself contrivmg we should meet on earth, 
 And with thy beauty fed my spirit's dearth 
 And tuned to love the ages' many jars, 
 Yet there is potency in natal stars; 
 And we were far divided in our birth 
 By nature's gifts and half the planet's girth, 
 And speech, and faith, and blood, and ancient wars. 
 Alas ! thy very radiance made division, 
 Thy youth, thy friends, and all men's eyes that wooed ; 
 Thy simple kindness came as in derision 
 Of so much love and so much solitude; 
 Or did the good gods order all to show 
 How far the single strength of love can go? 
 
XXXV 
 
 We needs must be divided in the tomb, 
 
 For I would die among the hills of Spain, 
 
 And o'er the treeless melancholy plain 
 
 Await the coming of the final gloom. 
 
 But thou — O pitiful ! — wilt find scant room 
 
 Among thy kindred by the northern main, 
 
 And fade into the drifting mist again, 
 
 The hemlocks' shadow, or the pines' perfume. 
 
 Let gallants lie beside their ladies' dust 
 
 In one cold grave, with mortal love inurned; 
 
 Let the sea part our ashes, if it must. 
 
 The souls fled thence which love immortal burned. 
 
 For they were wedded without bond of lust, 
 
 And nothing of our heart to earth returned. 
 
 39 
 
XXXVI 
 
 We were together, and I longed to tell 
 
 How drop by silent drop my bosom bled. 
 
 I took some verses full of you, and read, 
 
 Waiting for God to work some miracle. 
 
 They told how love had plunged in burning hell 
 
 One half my soul, while the other half had fled 
 
 Upon love's wings to heaven ; and you said : 
 
 <* I like the verses ; they are written well.'* 
 
 If I had knelt confessing " It is you. 
 
 You are my torment and my rapture too," 
 
 I should have seen you rise in flushed disdain: 
 
 '^For shame to say so, be it false or true ! " 
 
 And the sharp sword that ran me through and through, 
 
 On your white bosom too had left a stain. 
 
XXXVII 
 
 And I was silent. Now you do not know, 
 But read these very words with vacant eyes, 
 And, as you turn the page, peruse the skies. 
 And I go by you as a cloud might go. 
 You are not cruel, though you dealt the blow, 
 And I am happy, though I miss the prize; 
 For, when God tells you, you will not despise 
 The love I bore you. It is better so. 
 My soul is just, and thine without a stain. 
 Why should not life divide us, whose division 
 Is frail and passing, as its union vain? 
 All things 'neath other planets will grow plain 
 When, as we wander through the fields Elysian, 
 Eternal echoes haunt us of this pain. 
 
XXXVIII 
 
 Oh, not for me, for thee, dear God, her head 
 
 Shines with this perfect golden aureole, 
 
 For thee this sweetness doth possess her soul, 
 
 And to thy chambers are her footsteps led. 
 
 The light will live that on my path she shed, 
 
 While any pilgrim yet hath any goal, 
 
 And heavenly musicians from their scroll 
 
 Will sing all her sweet words, when I am dead. 
 
 In her unspotted heart is steadfast faith 
 
 Fed on high thoughts, and in her beauteous face 
 
 The fountain of the love that conquers death ; 
 
 And as I see her in her kneeling-place, 
 
 A Gabriel comes, and with inaudible breath 
 
 Whispers within me : Hail, thou full of grace. 
 
 42 
 
XXXIX 
 
 iHE world will say, "What mystic love is this? 
 What ghostly mistress? What angelic friend?'* 
 Read, masters, your own passion to the end, 
 And tell me then if I have writ amiss. 
 When all loves die that hang upon a kiss, 
 And must with cavil and with chance contend. 
 Their risen selves with the eternal blend 
 Where perfect dying is their perfect bUss. 
 And might I kiss her once, asleep or dead. 
 Upon the forehead or the globed eyes. 
 Or where the gold is parted on her head. 
 That kiss would help me on to paradise 
 As if I kissed the consecrated bread 
 In which the buried soul of Jesus lies. 
 
 43 
 
XL 
 
 If, when the story of my love is old, 
 
 This book should live and lover's leisure feed, 
 
 Fair charactered, for bluest eye to read. 
 
 And richly bound, for whitest hand to hold, — 
 
 O limn me then this lovely head in gold. 
 
 And, limner, the soft lips and lashes heed, 
 
 And set her in the midst, my love indeed, 
 
 The sweet eyes tender, and the broad brow cold. 
 
 And never let thy colours think to cast 
 
 A brighter splendour on her beauties past. 
 
 Or venture to disguise a fancied flaw; 
 
 Let not thy painting falsify my rhyme, 
 
 But perfect keep the mould for after time, 
 
 And let the whole world see her as I saw. 
 
 44 
 
XLI 
 
 Yet why, of one who loved thee not, command 
 Thy counterfeit, for other men to see, 
 When God himself did on my heart for me 
 Thy face, like Christ's upon the napkin, brand? 
 
 how much subtler than a painter's hand 
 Is love to render back the truth of thee ! 
 My soul should be thy glass in time to be, 
 And in my thought thine effigy should stand. 
 Yet, lest the churlish critics of that age 
 Should flout my praise, and deem a lover's rage 
 Could gild a virtue and a grace exceed, 
 
 1 bid thine image here confront my page, 
 That men may look upon thee as they read, 
 And cry : Such eyes a better poet need. 
 
 45 
 
XLII 
 
 As when the sceptre dangles from the hand 
 
 Of some king doting, faction runneth wild, 
 
 Thieves shake their chains and traitors, long exiled, 
 
 Hover about the confines of the land, 
 
 Till the young Prince, anointed, takes command, 
 
 Full of high purpose, simple, trustful, mild, 
 
 And, smitten by his radiance undefiled, 
 
 The ruffians are abashed, the cowards stand : — 
 
 So in my kingdom riot and despair 
 
 Lived by thy lack, and called for thy control. 
 
 But at thy coming all the world grew fair; 
 
 Away before thy face the villains stole. 
 
 And panoplied I rose to do and bear. 
 
 When love his clarion sounded in my soul. 
 
 46 
 
XLIII 
 
 1 HE candour of the gods is in thy gaze, 
 The strength of Dian in thy virgin hand, 
 Commanding as the goddess might command, 
 And lead her lovers into higher ways. 
 Aye, the gods walk among us in these days, 
 Had we the docile soul to understand; 
 And me they visit in this joyless land. 
 To cheer mine exile and receive my praise. 
 For once, methinks, before the angels fell. 
 Thou, too, didst follow the celestial seven 
 Threading in file the meads of asphodel. 
 And when thou comest, lady, where I dwell. 
 The place is flooded with the light of heaven 
 And a lost music I remember well. 
 
 47 
 
XLIV 
 
 roR thee the sun doth daily rise, and set 
 Behind the curtain of the hills of sleep, 
 And my soul, passing through the nether deep. 
 Broods on thy love, and never can forget. 
 For thee the garlands of the wood are wet, 
 For thee the daisies up the meadow's sweep 
 Stir in the sidelong light, and for thee weep 
 The drooping ferns above the violet. 
 For thee the labour of my studious ease 
 I ply with hope, for thee all pleasures please. 
 Thy sweetness doth the bread of sorrow leaven; 
 And from thy noble lips and heart of gold 
 I drink the comfort of the faiths of old. 
 And thy perfection is my proof of heaven. "^ 
 
 48 
 
XLV 
 
 Jr LOWER of the world, bright angel, single friend ! 
 
 I never asked of Heaven thou shouldst love me ; 
 
 As well ask Heaven's self that spreads above me 
 
 With all his stars about my head to bend 
 
 It is enough my spirit may ascend 
 
 And clasp the good whence nothing can remove me ; 
 
 Enough, if faith and hope and love approve me, 
 
 And make me worthy of the blessed end. 
 
 And as a pilgrim from the path withdraws, 
 
 Seeing Christ carven on the holy rood. 
 
 And breathes an ave in the solitude. 
 
 So will I stop and pray — for I have cause — 
 
 And in all crossways of my thinking pause 
 
 Before thine image, saying: God is good. 
 
 49 
 
XLVI 
 
 When I survey the harvest of the year' 
 
 And from time's threshing gamer up the grain, 
 
 What profit have I of forgotten pain, 
 
 What comfort, heart-locked, for the winter's cheer? 
 
 The season's yield is this, that thou art dear, 
 
 And that I love thee, that is all my gain; 
 
 The rest was chaff, blown from the weary brain 
 
 Where now thy treasured image lieth clear. 
 
 How liberal is beauty that, but seen. 
 
 Makes rich the bosom of her silent lover ! 
 
 How excellent is truth, on which I lean ! 
 
 Yet my religion were a charmed despair, 
 
 Did I not in thy perfect heart discover 
 
 How beauty can be true and virtue fair. 
 
 so 
 
XLVII 
 
 IHOU hast no name, or, if a name thou bearest, 
 To none it meaneth what it means to me : 
 Thy form, the loveliness the world can see, 
 Makes not the glory that to me thou wearest. 
 Nor thine unuttered thoughts, though they be fairest 
 And shaming all that in rude bosoms be : 
 All they are but the thousandth part of thee, 
 Which thou with blessed spirits haply sharest. 
 But incommunicable, peerless, dim. 
 Flooding my heart with anguish of despair, 
 Thou walkest, love, before me, shade of Him 
 Who only liveth, giveth, and is fair. 
 And constant ever, though inconstant known, 
 In all my loves I worshipped thee alone. 
 
 5* 
 
XLVIII 
 
 Of Helen's brothers, one was born to die 
 And one immortal, who, the fable saith, 
 Gave to the other that was nigh to death 
 One half his widowed immortality. 
 They would have lived and died alternately, 
 Breathing each other's warm transmuted breath, 
 Had not high Zeus, who justly ordereth, 
 Made them twin stars to shine eternally. 
 My heart was dying when thy flame of youth 
 Flooded its chambers through my gazing eyes. 
 My life is now thy beauty and thy truth. 
 Thou wouldst come down, forsaking paradise 
 To be my comfort, but by Heaven's ruth 
 I go to burn beside thee in the skies. 
 
 52 
 
XLIX 
 
 After grey vigils, sunshine in the heart; 
 
 After long fasting on the journey, food; 
 
 After sharp thirst, a draught of perfect good 
 
 To flood the soul, and heal her ancient smart. 
 
 Joy of my sorrow, never can we part; 
 
 Thou broodest o'er me in the haunted wood, 
 
 And with new music fiU'st the solitude 
 
 By but so sweetly being what thou art. 
 
 He who hath made thee perfect, makes me blest. 
 
 O fiery minister, on mighty wings 
 
 Bear me, great love, to mine eternal rest. 
 
 Heaven it is to be at peace with things ; 
 
 Come chaos now, and in a whirlwind's rings 
 
 Engulf the planets. I have seen the best. 
 
 53 
 
1 HOUGH Utter death should swallow up my hope 
 And choke with dust the mouth of my desire, 
 Though no dawn burst, and no aurorean choir 
 Sing GLORIA DEO whcu the heavens ope, 
 Yet have I light of love, nor need to grope 
 Lost, wholly lost, without an inward fire ; 
 The flame that quickeneth the world entire 
 Leaps in my breast, with cruel death to cope. 
 Hath not the night-environed earth her flowers? 
 Hath not my grief the blessed joy of thee? 
 Is not the comfort of these singing hours. 
 Full of thy perfectness, enough for me? 
 They are not evil, then, those hidden powers: 
 One love sufficeth an eternity. 
 
 54 
 
ON A VOLUME OF SCHOLASTIC PHILOSOPHY 
 
 What chilly cloister or what lattice dim 
 
 Cast painted light upon this careful page? 
 
 What thought compulsive held the patient sage 
 
 Till sound of matin bell or evening hymn? 
 
 Did visions of the Heavenly Lover swim 
 
 Before his eyes in youth, or did stern rage 
 
 Against rash heresy keep green his age? 
 
 Had he seen God, to write so much of Him? 
 
 Gone is that irrecoverable mind 
 
 With all its phantoms, senseless to mankind 
 
 As a dream's trouble or the speech of birds. 
 
 The breath that stirred his lips he soon resigned 
 
 To windy chaos, and we only find 
 
 The garnered husks of his disused words. 
 
 55 
 
ON THE DEATH OF A METAPHYSICIAN 
 
 Unhappy dreamer, who outwinged in flight 
 The pleasant region of the things I love, 
 And soared beyond the sunshine, and above 
 The golden cornfields and the dear and bright 
 Warmth of the hearth, — blasphemer of delight. 
 Was your proud bosom not at peace with Jove, 
 That you sought, thankless for his guarded grove, 
 The empty horror of abysmal night? 
 Ah, the thin air is cold above the moon ! 
 I stood and saw you fall, befooled in death. 
 As, in your numbed spirit's fatal swoon. 
 You cried you were a god, or were to be; 
 J heard with feeble moan your boastful breath 
 Bubble from depths of the Icarian sea. 
 
 S6 
 
ON A PIECE OF TAPESTRY 
 
 Hold high the woof, dear friends, that we may see 
 
 The cunning mixture of its colours rare. 
 
 Nothing in nature purposely is fair, — 
 
 Her mingled beauties never quite agree; 
 
 But here all vivid dyes that garish be, 
 
 To that tint mellowed which the sense will bear, 
 
 Glow, and not wound the eye that, resting there, 
 
 Lingers to feed its gentle ecstasy. 
 
 Crimson and purple and all hues of wine. 
 
 Saffron and russet, brown and sober green 
 
 Are rich the shadowy depths of blue between; 
 
 While silver threads with golden intertwine, 
 
 To catch the glimmer of a fickle sheen, — 
 
 All the long labour of some captive queen. 
 
 57 
 
THE POWER OF ART 
 
 i\OT human art, but living gods alone 
 Can fashion beauties that by changing live, — 
 Her buds to spring, his fruits to autumn give, 
 To earth her fountains in her heart of stone; 
 But these in their begetting are o'erthrown, 
 Nor may the sentenced minutes find reprieve ; 
 And summer in the blush of joy must grieve 
 To shed his flaunting crown of petals blown. 
 We to our works may not impart our breath, 
 Nor them with shifting light of life array; 
 We show but what one happy moment saith; 
 Yet may our hands immortalize the day 
 When life was sweet, and save from utter death 
 The sacred past that should not pass away. 
 
GABRIEL 
 
 1 KNOW thou art a man, thou hast his mould; 
 
 Thy wings are fancy and a poet's lie, 
 
 Thy halo but the dimness of his eye, 
 
 And thy fair chivalry a legend old. 
 
 Yet I mistrust the truth, and partly hold 
 
 Thou art a herald of the upper sky, 
 
 Where all the truth yet lives that seemed to die, 
 
 And love is never faint nor virtue cold. 
 
 I still would see thee spotless, fervent, calm. 
 
 With heaven in thine eyes, and with the mild 
 
 White lily in one hand, in one the palm, 
 
 Bringing the world that rapture undefiled 
 
 Which Mary knew, when, answering with a psalm 
 
 Thine Ave^ she conceived her holy Child. 
 
 59 
 
TO W. P. 
 
 I 
 
 Calm was the sea to which your course you kept, 
 Oh, how much calmer than all soi^thern seas ! 
 Many your nameless mates, whom the keen breeze 
 Wafted from mothers that of old have wept. 
 All souls of children taken as they slept 
 Are your companions, partners of your ease, 
 And the green souls of all these autumn trees 
 Are with you through the silent spaces swept. 
 Your virgin body gave its gentle breath 
 Untainted to the gods. Why should we grieve, 
 But that we merit not your holy death? 
 We shall not loiter long, your friends and I; 
 Living you made it goodlier to live, 
 Dead you will make it easier to die. 
 
 60 
 
II 
 
 With you a part of me hath passed away; 
 
 For in the peopled forest of my mind 
 
 A tree made leafless by this wintry wind 
 
 Shall never don again its green array. 
 
 Chapel and fireside, country road and bay, 
 
 Have something of their friendHness resigned; 
 
 Another, if I would, I could not find. 
 
 And I am grown much older in a day. 
 
 But yet I treasure in my memory 
 
 Your gift of charity, your mellow ease. 
 
 And the dear honour of your amity; 
 
 For these once mine, my life is rich with these. 
 
 And I scarce know which part may greater be, - 
 
 What I keep of you, or you rob from me. 
 
 6i 
 
Ill 
 
 Your bark lies anchored in the peaceful bight 
 Until a kinder wind unfurl her sail; 
 Your docile spirit, winged by this gale, 
 Hath at the dawning fled into the light. 
 And I half know why heaven deemed it right 
 Your youth, and this my joy in youth, should fail; 
 God hath them still, for ever they avail, 
 Eternity hath borrowed that delight. 
 For long ago I taught my thoughts to run 
 Where all the great things live that lived of yore, 
 And in eternal quiet float and soar; 
 There all my loves are gathered into one, 
 Where change is not, nor parting any more, 
 Nor revolution of the moon and sun. 
 
 62 
 
IV 
 
 In my deep heart these chimes would still have rung 
 
 To toll your passing, had you not been dead; 
 
 For time a sadder mask than death may spread 
 
 Over the face that ever should be young. 
 
 The bough that falls with all its trophies hung 
 
 Falls not too soon, but lays its flower- crowned head 
 
 Most royal in the dust, with no leaf shed 
 
 Unhallowed or unchiselled or unsung. 
 
 And though the after world will never hear 
 
 The happy name of one so gently true, 
 
 Nor chronicles write large this fatal year, 
 
 Yet we who loved you, though we be but few, 
 
 Keep you in whatsoe'er is good, and rear 
 
 In our weak virtues monuments to you. 
 
 63 
 
ODES 
 
ODES 
 I 
 
 W HAT god will choose me from this labouring nation 
 To worship him afar, with inward gladness, 
 At sunset and at sunrise, in some Persian 
 Garden of roses; 
 
 Or under the full moon, in rapturous silence, 
 Charmed by the trickling fountain, and the moaning 
 Of the death-hallowed cypress, and the myrtle 
 Hallowed by Venus? 
 
 O for a chamber in an eastern tower. 
 Spacious and empty, roofed in odorous cedar, 
 A silken soft divan, a woven carpet 
 Rich, many-coloured; 
 
 (n 
 
A jug that, poised on her firm head, a negress 
 Fetched from the well; a window to the ocean, 
 Lest of the stormy world too deep seclusion 
 Make me forgetful ! 
 
 Thence I might watch the vessel-bearing waters 
 Beat the slow pulses of the life eternal, 
 Bringing of nature's universal travail 
 Infinite echoes; 
 
 And there at even I might stand and listen 
 To thrum of distant lutes and dying voices 
 Chanting the ditty an Arabian captive 
 Sang to Darius. 
 
 So would I dream awhile, and ease a little 
 The soul long stifled and the straitened spirit. 
 Tasting new pleasures in a far-off country 
 Sacred to beauty. 
 
 68 
 
II 
 
 JMy heart rebels against my generation, 
 That talks of freedom and is slave to riches, 
 And, toiling 'neath each day's ignoble burden, 
 Boasts of the morrow. 
 
 No space for noonday rest or midnight watches, 
 No purest joy of breathing under heaven ! 
 Wretched themselves, they heap, to make them happy. 
 Many possessions. 
 
 But thou, O silent Mother, wise, immortal. 
 
 To whom our toil is laughter, — take, divine one. 
 
 This vanity away, and to thy lover 
 
 Give what is needful : — 
 
 69 
 
A staunch heart, nobly calm, averse to evil, 
 The windy sky for breath, the sea, the mountain, 
 A well-born, gentle friend, his spirit's brother, 
 Ever beside him. 
 
 What would you gain, ye seekers, with your striving. 
 Or what vast Babel raise you on your shoulders? 
 You multiply distresses, and your children 
 Surely will curse you. 
 
 O leave them rather friendlier gods, and fairer 
 Orchards and temples, and a freer bosom ! 
 What better comfort have we, or what other 
 Profit in living. 
 
 Than to feed, sobered by the truth of Nature, 
 Awhile upon her bounty and her beauty, 
 And hand her torch of gladness to the ages 
 Following after? 
 
 70 
 
She hath not made us, Uke her other children, 
 Merely for peopling of her spacious kingdoms, 
 Beasts of the wild, or insects of the summer, 
 Breeding and dying. 
 
 But also that we might, half knowing, worship 
 The deathless beauty of her guiding vision, 
 And learn to love, in all things mortal, only 
 What is eternal. 
 
 71 
 
Ill 
 
 Ctathering the echoes of forgotten wisdom, 
 And mastered by a proud, adventurous purpose, 
 Columbus sought the golden shores of India 
 Opposite Europe. 
 
 He gave the world another world, and ruin 
 Brought upon blameless, river-loving nations, 
 Cursed Spain with barren gold, and made the Andes 
 Fiefs of Saint Peter; 
 
 While in the cheerless North the thrifty Saxon 
 Planted his corn, and, narrowing his bosom, 
 Made covenant with God, and by keen virtue 
 Trebled his riches. 
 
 72 
 
What venture hast thou left us, bold Columbus? 
 What honour left thy brothers, brave Magellan? 
 Daily the children of the rich for pastime 
 Circle the planet. 
 
 And what good comes to us of all your dangers? 
 A smaller earth and smaller hope of heaven. 
 Ye have but cheapened gold, and, measuring ocean, 
 Counted the islands. 
 
 No Ponce de Leon shall drink in fountains, 
 On any flowering Easter, youth eternal; 
 No Cortes look upon another ocean; 
 
 No Alexander 
 
 Found in the Orient dim a boundless kingdom, 
 And, clothing his Greek strength in barbarous 
 
 splendour, 
 Build by the sea his throne, while sacred Egypt 
 Honours his godhead. 
 73 
 
The earth, the mother once of godlike Theseus 
 And mighty Heracles, at length is weary, 
 And now brings forth a spawn of antlike creatures, 
 Blackening her valleys. 
 
 Inglorious in their birth and in their living. 
 Curious and querulous, afraid of battle. 
 Rummaging earth for coals, in camps of hovels 
 Crouching from winter, 
 
 As if grim fate, amid our boastful prating. 
 Made us the image of our brutish fathers. 
 When from their caves they issued, crazed with terror. 
 Howling and hungry. 
 
 For all things come about in sacred cycles, 
 And life brings death, and light eternal darkness, 
 And now the world grows old apace ; its glory 
 Passes for ever. 
 
 74 
 
Perchance the earth will yet for many ages 
 Bear her dead child, her moon, around her orbit; 
 Strange craft may tempt the ocean streams, new forests 
 Cover the mountains. 
 
 If in those latter days men still remember 
 Our wisdom and our travail and our sorrow, 
 They never can be happy, with that burden 
 Heavy upon them, 
 
 Knowing the hideous past, the blood, the famine, 
 The ancestral hate, the eager faith's disaster, 
 All ending in their httle lives, and vulgar 
 Circle of troubles. 
 
 But if they have forgot us, and the shifting 
 Of sands has buried deep our thousand cities, 
 Fell superstition then will seize upon them; 
 Protean error, 
 
 75 
 
Will fill their panting heart with sickly phantoms 
 Of sudden bhnding good and monstrous evil ; 
 There will be miracles again, and torment, 
 Dungeon, and fagot, — 
 
 Until the patient earth, made dry and barren. 
 Sheds all her herbage in a final winter, 
 And the gods turn their eyes to some far distant 
 Bright constellation. 
 
 76 
 
IV 
 
 o LOWLY the black earth gains upon the yellow, 
 And the caked hill-side is ribbed soft with furrows. 
 Turn now again, with voice and staff, my ploughman, 
 Guiding thy oxen. 
 
 Lift the great ploughshare, clear the stones and 
 
 brambles. 
 Plant it the deeper, with thy foot upon it, 
 Uprooting all the flowering weeds that bring not 
 Food to thy children. 
 
 Patience is good for man and beast, and labour 
 Hardens to sorrow and the frost of winter. 
 Turn then again, in the brave hope of harvest. 
 Singing to heaven. 
 
 77 
 
Of thee the Northman by his beached galley 
 Dreamt, as he watched the never-setting Ursa 
 And longed for summer and thy light, O sacred 
 Mediterranean. 
 
 Unseen he loved thee; for the heart within him 
 Knew earth had gardens where he might be blessed. 
 Putting away long dreams and aimless, barbarous 
 Hunger for battle. 
 
 The foretaste of thy languors thawed his bosom; 
 A great need drove him to thy caverned islands 
 From the gray, endless reaches of the outer 
 Desert of ocean. 
 
 78 
 
He saw thy pillars, saw thy sudden mountains 
 Wrinkled and stark, and in their crooked gorges, 
 'Neath peeping pine and cypress, guessed the torrent 
 Smothered in flowers. 
 
 Thine incense to the sun, thy gathered vapours, 
 He saw suspended on the flanks of Taurus, 
 Or veiling the snowed bosom of the virgin 
 Sister of Atlas. 
 
 He saw the luminous top of wide Olympus, 
 Fit for the happy gods ; he saw the pilgrim 
 River, with rains of Ethiopia flooding 
 Populous Egypt. 
 
 And having seen, he loved thee. His racked spirit, 
 By thy breath tempered and the light that clothes thee. 
 Forgot the monstrous gods, and made of Nature 
 Mistress and mother. 
 
 79 
 
The more should I, O fatal sea, before thee 
 Of alien words make echoes to thy music; 
 For I was bom where first the rills of Tagus 
 Turn to the westward, 
 
 And wandering long, alas ! have need of drinking 
 Deep of the patience of thy perfect sadness, 
 O thou that constant through the change of ages, 
 Beautiful ever, 
 
 Never wast wholly young and void of sorrows, 
 Nor ever canst be old, while yet the morning 
 Kindles thy ripples, or the golden evening 
 Dyes thee in purple. 
 
 Thee, willing to be tamed but still untamable. 
 The Roman called his own until he perished, 
 As now the busy English hover o'er thee, 
 Stalwart and noble; 
 
 80 
 
But all is naught to thee, while no harsh winter 
 Congeals thy fountains, and the blown Sahara 
 Chokes not with dreadful sand thy deep and placid 
 Rock-guarded havens. 
 
 Thou carest not what men may tread thy margin; 
 Nor I, while from some heather-scented headland 
 I may behold thy beauty, the eternal 
 Solace of mortals. 
 
 8i 
 
VARIOUS POEMS 
 
EASTER HYMN 
 
 1 LOVE the pious candle-light, 
 
 The boys' fresh voices, void of thought, 
 The woman's eager, inward sight 
 
 Of what in vain her heart had sought. 
 
 I love the violets at the feet 
 
 Of Jesus, red with some blood-stain; 
 
 I love the cross, and it is sweet 
 To make a sacrifice of pain. 
 
 Some offer bullocks to the skies; 
 
 Some, incense, with their drowsy praise; 
 He brings the gods what most they prize 
 
 Who sorrow on the altar lays. 
 
 Ss 
 
I love the Virgin^s flowering shrine, 
 Her golden crown, her jewelled stole, 
 
 The seven dolorous swords that shine 
 Around her heart, an aureole. 
 
 Thou Mother of a suffering race, 
 
 Whose pangs console us for our birth, 
 
 Reign thou for ever, by the grace 
 Of sorrow. Queen of all the earth ! 
 
 Perchance when Carnival is done. 
 And sun and moon go out for me, 
 
 Christ will be God, and I the one 
 That in my youth I used to be. 
 
 Things all are shadows, shadows all, 
 
 And ghosts within an idiot's brain. 
 A little while, they fade and fall; 
 A little while, they come again. 
 
 86 
 
Sing softly, choristers; ye sing 
 
 Not faith alone, but doubt and dread. 
 Ring wildly, Easter bells; ye ring 
 
 For Christ arisen, and hope dead. 
 
 87 
 
GOOD FRIDAY HYMN 
 
 I 
 
 When the Lord Christ paid Hfe with death, 
 Beside the cross his Mother stood; 
 She saw her Child yield up his breath, 
 She knew the passing of her God. 
 
 And He said : Lady, though I go, 
 I leave thee not without a son; 
 
 All men for whom my blood doth flow 
 Shall call thee mother, — all for one. 
 
 This bitter life is past for me, 
 I can thy love no farther prove; 
 
 But many eyes shall turn to thee : 
 Behold thy son in them I love ! 
 
 SS 
 
And Mary said : So be it done ; 
 
 Be they my children in thy stead ; 
 I will love all, who loved but one, 
 
 And in the living see the dead. 
 
 II 
 
 My soul's Lord, too, paid life with death, 
 And empty was her wide abode; 
 She saw her child yield up his breath, 
 She knew the passing of her God. 
 
 And she said : Lord, since thou art gone. 
 Thou canst my love no farther prove ; 
 
 But while I live each flower and stone 
 Shall bear thy name and prove my love. 
 
 89 
 
CAPE COD 
 
 Ihe low sandy beach and the thin scrub pine, 
 The wide reach of bay and the long sky line, — 
 O, I am sick for home ! 
 
 The salt, salt smell of the thick sea air, 
 And the smooth round stones that the ebbtides wear, - 
 When will the good ship come? 
 
 The wretched stumps all charred and burned, 
 And the deep soft rut where the cartwheel turned, - 
 Why is the world so old? 
 
 The lapping wave, and the broad gray sky 
 Where the cawing crows and the slow gulls fly, 
 Where are the dead untold? 
 
 90 
 
The thin, slant willows by the flooded bog, 
 The huge stranded hulk and the floating log, 
 Sorrow with life began ! 
 
 And among the dark pines, and along the flat shore, 
 O the wind, and the wind, for evermore ! 
 What will become of man? 
 
 91 
 
LENTEN GREETING 
 
 TO A LADY 
 
 Ihey must find it sweet to pray 
 Who like you have understood 
 All the charm of being good, 
 All the worth of being gay. 
 By the thought that we are clay, 
 Is proud grief itself subdued. 
 May the secret of the Rood 
 In your sorrow be your stay ! 
 Spring your pleasures will renew, 
 For the heart is merry after 
 That to Heaven hath been true; 
 And, more low for Lenten calm, 
 Then the music of your laughter 
 Will have joy as of a psalm. 
 
 92 
 
DECIMA 
 
 OiLENT daisies out of reach, 
 Maidens of the starry grass, 
 Gazing on me as I pass 
 With a look too wise for speech, 
 Teach me resignation, — teach 
 Patience to the barren clod, 
 As, above your happier sod. 
 Bending to the wind's caress, 
 You — unplucked, alas ! — no less 
 Sweetly manifest the god. 
 
 93 
 
A TOAST 
 
 OEE this bowl of purple wine, 
 
 Life-blood of the lusty vine ! 
 
 All the warmth of summer suns 
 
 In the vintage liquid runs, 
 
 All the glow of winter nights 
 
 Plays about its jewel lights. 
 
 Thoughts of time when love wa& young 
 
 Lurk its ruby drops among, 
 
 And its deepest depths are dyed 
 
 With delight of friendship tried. 
 
 Worthy offering, I ween, 
 
 For a god or for a queen, 
 
 Is the draught I pour to thee, — 
 
 Comfort of all misery, 
 
 94 
 
Single friend of the forlorn, 
 Haven of all beings bom, 
 Hope when trouble wakes at night, 
 And when naught delights, delight. 
 Holy Death, I drink to thee; 
 Do not part my friends and me. 
 Take this gift, which for a night 
 Puts dull leaden care to flight, 
 Thou who takest grief away 
 For a night and for a day. 
 
 95 
 
CHORUS 
 
 Immortal love, 
 Whose essence is this pregnant warmth of air, 
 
 O hear my prayer. 
 And tune my fervent hymn as high above 
 All songs in rapture as thou, sovereign Love, 
 Art high above the other gods in power. 
 For whatsoever things on earth are fair 
 Are thine : thou giv'st the flower 
 
 Its colours and its sweet, 
 And in the foot-prints of thy silent feet 
 The daisies star the prairie, and the shower 
 Is thine, that steeps the verdure of the mead; 
 
 By thee the steed 
 Is beautiful, and every noble breed 
 By thee remains to ages that succeed; 
 For thee the antelope is fleet; 
 
 96 
 
For thee the horned bull is strong to breast 
 The swollen torrent, bellowing to his herd ; 
 
 The painted bird 
 For thee hath music and to thee addressed, 
 And the brief sadness of his dying note 
 Is for thy bitter absence and thy pain; 
 Thine is the rapture of his swelling throat, 
 
 And thine my strain. 
 
 O fill me once again 
 With thy lost sweetness now ! As a slow wave 
 Laps the dank hollows of a seawom cave 
 In deepest calm, and with prophetic sigh 
 Repeats the ceaseless rhythm of the storm, 
 
 So let thy pulses warm 
 
 Mine immost soul with high 
 Hope of the things to be, or wake a vanished form. 
 
 97 
 
LUCIFER 
 
LUCIFER 
 
 A PRELUDE 
 
 Hermes {alighting). 
 
 What star art thou, and by what god beguiled 
 
 To wander in this heaven, 
 
 Far from the serene and mild 
 
 Circle of the sisters seven? 
 
 O blasted rock, untenanted and wild. 
 
 By lightnings riven. 
 
 Receive thou me, — 
 
 O goddess, if the Pleiad lost thou be, 
 
 Lost, too, and driven 
 
 By viewless currents of the ethereal sea. 
 
 {Kisses the ground.) 
 For Earth, my mother, while her child 
 
Wings these frozen spaces drear, 
 O, how otherwise enisled 
 In her blue and liquid sphere 
 Swims, forgetting grief, and sleeps 
 Wrapped in the fleeces of her atmosphere ! 
 Above Olympus, Phoebe dim. 
 Patiently shines the while, and keeps 
 Still watch in heaven; while below the rim 
 Of ocean now her brother's steeds uprear 
 Their fiery manes apace, and dawn is near. 
 But here no dawn is, and no morning star; 
 The suns that nearest are 
 Show like a twinkling host, and peer 
 Through the cold night immeasurably far. 
 
 Here who can dwell? If there be deities 
 Whose body stone, whose spirit silence is. 
 Here they might slumber frozen. Wrinkled brow 
 And cloven sides of mountains, heaped up rocks. 
 
Toys of young giants long since dead, and thou, 
 Horrid abyss, that meteors hot might plough 
 From heaven falling, and ye vales, by shocks 
 Of earthquake split in snowy chasms, — O, speak, 
 If ye have tongues or any shadowy life ! 
 
 The stranger do not wrong, — 
 
 A god, though seeming weak. 
 Who prays you, with the winds too long at strife, 
 For shelter from this night and stinging thong 
 Of sleet. O, answer me, if any banished soul 
 Haunts you, and guards from harm the frozen pole. 
 
 Lucifer {advancing). 
 Nay, not a banished soul ! — What seems forlorn, 
 Hermes, to thee, another loveth best; 
 
 In this crag, the throne of scorn, 
 
 Hath a bolder spirit rest. 
 
 Hermes. 
 Thou who callest me by name. 
 
 Large spectre plumed for the eagle's flight, 
 103 
 
Let me be thy guest this night, 
 If kindness move thy breast, or any flame 
 Leap on thy hearth, that henceforth, ever bright, 
 
 On this hoarse and angry coast 
 May gleam the beacon of its sacred Hght, 
 
 Where a god, by fortune hurled, 
 
 Found an altar and a host 
 High on the utmost headland of the world. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 
 Stranger, look upon this face; 
 Look long, nor let thy fond heart rashly speak, 
 Seest thou mortal blood within this cheek? 
 
 Do not think thy brothers' grace 
 Befits all spirits : some there be too high 
 
 To wear outward glory still; 
 
 For it passes nature's skill 
 
 To paint reason to the eye. 
 
 Or cast in mould indomitable will. 
 
 My hand drew yon starry girth 
 104 
 
About the middle of the hollow sky; 
 I have stood a witness by 
 At the founding of the earth; 
 I have seen the twelve gods' birth, 
 
 Alas ! and I await to see them die. 
 
 Hermes. 
 Imperious spirit, I would not offend. 
 
 Thy heart knows if this be truth, 
 And mine eyes, on thee gazing, comprehend 
 
 That thou art a god in sooth. 
 
 Be then gracious, and befriend 
 The stranger, and beside thee grant me rest, 
 That I gain strength unto my journey's end. 
 And see again Olympus' gleaming crest 
 
 And the brothers that I love. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 
 But what error brought the dove 
 
 To the eagle's wintry nest? 
 105 
 
Hermes. 
 I wandered long upon an idle quest, 
 And found no other isle in all the deep. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 Luckless for the child of Jove 
 To set his winged foot upon this steep. 
 No vines upon so wild a ruin creep; 
 No Nereid bathes in such an icy cove. 
 But, come; there is a cavern in the hill. 
 
 Hermes. 
 T will be a covert from this piercing air. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 My servant's fire shall medicine thy chill. 
 This way ; 't is dark along the icy stair. 
 
 (.Gives Hermes his hand.\ 
 
 Hermes. 
 Art thou a serpent, that thy flesh is cold? 
 
Lucifer. 
 They call me so. My blood was hot of old. 
 
 Hermes. 
 But froze from breathing long this cruel storm? 
 
 Lucifer. 
 Nay, my good Hermes, it was not the wind, 
 Which only bites because the heart is warm; 
 Mine cannot suffer. In my youth I sinned, 
 And loved the soft caresses of the world. 
 Now I am free. I have forsworn delight. 
 Which makes us slaves. 
 
 Hermes. 
 
 The chill of wintry night 
 Keeps germs from budding; with no leaf unfurled. 
 Dies the imprisoned deity within. 
 How, then, shouldst thou be free beneath the blight 
 Of this sharp flaw? 
 
 107 
 
Lucifer. 
 I can be free from sin. — 
 
 ( They reach the cave.) 
 Lyal ! Ho, Lyal ! — Sleeping by the fire ? 
 
 Waken the embers, boy; pile drift-wood up, 
 
 That we have light and comfort while we sup. 
 
 And bring my cloak, — if that such coarse attire 
 
 Can please thee, being warm, on such a night. — 
 
 ( To Hermes. They sit down and eat.) 
 Guests come not often hither, for the sky 
 
 Grudges me chance of hospitality, 
 
 Lest that small virtue in me wound its sight. 
 
 Hermes. 
 But is the sky thine enemy? 
 
 Lucifer. 
 
 Thou seest 
 
 It doth not flatter: yet 'tis the ally 
 
 Of one that wrongs us both. 
 
 Hermes. 
 
 Why, if thou fleest 
 
 Into the whirlwind, on thee it must blow. 
 
 loS 
 
Lucifer. 
 Ah, if thou knewest ! 
 
 Hermes. 
 
 Art thou here confined? 
 
 Lucifer. 
 By a great sorrow and a tameless mind. 
 
 Hermes. 
 A sorrow? 
 
 Lucifer. 
 
 Listen, if thou needs must know. 
 
 There is among the stars one greatest star 
 
 Which showeth dark, and none may see it shine. 
 
 Men know it by their hope; a hand divine 
 
 Must darkly lead them thither from afar. 
 
 But once within its bounds, eternal light 
 
 Streams on their ampler souls, and there they are 
 
 What upon earth they would be. Of this realm 
 
 An ancient God is king, majestic, wise. 
 
 Of triple form, and all-beholding eyes. 
 109 
 
The terror of his glance can overwhelm 
 The sense, as lightning when it rends the skies. 
 The dread words of his mouth are gladly heard, 
 But marvellous their meaning, not to prove 
 Except by faith and argument of love. 
 He saith he fashioned nature with a word, 
 And in him all things are and live and move. 
 To that fair kingdom from primeval night 
 I passed; and, clad in splendour and in might, 
 I led the armies of my father, God. 
 My right hand urged them with a sword of light ; 
 My left hand ruled them with a flowering rod. 
 Brave was my youth, and pleasing in his sight, — 
 Next him in honour; till one day, discourse 
 Upon his greatness and our being's source 
 Led me to question: "Tell, O Lord, the cause 
 Why sluggish nature doth with thee contend. 
 And thy designs, observant of her laws. 
 By tortuous paths must struggle to their end." 
 To this, with many words of little pith, 
 no 
 
He answered. 
 
 And as when sailors, crossing some broad frith, 
 Spy in the lurid west a sudden gloom 
 And grasp the rudder, taking double reef, 
 I nerved my heart for battle; for my doom 
 I saw upon me, and that I was bom 
 To suifer, and to fill the world with grief. 
 But strong in reason, terrible in scorn, 
 I rose. "Seek not, O Lord, my King," I cried, 
 ''With solemn phrases to deceive my doubt. 
 Tell me thy thought, or I will pluck it out 
 With bitter question. Make thy prudent choice ! 
 Either confess that how thou cam'st to be. 
 Or why the winds are docile to thy voice, 
 And why the will to make us was in thee. 
 And why the partners of thy life are three. 
 Thou canst not know, but even as the rest 
 That wake to life behold the sun and moon. 
 And feel their natural passions stir their breast, 
 They know not why, so thou from some long swoon 
 III 
 
Awaking once, didst with supreme surprise 
 
 Scan thy deep bosom and the vault of heaven, — 
 
 For I did so, when fate unsealed mine eyes 
 
 (Thy small zeal for the truth shall be forgiven 
 
 If thou confess it now, and I will still 
 
 Call thee my master, for thou rulest well, 
 
 And in thy kingdom I have loved to dwell) ; — 
 
 Or else, if truth offend thy pampered will. 
 
 And with caressing words and priestly spell 
 
 Thou wouldst seduce me, henceforth I rebel." 
 
 I knew his answer, and I drew my sword, 
 
 And many spirits gathered to my side. 
 
 But in high heaven he is still the Lord; 
 
 I am an exile in these spaces wide 
 
 Where none is master. The north wind and the west 
 
 Are my companions, and the void my rest. 
 
 Hermes. 
 'T is much. When evil fortune bows a friend, 
 We blush that we are happy. 
 
Lucifer. 
 
 Nay, rejoice ! 
 The pleasant music of a tempered voice 
 Is cure for sadness. If my grief could end, 
 It would, with dreaming of an age of gold 
 When all were blessed. 
 
 Hermes. 
 
 They who serve thy King, 
 Are they not blessed still? 
 
 Lucifer. 
 
 A doubtful thing 
 Is blessedness like that. They grow not old. 
 They live in friendship, and their wondering eyes, 
 Blinded to nature, feed on fantasies. 
 Their raptured souls, like lilies in a stream. 
 That from their fluid pillow never rise. 
 Float on the lazy current of a dream. 
 My grief is not that I am not like them^ 
 "3 
 
Or that the splendour of my life is less. 
 My soul hath kinship with the wilderness. 
 But rage that fate should ever overwhelm 
 The right with cunning and the truth with lies, 
 And that the lust of living never dies, 
 Gnaws at my heart; my noble trust deceived 
 In reason's might and in the power of truth, 
 The unthought-of shame that I should stand alone 
 When universal nature was aggrieved 
 And should have mutinied ! Faith of my youth, 
 That my stout heart did never yet disown, 
 Prove thyself true, and still to be believed ! 
 Hasten, just day, and hurl him from his throne. 
 As children in a chasm cast a stone ! 
 
 Hermes. 
 
 That day may come, but wishing now is vain. 
 
 Rest from this passion. Much I fear my speech 
 
 Hath stirred unwittingly a slumbering pain. 
 
 Let it not tarry after, I beseech. 
 
 But now fly with me from thy thoughts again. 
 114 
 
Lucifer. 
 Thou goest ? — Thy way lies straight athwart the main. 
 From that bright planet thou wilt see two suns. 
 The farther one is thine; thence easy runs 
 Thy course. Thou camest far for little gain. 
 
 Hermes. 
 Not so. Acquaintance with so high a mind 
 Rewards me for my journey. Let not space, 
 To whose dimensions mortals are confined, 
 Sever two gods; but let us face to face 
 Meet in some desert, hallowing the place. 
 It is not well for thee to dwell apart 
 On this bleak mountain; if thy wound is deep. 
 To natural slumber yield thy tortured heart. 
 Watch not these feeble stars, sad lamps of grief. 
 But close thine eyes on the vain past, and sleep. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 
 Sleep? — yet why not? When every shivering 
 
 leaf 
 
 "5 
 
From the proud oak is stripped by autumn's flaw, 
 He suffers winter's deep, oblivious snows 
 To choke his anguish and enshroud his woes, 
 Nor wakes till the new buds begin to thaw 
 And the whole forest is alive with song. 
 Yes, sleep ! The child, rebellious at some wrong. 
 Frets in his helpless pain till nature dries, 
 Closing his smarting eyelids, his dim eyes; 
 They open merry in the morning light ; 
 Then his keen pang is nothing, and his cries 
 The all-forgotten dream of yesternight. 
 But is my grief a child's? Am I so slight? 
 Or could my bosom, like the wanton trees, 
 Put forth its blooms to any wind that blew? 
 Say that it could; say that some vernal breeze 
 Melted my winter; could my vain forgetting 
 Make Heaven just, or make the past not true? 
 The evil lives, and if I ceased regretting, 
 I should be more unhappy than I knew. 
 
 ;i6 
 
Hermes. 
 No one is truly happy. Evil things 
 Fate lays upon us; yet she makes amends, 
 Bringing us daily comfort on the wings 
 Of sleep, and by the willing hands of friends. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 Of friends? 
 
 Hermes. 
 
 Thou hadst none? Deem that time is far. 
 
 Friendship is knitted in a single night 
 
 'Twixt noble minds. Quench not the memory quite, 
 
 If I to-day was welcome in this star; 
 
 But let that breed new kindness. I in turn 
 
 Would greet you in my kingdom; it is fair. 
 
 The wisest mind hath something still to learn, 
 
 And I might teach oblivion to thee there. 
 
 Soon let me meet thee, as I scud the air 
 
 At evening, where the outer planets burn. 
 
 But now, farewell. {He flies away.) 
 
 117 
 
Lucifer. 
 Farewell. Is this a dream? 
 What vital breath is blowing on my soul? 
 Into my deepest bosom falls a gleam 
 That makes me wish to live. O, strange ! I seem 
 As if escaping from mine own control, 
 As if a fever waned, and opiate balm 
 Were running through my veins. The gates of hell 
 Are open to the morning and the spell 
 Of the chill dewy glades. They waft such calm 
 As heaven's garden knew when evening fell 
 In gold and purple, and each conscious flower 
 Blessed God, and inly felt his brother sing 
 Inaudibly the praises of the spring. 
 Lyal! 
 
 Lyal. 
 
 My Lord. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 
 Nothing exceeds the power 
 
 Of time and nature. 'T were a wondrous thing 
 ii8 
 
If once again the womb of ancient night 
 Were big with being, and a giant came, 
 A rival to the other ! O, the fight, 
 The victory, the fallen tyrant's shame ! 
 Lyal! 
 
 Lyal. 
 My Lord. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 
 He hath a wondrous charm, 
 A gentle hand, warm, made to touch a friend's; 
 A well-bom, open spirit, that attends 
 To others' words ; a young god's strength of arm ; 
 The inward smile of them that know no harm. 
 Lyal! 
 
 Lyal. 
 My Lord. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 
 There should be no more pain, 
 
 And I in that republic of the just 
 H9 
 
Might live from day to day in peace, and trust 
 That life, although mysterious, was not vain. 
 Ho, Lyal, hear'st thou not? 
 
 Lyal. 
 
 My Lord, I hear, 
 But do not understand your sacred words. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 What should now be the season of the year? 
 
 Lyal. 
 Methinks it should be spring. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 
 Canst hear the birds ! 
 
 Lyal. 
 Birds in this island, without sedge or tree? 
 
 120 
 
Lucifer. 
 They now are singing in my memory. 
 How weary must these watches be for thee. 
 Serving me here ! Thou art too young a boy 
 To languish in this desert. 
 
 Lyal. 
 
 'T is my joy, 
 My Lord, to serve you, wheresoe'er it be. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 We must away; this night shall have its dreams. 
 Thou shalt behold a green land, watered well, 
 Where large white swans swim in the lucent streams ; 
 And bosky thickets where the harpy screams; 
 And centaurs scouring fields of asphodel, 
 While young fauns pluck their beards, and start away 
 At great Pan's feast to pipe an interlude. 
 There mermaids with the painted dolphins play. 
 Splashing blue waves for rainbows in the spray; 
 
And friendly poets, straying through the wood, 
 Lay finger to the mouth, to watch askance 
 How in wild ring the nymphs and satyrs dance. 
 Wouldst thou not go? 
 
 Lyal. 
 
 'Tis as my Master wills. 
 
 Lucifer. 
 Ay, ay, make ready ! — 
 
 Sad, familiar hills. 
 For how long do I leave you? Not for ever; 
 A voice of inward warning tells me so. 
 Forget ye not my voice; your silence fills 
 My bosom always; no, I cannot sever 
 The bond that binds me to your sunless snow. 
 But farewell for a season. Far I go, 
 Far, though I know not whither; for the breath 
 Of life is on me — or the hand of death. 
 
 (T^ey Jly away.) 
 
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